This poem was actually published in my local literary journal. It concerns my thoughts while I was in a long-distance relationship. Gal, those suck. You are the sound of Bossa. The ringtone that announces to the world who's talking. My fingers glitch on the small keypad, continueing the conversation in my hand. Keeping you in … Continue reading Text Relationship
Keep the light on. The darkness scares the little in the old me, and I have forgotten how to tame it. Leave the light on, forget the electric bill, and let me sleep just for a night beneath that glow. Keep the light on, just while I sleep. In night and darkness I am alone. … Continue reading On Panic Attacks
He was born with the mind of an artist, but, through some trick of fate, was given no means to express it. Some would say along with a small shameful part of my mind, that he is like a child, playing pretend in a world long since gone and dead, and therefore, no use for … Continue reading He Has an Artist’s Mind
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
Bite deep to my bones and take breath to tell what taste I possess. Lick wide to gather all the touch so I can be velveteen. Then clutch me hard and desperate, with sight thrown back to fully smell my afterimage: A flash of red and solo.
Tell me how to strip away my skull to get to the broken bits within. The twisted wires that connect me to the overwhelming want for darkness, for nonexistence, for my flesh to peel off, because I cannot survive with just bone. Tell me there's a strip of hope I'm not seeing, one strong enough … Continue reading A Strip Away
What do I do now, Father? The die's been cast the game now bought and the red numbers higher than ever, while I, here, have no hands-on in controlling the flow of money. Blank, hard, cold cash. It hurts the lack thereof, but hurts more than I even want it at all. There is no … Continue reading Wake Me Up When I’m Smarter
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
Since today is my first little boy's birthday, I thought I'd post something up about when he was a baby. Oh, how he became my muse. A fuzzy owl by his cheek, a partner on the other. he stares up, oblivious, then feels their triangle ears. Milk? No. Soft thing? "Owls!" he seems to yell … Continue reading Two Months Old
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
Author T.S. Lowe 