I don't have time to meet the end, I'm picking at my scalp and wondering-- no, knowing, you'll never try to change it. They call it pride. You call it personality. And I try at scabs and puss and stuff to distract me from never seeing you, because your demons had always danced and sung … Continue reading Dandruff and Mothers
Mama, there is no easy path to ride into your Indian summers. Autumn is upon you now but you stoutly refuse to put on your coat or stop swimming in the ocean. Storms may come, but you insist you can mold any wave with your spirit that still sees itself riding mustangs in the desert, … Continue reading Mama, Autumn Comes
I am the other woman's daughter. Though I came first, I did not come when the heart was decided. And didn't leave, when it changed its mind. I am the other woman's daughter. Daughter of the ex. Spare of a High School romance. Extra of the second broken marriage, and annoyance of the third. Daughter … Continue reading Daughter of the Other Woman
He, the great who knows he is great, takes his time with sturdy shoes and a shop full of the world's next wonders carving for himself a legacy that he knows is a legacy. So many hate him for knowing it. He, the rich, who only speaks not of it because, to him, there's a … Continue reading About Father
She told me to call him Father, because my real Daddy had abandoned me long ago. And she said this with her new husband in the room. Father didn't like me. Said I didn't know respect, though, to this day, I've never been able to peice together what made up his needed respect. She told … Continue reading My Second Step-Father
Down the worn carpet baby blue, but beloved to the door I was so familiar with touching My feet, small then led me to the bed where my father stood oddly haggard as he woved, peice by peice his strewn wardrobe. 'Father' asked I Little voice. 'Where are you going?" His answer was vague even … Continue reading Of Step-Dad the First
I remember that striped shirt. The one my father wears. My little baby had barfed all over mine, so he gave me one of his from the dirty laundry. It had smelled... of generic male deoderant. Not the most sentimental of shirts. And he's still wearing it. Maybe my baby should have barfed all over … Continue reading Baby Barf
Daddy, you bring out the worst in me. When did I become so mean? I don't even recognize it until I've gone away and can't do much about it. Daddy, even when I think we're okay, it comes out-like slippery worms, at your friends, at your neighbors, all the dirt you didn't tell. I want … Continue reading You Bring Out the Worst in Me
Travel to the mountains and tell me what it means to fill your lungs with ice and air, rocks, dirt, chasms, hills, and tell me there's no God again. Cradle me and whisper warmth from a fire that's not yours, then wrap me in a blanket, nevermind I say the wool will burn, and throw … Continue reading To Us Ericksons
Hold on. I'm still waiting for the non-existent past to beat-beat out that song that just doesn't sound real anymore. Not in the airy way of feeling high and-- no, like listening to soft lies, earnestly begging to be forgiven for being lies, and just be believed in. Bumb-bumb-bummer that someone with no heart wrote … Continue reading Lying Music
Author T.S. Lowe 