Mother wit

Does my son mourn for the loss of his mother?
What does unconditional love feel like
When the expectations stacked so high
to build the tallest straw man,
hollow man,
beautiful appearance man,
a college man,
a student man,
a want-to-make-you-proud man,
addicted-to-the-drama man,
so do you miss your mama, man?
Which one do you miss, man?
Shall I call you son instead?
Or would that be weird after we wed?

Wanted you for me, man,
and wished you were a soul mate.
One of many, fighting fate.
Guess we lost and it’s too late.
Unless you’d like to really wait.
And prove you’ll never give up, man.
No one wants the weak man, sad man.
Should you fight the man, man,
then we’ll see your goals and plan, man.
Show your passionate side, man.
That’s how you’ll be defined, man.
Not by some weird past, okay?

My son, I can’t be your mom anymore.
I’ve always fucking hated chores.
You think I always get my way, son?
All my battles easily won, son?
Could not be further from the truth, son.
So many times I’ve given up my fun, son.
I wish I could make you better, man.
But you must give it all you got, man.
Seize your moment, man.
Choose your battles, man.
You’ll be all right, man.
Don’t mourn the loss of your mother, man.
She never was a mother, man.
Didn’t know how to raise one
that was older than she. And she was old already.
Life not over yet, working forever.

Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.

The middle name in a house, in a home,
shrouded in dark secrets and contrived plots.
And the second, third, and fourth:
they were not mothers and you could not be their father.
Fairy tale spells and timeless norms could not be applied!
Nice try, man.
Know what to give up, man.
It’s not your life, man.
It’s the chains, man. The fears, man.

Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.

Stop chanting, man.
Quiet your mind, man.
Don’t give up, man.
Evolve, man.
Already-proved-yourself man.
Just-believe-in-yourself man.
Ignore all else, man.
Good luck, man.

The Should Do List

I should get more air.

I should get some exercise.

I should drink less coffee.

I should drink more water.

I should run.

I should believe in myself.

I should love more.

I should lie less.

I should trust my friends more.

I should give less fucks.

I should be more honest.

I should get less hurt.

I should take my dog for more walks.

I should eat less sugar.

I should smile more.

I should complain less.

I should do something with my anger.

I should write more.

I should watch less TV.

I should organize my time.

I should put more value on time.

I should eat more vegetables.

I should bake more.

I should be healthier.

I should lurk less.

I should get more sleep.

I should get a new phone.

I should spend more time recycling.

I should think less.

I should think more.

I should listen to more music.

I should spend less money.

I should want less stuff.

I should pay more bills.

I should organize my finances.

I should work on my anxiety.

I should confront my fears.

I should clean my room more often.

I should work on keeping my room clean.

I should work on staying in touch.

I should be happier saying goodbye.

I should get off the computer more.

I should go for a hike.

I should appreciate autumn.

I should appreciate winter.

I should appreciate spring.

I should see more sun in the summer.

I should sing in the shower.

I should dance while I work.

I should …should…should…should…

Does ‘should’ even look like a real word anymore?

I should write a “To Do” list.

The Worst Thing

It’s selfish and conceited, but sometimes I like to think I was your worst.

I was this little period in your life that you swallow pills to forget

I was the worst thing to ever happen to you

I kept you up all night, tossing in your bed, while thoughts went round your head

Like who the fuck is she, and did she mean what she said?

I’m a little piece of nightmare that got stuck in your dream teeth.

I’m the ghost devil on your shoulder, that you really thought was dead

And every so often you recall what I did

And think shit what did I get into, and can it never happen again.


I was conceited when I loved you, I was selfish when I left

I tossed words without abandon, I belittled what we had

Misery loves company, was my battle cry

I hung the phrase on all my banners, and let harsh words fall from my lips

Each second I felt scorned I thought would be my last

Every teardrop that fell from my eye you knew I blamed on you

I stuck a dagger in your chest, hoping to rake through

Your ribs and crack them down to dust


I love to imagine how I was the worst thing to ever happen to you

And in that I will be immortalized

That slanderous tale told at a cabin, and ghost story for the young

A cautionary tale of psycho bitches and what can come undone

A warning for your friends, a comedy for the bored,

A thank-your-lucky-stars-it-wasn’t-you for the unappreciative ignored

I will outlive all the rest, based on my infamy of horribleness


And then I feel downright bad.


Because I loved you in the moment, I treasured what we had

I trusted every word you spoke, believed each lie you said –

I think we both did – and when I started believing I was the

Worst thing that could happen to you, that I was crazy and insane,

I ran away and still blame you, even if it’s all in vain


Because I am the worst thing to ever happen to you

I wouldn’t call myself advantaged.

