Neesa paints with words.
by Neesa Suncheuri
Is there a way to take off this mask?
It substitutes my personality with its own.
Forcing upon me its
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The Identity of Deceit
Blossom and Bone
Nicole takes a prompt and out comes poetry.
Writing Word Prompt: Yearn
Blossom and Bone
I am
blossom and bone
with a soul
on fire,
and I yearn
to touch the steel
of flesh
and icy minds
with hearts willing
to burn.
© Nicole lyons 2017
An imperative bridge
Beth makes an argument that is remarkably sensible unless one is a true absolutist of one sort or another. Read, think, and, please, then think some more, let it sink in. And, also, please remember it is her presentation, so I will not engage with anybody who tries to jump all over me about it.
I’m going to talk about abortion. I know, it’s a word weighted with emotion, but I am approaching the subject from a different angle that I know you will benefit from no matter where you stand on the matter. I implore you to hear me out.
Two enormous misconceptions exist on the subject of abortion, and they are the reason for the seemingly unbridgeable divide between pro-life and pro-choice. No one will ever “win” that argument because we’re focused on polar outcomes.
The misconceptions are as follows:
- Making abortion illegal stops abortion
- Pro-choice means pro-abortion. (No woman wants to have an abortion. Nor does any woman want another woman to go through one)
If we can’t get past these misconceptions, the fight will never cease. That is a sad notion to me because we are so much stronger together.
Current narrative: The chasm between pro-life and pro-choice can never be closed.
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Not Less
Mandi speaks and is decidedly not less.
“Damn, girl! Your pockets are full!” Someone shouted at me. I was walking into the mall with my brother. I was thirteen, maybe fourteen. My brother laughed. Then he yelled something to him in my defense.
“What did he mean, my pockets are full?” I asked.
“He’s talking about your butt.” I lowered my head, ashamed. I weighed less than 100 pounds. I wasn’t embarrassed about my weight. I was mortified because a man had just rolled his window down and commented on my butt. And then he kept driving. It was nothing to him. I was nothing to him. He could say whatever he wanted to me, a girl. A child.
In college, I worked at bars. It didn’t matter what sort of uniform I wore, my body was fair game for unwanted comments, lewd stares, and unintentional intentional slips of the hand.
I remember one table in…
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Look
Today really isn’t any other day.
Sitting at the lunch counter with Mase I twirled a straw wrapper between my fingertips and tried not to meet his eyes. “So, I, uh, so I… I relapsed.” He was the first I told in person. The weight of it on my shoulders was released, then quickly replaced as tears came to my eyes and shame moved in. It’d been 36 hours since I sat in an old friend’s apartment with a bottle of bourbon, but I was still having trouble believing it happened.
He didn’t ask me why. He knew why I drank after over three years of sobriety. The only reason anyone ever relapses, I couldn’t find a reason why it mattered if I stayed sober anymore. I couldn’t find it and I didn’t go looking. I didn’t make phone calls. I didn’t go to a meeting. I just gave up and I drank. Another split-second decision…
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Upon your arrival
A gem of image from Nicole
Upon your arrival,
peace departed; cut
the brake lines
and got the hell
out of Dodge, with
my sanity riding shotgun.
© Nicole Lyons 2017
fourteen years and a half.
Loss and grief and memory – rendered amazing
my rhythm,
fourteen years and a half has passed
yet somewhere your beat
still resonates,
for i remain not much
but a collection of stories
bound in a novel of erased memories.
you echo.
i remember neither the sound of your laughter,
nor the way you whispered my name.
or how ever our air bent to collect your voice
and deliver, the cherished baritone
of your lips,
unscathed and treasured
within my years
for i like a fool, failed to revere words,
whose absence today
haunts me.
you pulsate.
we remain truly torn
yet i find myself tangled in these strings,
bearing the throb of your veins
like a drum, rolling upon my skin,
and i shiver for those million whips
osculate the blood within,
and they rise
to match your tempo.
you reverberate.
an autumn wind
beats against barren branches
whence no leaves dance to,
and I am engulfed…
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* To die or not to die
A teacher on TV drug adds
That is the question you must ask yourself when you watch TV commercials for almost every medication advertised. But let’s back up. First, you see lovely people in distress because of diabetes, heart disease, arthritis, urinary problems, depression, and whatever.
Then you see what medication can do for these miserable folks. You will undoubtedly fall in love, have the happiest family ever, and run 20 miles a day without breaking a sweat.
Finally, because the government has ruled that we must know what could REALLY happen if you take those pills, the looong list of warnings is recited calmly as we watch the deliriously medicated folks:
- fatal allergic reactions
- heart attacks
- cancer
- even greater depression
- kidney failure
- liver failure
- dementia
- uncontrollable bleeding
- erections lasting more than 4 hours
- strokes
- death
- death
- death.
Hmm, I think I might pass on the meds.
All The King’s Horses
Veronike outlasts the no sayers – poem
Removing Oneself from the Equation
A poem by Jessica with a thought many have likely had.
Say you never hurt me. Say it again.
Because maybe then, as you say it, it will be true.
Yes, this is how we are now. This is how we’ve always been,
You’ve just ignored your part in the process.
As you said, actions speak louder than words,
and, baby, your actions are a fucking war zone.
Go ahead, say you never hurt me.
The scars on my heart tell a different story.
cabbagesandkings524 