Your Name is a Scar

Stephanie Bennett-Henry – a scar of sweet memory

Stephanie Bennett-Henry

Maybe we didn’t come out of this unscathed, but so? The best things in life leave some kind of mark for a reason. And love, you branded me in the most amazing way. My heart will never be the same now, all for the better, nothing less.There’s a scar across my heart filled with the moments we made and the moments that made us. I carved it there with my own bare hands as a reminder of all we were. I marked it permanent and deep, shaped like your eyes, and I left enough room to add more of those memories from your smile. Sometimes I trace the scar with my fingers, feel each letter of your name just to have you close to me one more time, it’s the most perfect scar I have ever studied. It doesn’t hurt. You didn’t hurt me, you healed me. That is why…

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Carta

TheFeatheredSleep – Maps left blank

TheFeatheredSleep

A letter

Is no letter

If it’s written at night as you lie

Staring at oscelating overhead fan

Hearing in its medicate purr the things you cannot alter

A letter

Unwritten

Is simply a wish

Searching for diety

Perhaps it will never find

A God willing

Or time will dissect

Impulse

Those words, carefully written out

To articulate the sounds

You hear chiming in your heart

Continue unheard

So instead, you join the mass of humanity

As they embark

Every morning with first train

A legion of

Unwritten emotion

On the tip of their

Blistered tongues

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Chasing Sandcastles

Christine Ray – A poem to one lost on the tide.

Brave & Reckless

you feel

impossibly distant

elusive

the receding tide

chasing sandcastles

before they are reclaimed

by rushing waters

our connection

has become reduced to

collisions in the dark

that throw us

off balance

knees and

hearts

left aching

I have been

studying the language

of oceans

gazing out

at the horizon

until the

sea blurs

before my eyes

I try to read

the omens

throw the bones

in the crashing

waves

play of light

rippling on the water

surf whispers

over and over

to me that

you are gone

the current has

carried you

far beyond my reach

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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The Faux Outrage over Michelle Wolf’s WHCD Remarks and Motivated Reasoning and Other Cognitive Tom Fuckery

Calico Jack breaks down to misdirected fuss about what Michelle Wolf said about Sarah Huckabee Sanders.

The Psy of Life

Unless you’ve been stuck deep in a subterranean parking garage far far away from any 4G or wifi connection, then you’ve heard about the controversy over Michelle Wolf’sinsults of Sarah Huckabee Sanders’ appearance. How she went after her looks and it was terrible because we never insult someone over their looks because that would be bullying because you can’t really change your looks and it would really hurt someone’s feelings if you called them a fat slob or remarked on their face not being pretty enough to be president or their eyes being all sleepy and shit. You know, like that. And, we all know that the outrage is spread evenly like butter on toast at a dinner during the breakfast rush across the political world. Anyone who insults another person’s looks gets called out no matter where they are on the political spectrum, no matter who they are…

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Cross-legged

TheFeatheredSleep – A woman sits on a train. Simple? Oh, there’s more to it than that.

TheFeatheredSleep

The compartment car is mostly steel

Or some approximate

Covered with the languid stains left

Of embarkation

She

Has thick calves

A girl told her once, as they sat cross-legged deciding whether to emulate

A kissing scene from The Breakfast Club

She was no Molly, her legs had strength, once she danced from midnight to 5am in a cage

For fifty dollars and now she knows

How long she can stand, without needing to stop.

The linoleum is probably doused in chemicals

Every Thursday by a white haired man with heavy shoulders, from stooping

Her skin touched the plastic, hotly

And like a rejected lover, pulled away, only to return when

The train drew a breath and weazed into another

Convulsion of movement

Her hands

Prematurely wrinkled

From painting and the liberal use of terpentine

Back then she paid no heed, dropping cigarette ash

Hoping for fire.

A lover once…

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Damaged (revisited)

Christine Ray – Who gets to define brokenness?

Brave & Reckless

I sit with myself

in uncomfortable silence

suppressed screams

ringing in my ears

tears running down my face

again

All my demons

all my insecurities

have come out to play today

mocking me with laughter

taunting voices

sing-song in my head

Shit mother

Shit wife

Shit niece

Shit cousin

Shit friend

Shit human being

over and over

an endless loop

of recrimination

on days like this

I can’t even remember who

I am anymore

I don’t know

what is mine to claim

I am no one

I am pain

I read an essay right before Christmas

calling for compassion

for those “poor unfortunate souls”

who are depressed over the holidays

who engage in self-harm

who contemplate suicide

the author referred to them as “damaged”

my hackles went up

“Only I get to call me damaged, lady,”

I wanted to angrily respond

only I get to define the frantic dance

my neural…

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Poetry in Motion

Christine Ray celebrates a loving.

Brave & Reckless

Your palms remember

warm silk of my skin

when they travel the contours of

my curves and edges

Your lips remember

my coffee scented kiss

softness into fierceness

yielding into claiming

Your fingers remember

shape of my hip

what it is to cradle my head

when you draw me ever closer

in the poetry we write

together in tangled sheets

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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Family photo

TheFeatheredSleep – Memory stirred by photo

TheFeatheredSleep

Draw a line in sand

She’s the border of one side and the other

At times unteathered

Without prediction

There’s a mystique to change if it’s bidden

And if not …

Galloping down flights of stairs in Wellington boots

Doors unlatched, bodies surge toward the wild

Leaving behind tables of cups and saucers

A black current stain on her dress, she didn’t

Care what others thought

Letting little boys see her private parts, beneath the weeping willow

Hers was the reaction

A swinging, uncovered, naked lightbulb

Denied its right to be switched off, to sleep without searching hand

She learned, the way of obedience, had a sharp taste in her throat

Better climb out, scale the walls, tear your hands than

Be mounted with his collection on a pinkering wall

To dessicate and lose color, for each pulse of his filthy yen

A gamble necessary to quit and never look…

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The Unproductive, Malignant, Narcissism WATCH: Fox & Friends Edition

Calico Jack reviews a call to Fox And Friends by a fellow named Trump.

The Psy of Life

Sentry_(Painting_by_Mednyánszky)MediumThe Watch: Unproductive, Malignant, Narcissistic

Regular readers here already know what I’m going to say. They recognized it in real time as it was happening, so I don’t want to take a lot of space up here with it. As we all are painfully aware, last Thursday the Ol’ Pussy Grabber dropped his wee lil’ tweeter from his stubby chubbies long enough to putFox and Friends on speaker phone — and what ever sound dampening he has in his toilet room, I want in mine; it didn’t sound like he was talking while sitting on his throne at all except for the occasional grunt and sigh — so he could chat about the day’s events.

And this week’s events filled the Ol’ Pussy Grabber’s brain with such anxiety that he had to do something! Say what you will about him, he is a man of action! Impulsive action that…

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