Dear Younger Me

Dear younger me, You don’t have to marry him. Mistakes were made and you will make more. I know all you can think about is how to save face. How to fix what you feel you have broken. The baby that grows inside you, is no mistake. She is a gift, that will do great

Tortured History Month

Let’s talk about it.The elephant in the room that everyonevociferously opposes.A month to celebrate those tortured before us.Not just for one group of humans but each according to which hue of beige they might fall under on the spectrum of browns and tans that somehow turned black and white.Each group comparing their chains and weighing

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

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

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

Silent Pain

i miss my dad.

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

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

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

Sanctimonious

The words rolled off her tongue so eloquently. I, even believed her bullshit. She wore that infectious smile and feigned excitement when she met someone new. Inviting you to rub elbows with the “elites,” like that is where you belonged. Fooled so many, including myself, with her slippery manipulations. If she said you were enough,

You

I can’t understand it. I can’t comprehend. How a love so deep spawned so quickly from friends. Just a small spark, ignites a fire; That makes you think up all these dreams and desires. It wraps you in tightly, without regard Of whom you’re attached to, no matter how far. It tells you that love

We Are The Music

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

Once Upon A Time

I sat in my car that gray stricken day and watched drops of water speckle the windshield then collect into tiny puddles. They slid down the glass, like shooting stars, gathering their friends along the way. My mind unable to shake our earlier conversation. “I want a divorce; I don’t love you the way I

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,

Pet -A Funny Rhyme or Two

I want to keep you as a pet To come to me at my behest To dream of me all the day long To be here at my beckon call I want to keep you as a pet To laugh at my comedic fret To clean my house and smile at me To be whatever

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

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

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

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

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.

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.