Bobby Pins

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I can’t always wait for freedom
As I’m tightening my chains
Or call for allies to remove them
When my list of foes has all the names

It’s up to me to hoard the bobby pins,
To find the key to ease my pains;
It’s up to me to unlock prisons,
And remember there are sunny days.

Naturalization

I feel like I’m perpetually living
On the wrong side of the world
On the dark side of the moon
On the inside of a cave
Shared with blind things blinking,
Straining for a light that won’t come soon.
And even if it came, how would we all handle
The world of light colliding with our world of gloom?

I feel like I’m an outsider
A strange creature of the dark
A forgotten exile who in turn forgot
There was such a thing as home
And if I saw now a hearth fire
Would it still be what I sought
Or is that other world now the foreign thing
And darkness, more my home than not?

I feel like there’s a question
One I haven’t asked just yet
One I’m thinking that I might
Because the answer might be worth it.
So at last I’ll ask myself this one:
If time can teach me even to be a thing of night,
Then what the devil is to stop me
From relearning to walk in the light?

Pessimist (Optimist)

Be still my mind, soon you will find
Yourself alone again.
Be still my heart, abandon your art
Of feeling you’re home again.

You think you’re free: take it from me,
Nobody ever is.
Today is the sun, tomorrow there’s none:
That’s how it always is.

Be still my doubt, just let me out;
Why are we staying here?
Be still my tears, quiet your fears;
No use in waiting here.

If I see the sun, then to it I’ll run:
A child of light again.
I’ll not sit and stay, the same dead-end way:
I’ll be alive again.


I haven’t been particularly active on here these last few days (sorry!). My energy has been directed towards other things… good things, I think. Brighter things. Things like waking up in the morning: drinking coffee; going outside; waving at strangers; listening to lighter songs than what’s become my usual…

I’m pretty sure this is temporary — but I kind of hope it’s not. I like this feeling. I like dancingly getting chores done, and getting to see the sun on the other side of the house, when the day is bright and new. But with my mind in that mode — let’s call it “carpe diem mode” — I find it hard to focus on writing. So, apologies if I’m scarce, and know I haven’t forgotten about all of you; I’m just remembering a me I had forgotten about.

Jacques and Isabelle

Isabelle says hi —
Though, she rarely stays for long;
But a single day or night,
And often she is swiftly gone.

Jacques likes it much better:
The dark places in my mind
Remind him of his own, and so
He tends to stay inside.

Both can rarely stay together
Without some clamor or debate;
They could go on forever
Arguing about my fate.

And oh-so many other things —
But let’s not get into that.
Suffice to say, they come with strings,
But at least they come attached.


Once upon a time, a certain poet realized she talked an awful lot about an “angel” and a “demon” that she would call her own. It suddenly struck her as dreadfully rude to so frequently allude to these individuals, without even knowing their names. So, on a whim, she gave them some: The angel became “Isabelle,” while the demon became “Jacques.” They became the voices for several pseudo-freewritten debates/monologues. They also got backstories. And character arcs. Yeah… whoever this poet is, she might have gone a little overboard. 

In the Midst of Darkness

Where do the stars find rest
When all the world is restless?
When all is black and what was best
Is lost to what’s relentless;
When the next step in the quest
Seems to be continuing on questless?

When you are lost to darkness
And you can’t remember sunshine,
When even stars’ gentle brightness
Seems gone for all of time —
Ask yourself where their rest is…
And realize you’ll be fine.

Wings

I don’t want to see the sun;
For then I’ll have to watch it set.
And I don’t want to climb the mountain;
Because I’m not ready to slip down just yet.

I don’t want to see the sky;
Because then I’ll realize I’m still here.
And I don’t want to choose to live or die;
Because I exist somewhere between, in fear.

I don’t want to spread my wings:
For feathers are a gentle down;
And if I fall I shan’t recall
Why first I sought out such a gown.

Your Moon

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You praise me as your shining star,
While I am but the barren moon;
You claim to me I am your sun,
But I reflect what comes from you.

You believe that I am full of light —
But it’s the darkness that’s my sphere;
And this lie which gives you such delight
Is so you never see the darkness near.

You triumph at my burning hope,
But its source you never care to see;
It’s by your warmth that I can cope,
And so I be what I must be.

You love me as your shining star,
Your guardian from doom;
You think I make you what you are,
But I am just your moon.

Twin-Souled

I have been a coward;
And at times, almost bold.
I’ve sustained, and I’ve devoured:
The curse of being twin-souled.

I have been a monster;
And then I’ve been a dear —
And then I have lost her,
And become again what I most fear.

One moment I’m an angel;
And the next, the devil’s daughter.
The burden of my twin soul:
To be never what you sought for.