Waiting – A Poem By – Clary

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 – A Poem By – Clary

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

Take A Breath

I no longer question the existence of God. I’ve passed that point in my life. I know damn well I was created, and though I often forget, I know what I was meant to do. Still, I find myself struggling through the muck of life. I know it was never meant to be easy, but

Christmas Reminder!

Throwback post! Merry Christmas!

Silent Alterations – A Poem By – Clary

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

Silent Pain

i miss my dad.

More Time – A Poem By – Clary

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

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

We Rise

No worries, We’ll be okay, whatever may come. Empires have risen and fallen Hellfire, rain, famine, locust, pandemic and all. We’ll be okay. We’ll rise from the rubble, rebuild what was lost. Waters recede, and the sun shines again We’ll rise from the ash, as spring gifts us her bloom. Crops are resown, industries recover