What Was With That Poem I Once Wrote?

My heart spilled out in words I could not say —
Written with blood dripped from thorns of disapproval,
On petals plucked with
Wishes, that destroyed the flower but at least —
They fell in a pleasant pattern at your feet.

Things not visible on my face —
Or maybe so if you ever thought to look,
If you ever cared to, if you ever dared to —
We could’ve written a book, a collaborative effort
To make a space for people like me.

A picture painted of love and lust and passion and mistrust —
Despite the time I imagined we spent together,
Somehow I crawled like an ant up a sand dune during a monsoon
Unrequited, though I told myself undecided —
As if I had a choice.

Emotions that I could not explain —
Obsession, compulsion, depression, despair
Laid waste to the page, my soul laid bare,
My depravity displayed, codified there —
For your condemnation.

– Written for Poets United Midweek Motif: Writing Poetry. Why Write Poetry? and/or What Is Poetry? Consider limiting yourself to addressing one poem rather than generalizing.
The poem I referenced for my response is called Depraved. It was the first poem I ever had published.

Mundane Monday Challenge #149: Words/Characters/Books


– PhoTrablogger’s Mundane Monday Challenge #149: Words/Characters/Books. Find the beauty in the mundane. Photo ©2018 Leara Nicole Morris-Clark.

The Reverent Cows

The coffee arrived and my usual, The Bovine’s Udder Delight, was being prepared.

I’ve always enjoyed having Sunday brunch downtown at The Painted Cow, on the corner of Vine and Henderson. The girls there knew me by name and saved my favorite outside table for me every week. I hung my tote from the chair and sat in the shade of the two brightly painted cows that stood guard over me. The coffee arrived and my usual, The Bovine’s Udder Delight, was being prepared. I took out my notebook and began people watching for inspiration.

The innocence of children,
The courage of youth,
The sensibility of adulthood,
The wisdom of age,
Meet at the crossroads for a quick respite.
The painted cows welcome all who wish to rest in their shadows.

I looked up from my writing in time to notice a child smiling and pointing at my reverent guardians. We briefly made eye contact so I smiled back and gave him a quick wave, which he responded to with a giggle and shyly hid his face in his mother’s hair.

The cows continued to observe silently.

– Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: 59th Challenge. WC 174
Photo prompt provided by S. Writings.

Cows