Erroneous Feelings

Erroneous feelings
Confusion, not grief
Just mixed up what would be’s
Wrapped in disbelief

Chaotic day spinning
Around me again
A mix of emotions
Not sure where or when

My head here is pounding
Underneath my skull
Not sure how I get through
The thick of it all

Children now sleep
Comfortably in their beds
No worry, no danger
Just dreams in their heads

We long to be children
They long to be grown
So many questions
All answers unknown

Can’t quiet the voices
Perpetually droning
Can’t stop the writing
Ink keeps on flowing



Cement Bed

I keep you tucked away in dark corners of my mind because sometimes feeling becomes too much. It clings and hovers around me, weighing me down. A cement slab.

I sleep there sometimes

After all it’s what I deserve. The light is an unwelcome guest permeating my lids. I crack them open only to wince and close them tightly again.

I live there sometimes

My bed made of stone and cement, losing all perception of time. Squandering it away in a prison with unlocked doors.

I long for it  sometimes

Accepting every evil expelled upon me in that bed. I willingly bound myself to it. A craving to just be wanted, just feel something.

I loathe it sometimes

Half a lifetime to realize I alone was to blame , and I have no recollection of when it came to be. I only know that when the time came I was finished doing what I was told.

I opened my eyes., I loosened the ropes, and let the light in.

– Clary

Written Word

Words seem to scurry from crowded corners of my mind.
From there, to pen, to paper, tearing their way outside.

Scribbling themselves in harmony, across an empty page.
Showing no discrimination, no matter creed, gender, or age.

Telling tales of wars long past, present tales of love denied.
Emanating with emotions, all humanity is assigned.

Seducing us with eloquence, capturing descriptive bliss.
Tainting us with reality, assuring us happiness.

Abrading us with politics, causing loss of time.
Essays, prose and sonnets, and every word that rhymes.

Words, they have no borders, no bond can bind or chain.
No man can stop their presence, and no law that can constrain.

Yes, we are all partakers, of the written word,
Words that scurry quickly, in a frenzy to be heard                                                                        – — Clary

When Women “Sleep”

Night falls and sleep cant find me again. A dim glow from the bathroom seeps through the cracked door. My husband let’s out a low, rattling snore, physically sated for tonight. I adjust my pillow under my head, hoping it’ll be enough to beckon slumber to lie down by my side. It isn’t, and she doesn’t, the selfish bitch. My mind reels. Was nice finally having some time with my husband. It’d been awhile. Crap, what if he doesn’t really want me anymore? I have put on a few pounds. I’m pretty disgusting to myself. I mean I wouldn’t fuck me would I? I really need to find a day job. What if no one wants to hire me? Need to remember to buy Jay shoes. I cant believe I forgot to buy him shoes. I think E’s shoes might also be too tight. Ugh! I’m such a bad mom! Oh crap mom! Did I forget to take her to her appointment or is that next week? Water bill is due tomorrow. Hope there’s enough to cover that and groceries. Oh no, did I pay the light bill this month? The dogs really need to go to the vet. Shit, forgot to put the clothes in the dryer! Can’t remember if I locked the front door. Please mind just shut the eff up! Holy hell, now I have to pee. Sigh

-©2018 B. Clary



I forget myself sometimes.

Forget that I am not just a mom, a wife, a sister, or a daughter.
I’m not just the referee of remotes, the apology police, or the kisser of boo-boos.

I am me.

I’m not just the cooker of meals, the cleaner of snotty noses and sticky fingers, the fixer of broken hearts, or resuscitator of gold-fish.

I am me.

I’m not just the chauffeur to the party, the stroker of egos, or the knocker down of high horses.

I am me.

The real me is reading books, writing stories, making art, and planting gardens.

The real me prefers the company of animals over people, and being outdoors over the four walls I find myself surrounded by too often.

Yet, somewhere jumbled in all the labels, I forget myself. I lose myself in what has to be done, what needs to be said, and how those things will get that way. And, I just forget…

to be ME.

– B. Clary

A Moment

It envelops me


I just want to be alone

Not always

Just moments

A moment alone

A moment when I am not exhausted and unable to think

A moment for just me and silence, a friend I rarely see anymore.

A moment for my thoughts to creep out

from dusty corners of my mind and stretch.

Just a moment

A moment to breathe

A moment when my name is not being called

A moment austerity has passed, a sigh of relief finally escapes

A moment to address the restless fears

I have held at bay far too long


I just want to be alone

and release the hindering restraint that is

my life.



I’m not who I was yesterday. Yesterday fades behind me. Moments carried away by the winds of the present. We fumble around in this world. Unsure, clinging to a reality made by those who have fallen before us only to feel just as lost as when it all began. How we blindly seek the unknown. Longing for change, only to realize that the change terrifies us. Leaving the familiar for the unknown, it shakes us. We cling to the comfort of our tattered faded memories hoping the unknown brings us better days. If only we knew the subtle signs giving us direction weren’t just a trick. If only the sign “Happiness this way 👉” was blatantly obvious and the intentions of those around us were truly meant for our success. We are all here, lost and wandering, pushing forward, hoping, praying, that tomorrow is better than today.

– B. Clary