No Justice

Nothing is sacred to the devil. My heart violently writhing in my chest Reminds me of that daily. Fifteen years may as well have been two days. The clock ticks towards an inevitable end. Whispering all the promises you once made to me, in her ear. Are you lying to her too? Another home wrecking

Christmas Reminder!

Throwback post! Merry Christmas!

Silent Pain

i miss my dad.

What of Me?

What of me when newness fades?When you have since abandoned longing for my lips. The shape of my disposition no longer quenching your desires. What of me when time and toil have stolen my days?When these arms lose the worth of their breadth. Ravaged by ailments and grief of this life. What of me when

Losing My Religion

An entire life spent trying to be what everyone expected. Kneel, stand, the sign of the cross, Hail Mary & Our Father. Confess your sins to the envious pedophile. No worries, the confessional has a screen. Not to mention peddling God door to door. A salesman without answers. No Christmas, no Easter, no makeup, no

Broken Seashells

The crisp breeze blew as time erased another sunset from the sky. The light of the  first star pricked a hole in the darkness and the moon set up, dismissing the pale blue of the day. I found myself staring up, feeling insignificant,  as memories of you began to wash in like broken seashells on

Mayflies

I use to think when people died young it was because there was so much sadness in their hearts they just could’t keep it from breaking. I would have kept on believing this had I not lost my daddy so young, or experienced the agony of losing two unborn children, only to find I still

We Are The Music

A homage to T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets

Sunlight

Sunlight streams in signaling the beginning of a new day. Every day is the same You are everything to me and I bound myself to you I made the links myself, locked the locks, and threw away the key I wanted freedom, but chose chains Naively bound by doing what is “right” My heart screams,

Carry On

© 2020 CMBClary Memories brim at every corner of my mind. A heavy stone in my chest, A lump in my throat, but, I carry on. What else is there? Just tasks. All the things no one else will do, They wait for me. And while my heart is a still ache, I carry on.

Merry Christmas!

As Christmas Eve falls upon us again and we each repeat our holiday traditions. (Some of us in a not so jolly disposition) Take a moment to stop, take a breath, and take it all in. Remember those you love, those who couldn’t make it for a visit, and those no longer with us. These

The End

It’s over now. I ripped you from my life. You were woven in so tightly for so long. I didn’t think I could hold it together without you there. I didn’t think I’d survive it. I miss you at times. We were best friends. I thought by some miracle we still would be, But I

Near

I felt you here today. I didn’t see you. We didn’t speak. But I knew you were near. -Clary

Uninspired

©2019 CMBClary The vibration of the washer through the wall makes the bed ripple beneath me. My thoughts scatter like shredded paper and I struggle to pick them up and make something coherent of them. All the want of being alone, when I finally am, the desire to produce eludes me. A slight ringing in

The Spaces In-between

Life, so full at times, Even all the spaces in-between. A fullness that inundates every crevice. This too will pass. Soft skin to folds of leathery lines, Strong steady hands to trembling decline. Golden locks to un-kept silver strands. And time, While filled with too much, still insatiable. Do not grow weary of your busy

Displaced

Darkened skin  Freckled nose Lines baked in by time and sun Furrowed brow Callused hands  dirt stained cracks and folds Clouded eyes look on and wait For death? Perhaps, Or  maybe just a  Hand to hold. -Clary

Thought of the Day

I mostly think that everyone falls on hard times. Even then, being worried that I’ve run out of Dom Perignon would be far less stressful than finding out I’ve just run out of toilet paper and only have a $1.15 to my name. Yes that seems like an extreme, but for many that is reality.

Poetic Curse

©2010 B. Clary I often think in poetry. It is a curse my own disease. To look upon a tree in awe, Its gnarled roots in winters thaw. The rolling hills, flowers in sync, Petals so soft like lips of pink. A splash of blue upon the sky, As feathered clouds lazily float by. The

Etchings

Photograph©2015 B. Clary All of your things are gone now. My mind rummages through fading memories, trying to find one bright enough to cling to. The wisdom you’d freely given in my youth reduced to worn etchings on my bitter heart, relics of a time I had squandered it. Dreams of you are few and

My Screen Door

The concrete was hot on my feet that late summer evening. My toes curled in response to the slight discomfort. A symphony of crickets and locusts permeated the warm evening air like an orchestra welcoming the night. I stood there listening to their song, nostalgia washing over me again. Memories of messy brunette hair, bare

A Life

The stars pricked holes in the darkness and I wished I could live under them. Warm air wrapped me up and I was home. I stood there a moment thinking of him and what he would have been like. His soft fuzzy hair on my fingertips, a sweet little face and gummy grin, those tiny

Stupidity Abounds

Once again stupidity abounds. I was watching the news just sitting around. They give us amendments and say we can speak. But don’t read a Bible or someone may freak! It’s also forbidden that you pray aloud. There’s someone offended out there in the crowd. Ah yes! And most definitely never say Jesus. For a

Food for Thought

Pondered the brevity of life today. Soon realized the powers that be, God in my case, only granted us a small taste of this world because even the short time we’re given is taken for granted. Imagine how ungrateful and wasteful we would be if we lived thousands of years. Imagine the unending procrastination and

Note to Self

Just wanted to let you know… You fucked up. Mistakes have been made. There’s no turning back. Now, Get up, Dust yourself off, And keep going! —- Clary

Time

A reminder of how fleeting life is and that we shouldn’t take it for granted.

Paint All of Your Secrets

Copyright 2018 Clary Can I paint all of your secrets with a waterfall of words? As you open every window screaming to be heard As I pull apart the pieces of your badly mangled heart As I separate the tangled strands that tell me who you are. Can I wash out all the shades of

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

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

A Moment

It envelops me Sometimes 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

Graduating!

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.