Betrayed in Vegas.
She scratched his seven-year itch.
Cut my nails too short.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
I always thought that coming back here
would make me feel small…
would remind me of mean girls and
judgmental boys, of square pegs
and round holes.
I was certain that these halls
would echo loudly
with the sound of those dreams
I’m still dreaming
and that mountain of potential
I’m still trying to climb.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
She’s the perfect height,
with soft, slow curves
that work in the room
like Sophia on a Saturday night.
Her gold-plated base anchors her,
like Marilyn’s heeled bedroom slippers,
the only understated part
of her otherwise bold vesture.
She wears her fiberglass shade
like Audrey wore a pillbox —
proudly, convincingly
and without apology.
But it’s Liz’s brazenness
she displays most,
taunting the illustrious Eames brothers
as she sits, unashamed,
on Herman Miller.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
Virgin notebooks sing to me in my sleep,
their stark white pages mock me like
cheerleaders at the lunch table.
Freshly-sharpened pencils, all lined up
on my nightstand don’t speak, of course,
but they make their point.
Have I nothing of value to say anymore?
Perhaps the page is not the only blank thing.
Where is the angst of fifteen?
The heartbreak of twenty-nine?
The depression of thirty-five?
The wanderer of forty?
Communal living,
inside my head.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
An inchworm appeared
on my desk today.
I can’t be sure how
he got there — maybe
he hitched a ride from me
while I was outside
sneaking a smoke or
maybe he took the long way around
and worked his way in through
an inchworm-sized crack in the foundation.
I watched him for a while and
all I could think of was how hard
he was working…
to get where?
He didn’t belong here.
I swear he looked up at me
and laughed.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
I sat beside you, listening
to you breathe.
I put my hands on you and prayed
to a God I’m not entirely sure
I believe in,
prayed for him to save us both —
you from your demons and me
from having lost you to them.
Your heart still beat that night
but I had lost you long before,
my stubborn nature keeping me there
in spite of knowing it.
I never did know how to give up,
even when it’s clearly
for my own damn good.
Still don’t.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
Oh to be so fragile as she,
to have the luxury of brokenness,
the vacation of public weakness,
to walk around in the world wearing
my true face instead of this one,
unaffected and unmoving.
Pride and Shame make such strange bedfellows.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
I watch your fingers on the strings
and the way your soul changes
when you’re making music,
knowing you’re channeling him
when you do and missing him
more than when the guitar is on the stand.
I watch your grip on the bottle
and the way your life changes
when you’re making trouble,
knowing you’re repeating his mistakes
and that you’re well aware of it.
I watch you slip away from me
and the way I change
when you do,
knowing I’m repeating my mistakes
and realizing that cold turkey
is harder than it looks.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
Tell me again how much you love me.
Tell me from within your fog
of Xanax and from behind
your half-closed eyes.
Tell me again how much I mean to you.
Tell me from your tainted
perspective and from behind
your shield of denial.
Tell me again how much you’re sorry.
Tell me from inside those
prison walls how, this time,
you’ll be different
and how someday soon
we’ll both finally
be free.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
She wrote of liquor
and smoke and torn fishnets,
of last night’s makeup,
hot pink lipstick on white
teeth and foundation
smeared on lace colars.
She reeked of expensive perfume
and cheap Schnapps,
of sweat and sex
and the kind of fun
nice girls aren’t
supposed to have.
I could see her now,
as I read her words
aloud and found myself
missing the freedom
of twenty-one,
the life in her words
reminding me of what’s missing
from mine.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
We ducked inside the tent
and wriggled into our tiny swimsuits,
still wet from this morning’s swim
and somewhat unwilling to be worn.
We shoved our toes into
last year’s tennis shoes,
worn out at the heels
and open at the toes.
We bounced toward the water’s edge,
leaving Mama and her friend alone
with their bottles of baby oil laced with iodine
and hard packs of Virginia Slims.
We had an inner tube,
pulled from a real tire and
pool floats purchased
yesterday at TG&Y.
I’d never been kissed,
never hit a home run,
and never had a dog for a best friend.
But there were no snakes in the Tennessee,
the sun didn’t cause cancer and
hot dogs had no calories.
I don’t recall agreeing
to a trade like that and am nearly certain
I would have taken my chances
with the snakes.
But then again,
I do love my dog…
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
I like to say that
I’m just fine
on my own and
that I don’t need you
anymore.
I try to believe that
someday
I’ll feel like me again,
and a little
less shattered.
But deep down inside,
in that place
I try to ignore
my biggest fear is large
and loud.
What if I’m
too broken
to ever completely
put myself
back together?
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
Cook for one.
Clean for one.
Spend for one.
Save for one.
So much sweeter
the days would be
if I never knew
the difference
between one
and two.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
What shines when the
candle of friendship is blown out?
What grows where yesterday’s
loyalty was planted?
What happens to those people
who were once our every day
and are now our never?
What becomes of those feelings
for a once-cherished friend
who is now a stranger?
New light.
Hope.
They remain.
They remain.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
Dear Katie,
You don’t know me,
but I’ve been where you’ve been.
I’ve dialed those three little numbers
and walked in circles until the firemen came.
I’ve watched the ambulance doors close
and then open again to unload me at the ER.
I’ve waited and listened and
tried not to listen.
And tried not to think.
You don’t know me,
but I’ve been where you are.
I’ve had the surgeries, the rehab,
and the 12-hour bandage changes.
I’ve slept sitting upright
because that was the only way it didn’t ache.
I’ve worried about how I looked
beneath the bandages.
And tried not to look.
You don’t know me,
but I am where you’re going.
This thing that tried to get you
tried to get me too
but I fought,
just like you are fighting.
I was held up by those who loved me
and by strength I never knew I had,
just like you have.
I was mighty then.
I am mightier now.
So are you.
And so you will be.
Promise.
—–
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
I will help you
but when I do,
understand that now
I’m the keeper of you.
I will determine
if you’re living “right.”
And I’ll need you to be home
by nine every night.
You’ll need to prove monthly,
to my satisfaction,
that your disappointing state
is not due to lack of action.
Make me a list
and pee in a cup
and I’ll let you know
if you’re still “good” enough.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
For years, I searched for you
within the soft embrace
of quilted cotton
and darkened walls.
At the end of the hardest days,
I felt certain you were near
and would rush toward the refuge
I felt just as certain
you would bring.
Night after night,
you slipped from my fingers like rain
down my window in spring.
Then one glorious night,
my head found his chest,
my ear found his heartbeat
and I, at last, found you.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
She was twenty-five
before she could drive,
a challenge to her mother.
She lived for school,
followed all the rules,
never even took a lover.
She was twenty-nine
when the fairy tale died
and she had to run for cover.
She spent the next ten years
hiding from her tears
and never took another.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
She was soft and round,
with hard edges
I couldn’t see.
When she laughed,
the neighbors heard
and when she cried,
no one did.
She planted a vegetable patch
end-to-end where a rainbow of irises bloomed.
Her back porch was covered with Astroturf
and baskets full of bleeding hearts.
She had two husbands,
but needed neither one.
She bought my first Easter dress
and sold me my first house.
On a good day,
I hear her in my mother’s laughter.
On a really good day,
I see her in mine.
April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.
A digital space feat. poetry, prose, art, reviews, and interviews by marginalized creators.
Gillian Glover
Random verse from a digital poet who writes in graphite.
we accumulate vintage stuff faster than we sell it
Writing left handed
I mostly tell stories. About my projects. About my adventures. Occasionally, about art, culture and big ideas.
Motherhood, Art, Creative Play, and Finding Joy in Everyday Life
damaged calm 