Tagged difficult degrees

Fragile Things

At some point everything becomes clear. That doesn’t necessarily mean a good clear, but fact is preferred over fiction when you’re locked up in a mental ward. Again. And it’s snowing out–and worse–it’s New Year’s Eve and you’re thirtieth birthday is coming and you’re little girl must be looking for you. It’s all you can…

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Daddy’s Game

for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry… I imagine you must’ve shut yourself off somehow–the way you’d eventually teach me to do– before you entered my door like a king’s shadow I hear the scrape of your jeans, your hands hot and big like swings. I’m young so I love you.  I do as you say.  You blow smoke in my face. Now, here, I slip because you taught me how to shut off– how to die inside, and I have only memories of my body– fear, arousal, panic and pain, death around every corner, shh girl shh I…

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