This soul was vapid.
A product of loveless lovemaking,
The girl child spent youth watching her mother
Take care of other people.
Enable other people.
Having been put on the back-burner
to simmer on low,
She began to raise herself.
Growing inward – shy, quiet
a b o o k w o r m
A nerd with one friend who was also a nerd.
Heroin needles under the sofa.
Raging drunk beating down the front door.
This was normal,
everyone grew up like this.
No longer a shy quiet bookworm –
A simmering pot
if forgotten long enough
will eventually begin
Now filled with armor,
an armor of rage
of “I’m fat but I’m funny.”
She spent her teen years in this state.
An unnatural ebb and flow of weight,
Brought her into her twenties.
A reason to find God.
Heavy with love.
Thread, wire, letter pendants, glue.
The pendant letters spell out the word “IMAAN” which roughly translates into “faith.” Even when we are feeling dark, alone, twisted, etc., we can always hold onto a thread of faith.
There were nothing but bones left
In my bed
And the whisper of love
A sticky sweet remembrance
Of our brief time together
I rolled over to smell your pillow
Quickly turning cold
Your scent fading
As my heartbeats slowed
And passion gave way to melancholy
I heard you pull out your guitar
Could feel the nervous plucking
I wished for a cigarette
We each have our own way