One day I'll own a car with A/C and a working radio (glory, CD player!) Won't I be wealthy then? One day I'll buy a bagel smothered in cheese without worrying that it'll break the bank. (I really like bagels) Won't I be wealthy then? One day I'll pay my own freaking rent as easy … Continue reading How to Be Wealthy
Tag: Poetry
I Don’t Want to Take My Medicine
8I don't want to take my medicine. I want to be able to choose for myself whether I'm frightened or not. But every hour asks me, 'do you think you need your drug?' It's weakness, that little orange bottle, filled with sedatives. I want to be strong. Normal. Have a chance to be proud. Not … Continue reading I Don’t Want to Take My Medicine
Ghostwriting
Line of letters that are not mine, though I'm awake late making them bit by bit. Someone else will lie and say it's theirs. Money is money. I will never say its mine because I kept a promise to say it wasn't. Someone else will lie and say it's theirs. A story. Is it nicotine? … Continue reading Ghostwriting
Autumn Nostalgia
I think it's getting chilly. I can smell Halloween and taste Christmas, and can't help but feel I wasted Summer. No more beaches, no more swimming, no more laying out in bright sunshine. Look forward. I know. But I don't have balmy warm days, and drinking in rainbows of leaves just doesn't happen. No more … Continue reading Autumn Nostalgia
Victim
I hurt. Quick numb the pain numb the pain. Because there's nothing I can do to change. If only it were my fault. Numb it. Numb it. Powerless. You hurt, and you just have to hurt. SHUT UP! Numb the pain numb the pain I don't feel a thing, because what else do I do … Continue reading Victim
Butterscotch
Butterscotch on the back of my throat. Like thick corn syrup and straight sugar. Swallow down, swish it around, cringe and frown. Butterscotch synonym for sun for the vampire I always thought I was. Swallow down, swish it around, cringe and frown. Butterscotch maple drenched pancakes without the cake heavy in my stomach. Swallow down, … Continue reading Butterscotch
You Can’t Go Home
Why can't I go home? This war, someone died. There's blood-- it could just be red and I'm freaking out-- why am I freaking out? Can I come home? Because someone died and I wasn't made for this. I was made for mama's arms and the kitchen during the holidays and well worn sofas and-- … Continue reading You Can’t Go Home
When it Rains
When it rains the slugs come out and eat all my green attempts to be skinny. They need no shells, no fear of claw, for predators hide from the sky when it rains.
To Worship
If He came down to me I would happily call him Lord, my God, because of love, not because of any made up idea of religious fervor. How can I not call Lord the One who made it worth it to suffer as I do? The one who made it so I'm meant for something … Continue reading To Worship
To Stop You
You make me tired. Maybe one day I'll get all you and you to stand still so I can breathe and figure out where my mind is kept. But for now, you are tearing aqua marine, a sky swallowing me, because I can't stop thinking, I can't get the trees to just stop and look at me. … Continue reading To Stop You
Author T.S. Lowe 