Unremarkable

I’m losing myself again I can feel it How do I stop an invisible thief ? Sorrow creeps in Don’t know what I should be doing. A heavy heart. Wallowing in passed failures. I should have been something, done something by now. The end is inevitable. Yet we pretend it is so far away. Believing

Art Speaks

Art speaks silently to creator and spectator. Though its words to each diverge. Painted, written, and sung. Each brush stroke a story. Each word a song Each song an awakening Music, colors pricking the depths of our being. Imagery, whispering what our souls long to hear. Melodies that expose reclusive remains Reminding us of lost

Dwindle

Emptiness wraps its arms around me again. Like tendrils slowly tightening their grasp. I remember this feeling all too well. The child inside me, too weak to struggle, buried beneath burdens now. The woman I am, withers in slow motion. Indifference seeps in. I go numb. You ask me what is wrong, and all I

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

Words

Before the words were said Before the feeling faded Before the first touch The first dance The first kiss The first born My hand was on the door I let the devil win the game Thinking it was all in my head but the battle had been fought and lost in a single breath The

Waiting

It’s the waiting.It’ll get you every time.Waiting for the right personWaiting for changeWaiting for the test resultsWaiting for forgivenessFor the other shoe to dropThe answerThe phone callThe right timeThe wound to healThe next stepThe endIt’s the waiting.It’ll get you, every fucking time. -Clary

Suffocation

What is this? I’m happy. Right? Then why do I feel so hindered? Why does it feel less like a choice, And more like chains? Are these my true feelings or Is the devil trying to get the upper hand? I just need some time away. I think. Just some time that isn’t full of

Silent Alterations

Can you feel it? All around. Perpetual change. No one can escape it. The silent alterations. Bending us gradually so we don’t notice. Swept up in the “to do” lists of the day. Most don’t feel it. We capture it. The pictures you hang on your walls… artifacts in museums we call homes. God and

Acquiesce

The leaves here have begun to fall. There’s a coolness in the breeze signaling change is on its way. I can only hope it’s for the better. The sinking feeling comes back to haunt me daily. I keep the rising screams at bay with work, and school, and making dinner. But I feel the heaviness

Against the Grain

There’s shame in my resentment. It burrows its way back into my heart and mind, if I let it. WHEN I let it. Like tendrils they pierce the flesh of every thought as every negative memory of you plays on repeat in my head. The warnings were there all along. Love shouldn’t be a constant

More Time

Never enough time. Being the youngest of four I always thought I was the furthest from all the changes that come with age. I calculated my youth by all the milestones I had yet to reach. Now I find myself on the precipice of something new. Another change I don’t look forward to. A slower

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

Frayed Edges

Here I go again. Omitting truth for peace. Afraid to crush your fragile sentimentality. Constantly teetering on the scale of our relationship. This time I won’t falter, No matter the cost. This time I will speak my mind, Without concern for your delicate heart. The one I fight to understand as I search for my

Prick

Thank you for making it easy. Now I can move on. Much obliged you haven’t written, or responded to my calls. I’m grateful you ignore me, And don’t want me by your side. At times my thoughts drift back to you I’m not going to lie. I lose myself in what would have beens, What

Soliloquy

The smell of fresh rolls wafted through the dining area. I sat at the bar waiting for my order. A man sat three stools down. I caught intermittent mumbles about death, the end of the world, and some Bible verses. I wonder if he knows something I don’t? If he hears the echo of voices

Your Touch

You didn’t touch me again today. Should I be worried? Is it happening again? My thoughts go dark fast. Has my adventurous nature become mundane? Perhaps. But,There will be a time when you’ll realize what you have. Hopefully, Before I stop missing the feel of your hands on my skin. Before the thought of your

Lullaby

Help me find sleep tonight. Bring quiet to this mind. My body has grown weary, of the hardships in my life. Silence all stray thoughts. Bring rest to my eyes. Let darkness take me in her arms, and sing her lullaby. Put away the triumphs and failures of the day. Tuck me in so tightly

Mistaken Path

I am here but I am gone, Waiting for new time to dawn. One without so many cares, One with less burdens to bear. I am here but I am not, A memory of what I was taught. Like a faded withered tree, Only a figment of what use to be. Will I grow to

Nostalgia

I take my place as part of a final generation that grew up when Saturday morning cartoons were still a thing, and Sundays were still held sacred. Before internet and cell phones trapped us in zombie mode. Saying so makes me feel ancient. It’s a strange thing when change comes so quickly. A quarter of

We Are The Music

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

Cold Winter Day

©2017 C. Clary When winter dew kisses the earth, My fatigued soul will long for mirth. Frigid reminder of what could have been. A constant pain from deep within. My body aching, searching for yours. To touch would be the cause of wars. To kiss those silken lips so sweet. To love you with unbridled

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

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

Time

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

Imprisoned Mind

Composition comes in the still of the night. The silence beckons to my thoughts and all its trappings. A clear mind working without interruption, I bask in pure solitude, and revel in self contemplation. Welcoming the crisp nothing that surrounds me, I can finally breathe. No longer suffocating, words flow freely No longer bound, they

You Don’t Know Me

Woman Feeling Feisty