I am entitled to my belongings, my house, my car. I have worked hard for what I have. If you do not have these things, I guess you have not worked as hard as me.

I was born in the right place at the right time. Everyone was. It is the way it is, because it has always been this way. It’s what we know, and therefore it is right.

I want and so I have. I was taught, and so it is. I deserve good things in life. I feel the world owes me something. I mean, come on, I am here. I have a mouth, and it needs to taste sweet food. I have ears, and they deserve music.  I have a back, and it should lie on something soft at night. I have eyes, they should see pretty things.

Of this I am deserving. It is my right.

I am a person. I deserve respect. If you don’t have respect, it must because you have done something dirty, repulsive, bad. The world is fair and just. You will be punished solely on your actions so choose wisely – as I have.

The sun shines down on me and the rain waters the earth. I experience no famine. I have never felt the thirsty draught. It is because I am righteous and I pray. I will always have bounty enough for me and my family.

Of this I am deserving. It is my right.

Oh you ignorant fools who complain that the world is unjust. There are people sleeping outside while others are squandering riches. You are stupid.

Everything is as it should be. The prosperous have offered jobs with pay, built houses and are willing to sell them, trade for exotic food so that you may taste the world. Stop being lazy and ungrateful and simply take what is being offered to you.

If you are poor, work harder. If you are hungry, eat. If you are unattractive, do something about it. You control your life. There are no external factors at work. Look at me. I have these things. I must deserve them.

My life is free of war, terror. I am a good person, because I do no wrong to others. I have not been bullied and things have not been hard.

Of this I am deserving. It is my right.

Why Not Wednesday?

To all those F***ers who tell people to pray in times of trouble and think that you have done enough.

Sometimes “Godly” people amaze me. Sometimes I wonder if they have even contemplated what they believe in.

Whether or not you believe in God, He is a spiritual entity. If you are cold, he cannot warm you. You must light the fire. If you are hungry, he cannot feed you. You must put bread to your lips. If you are tired, he cannot give you energy. You must rest.

Christians sing, “Pray to God in your times of troubles!” They see that there are bad things in the world that are caused by people, that must be fixed by people. Yet, if you cry out, “I am in need of help!” they only respond, “Pray more.”  Your closest Christian friends do not offer to take you out for coffee; they do not offer a listening ear; they offer not a shoulder to cry on.” Yet they tell you to pray – as if you have not been praying every waking moment of your life.

It is easy to pray, it is easy to be happy when your life is full of riches, of close community and you live away from the sins of the world. They shut themselves out of reality and sing the praises of God without ever being tested. It must be nice. Maybe I’ll pray for that.

Why Not Wednesday?

An ethical dilemma
before the job starts

advertise for something
you’d never buy

not only would you not buy it
you wouldn’t wrap it
in a box with bows
or sign your name in the card

you’d pretend you’ve never
been near or heard of
this thing in your life

and here you are,
sword in hand so you might
take a stab in the dark

how to make this
bull shit look like
a heart-shaped box
of chocolates.

short skirts and low cut tops

This abysmal dismissal of relevant info
a picture taken out of context
a portrait of a young woman
standing alone, skirt hiked up
and breasts pushed out,

“more cleavage”
someone shouts from off set.
“they’ll take care of that in editing”
someone replies

she shuts her ears, hears not the noise
but attempts to only feel the power
in being a role model to young girls,
because I’m happy with my body,
she thinks

but destroys the twelve year old girl
who can’t match that chest or that posture,
hunched over in shame as she is,
never mind that flat stomach – guess
she’s not doing enough crunches

time to get a gym membership at fourteen,
maybe an eating disorder in a couple years
has to plan for the future
has to make her role model proud

strap by strap, a teen laces up the gladiator heels
she saw in vogue – saved a year for them, didn’t you know –
matched that magazine outfit bit for bit
birthdays and holidays combined
got just the right skirt for just the right sweater
just like in that seventeen

a little awkward, those new clothes on the first day,
making minor readjustments
overkill on the confidence
to hide the lack thereof
a few compliments from friends
and a smile ensues

then the whispers from the teachers
and someone coughs ‘slut’ as she walks by
and that magazine model and that
carefully planned outfit – straight from page 22 –
gets kicked to the curb in a cloud of
whorish dust

you should be ashamed
her mom said
and all the magazine said was
on sale for 4.99
buy me and your dreams will come true

but that’s how the promise is packaged

false advertising isn’t always easy to spot

and no one tells you it comes with the label “slut”
no extra charge