I dreamt of you
today
though I didn’t see your face
I knew
it was you
the number was seven
and it was bright yellow
Advertisements
SOB with me
Blog Stats
- 29,228 hits
Drugged-Up Dabblings:
About burning About him About me about writing About you advice affliction A Happy Poem A Little Angry Best Not blog Confession Confusion Crazy darling Depression: mild Depression: moderate Depression: Severe Dual Meanings Environment Explore Fiction grief hag/fag How to I'll Do You I Thought You'd Like To Know Light and airy as I get love Morbidly Funny More than a little angry Mourning non-fiction Not about him Poem Questions & Questioning Rambling Reflection relationships solo Temp to my dearest travel Uncategorized unfinished business Wander We'd Name Our Child Pookie WE ARE PROFESSIONAL DAMMIT
EMAIL ME
at MedicatedLady@yahoo.com, loria29@gmail.com
Or Facebook Me: www.facebook.com/loriataylor3
Your Sympathies:
The Black Cloud of Tags
adoption
Afghanistan
aging
Air Force John
anger
anticipatory grief
aunt
bindo
bitterness
blog
bloggers
blogging
books
breakups
Bryan
bryan borland
cancer
Creative Writing
Dating
death
dog
dying
email
ex-boyfriend
family
friends
grief
Guilt
Happiness
How to
inspiration
interview
knowing
leigh binder
life
Lone Survivor
loss
lost
love
luminous hair
mania
Marcus Luttrell
meaning
medicatedlady
Medicated Lady
medication
men
menz
Mother
nepal
pain
past
Poem
poeticgrin
Poetry
Poppy
punctuation
reading
Reflection
relationships
remembering
right-wing
sadness
sex
shit
suffering
Taliban
texting
time
to my dearest
war
witness
writer
writers
Writing
CopyScape
Blogroll
- A 1,000 Voices
- A Collection of Perceptions
- Awkward Family Photos
- Coffee Stains and Cigarette Burns
- Down In Me
- Firefly Chronicles
- Fuck You, Penquin
- LaMar. So, here's hoping.
- mariana
- Patrice Lynne Young
- Paul Squires
- Postsecrets.com
- Ramblings of a Medicated Lady
- Savage Chickens
- SHAKE: The Poetry of Bryan Borland
- The Mess Pot
- The Odd Inkwell
- Uncle Tree
- Utopian Fragments
- vox poetica
Old, like I feel.
- May 2017 (2)
- June 2016 (1)
- April 2016 (1)
- January 2016 (3)
- December 2015 (3)
- November 2014 (1)
- July 2014 (1)
- June 2014 (6)
- September 2013 (1)
- July 2013 (1)
- June 2013 (2)
- May 2013 (5)
- April 2013 (2)
- March 2013 (3)
- February 2013 (4)
- January 2013 (1)
- November 2012 (5)
- October 2012 (1)
- September 2012 (1)
- August 2012 (2)
- July 2012 (4)
- June 2012 (3)
- May 2012 (3)
- April 2012 (1)
- March 2012 (2)
- February 2012 (3)
- January 2012 (8)
- December 2011 (7)
- November 2011 (2)
- October 2011 (1)
- September 2011 (3)
- August 2011 (3)
- July 2011 (2)
- June 2011 (1)
- May 2011 (1)
- April 2011 (3)
- March 2011 (2)
- February 2011 (3)
- January 2011 (2)
- November 2010 (4)
- October 2010 (4)
- September 2010 (6)
- August 2010 (7)
- July 2010 (3)
- June 2010 (4)
- May 2010 (11)
- April 2010 (8)
- March 2010 (8)
- February 2010 (14)
- January 2010 (9)
- December 2009 (5)
- November 2009 (8)
- October 2009 (15)
- September 2009 (15)
- August 2009 (17)
- July 2009 (23)
- June 2009 (24)
- May 2009 (23)
- April 2009 (28)
- March 2009 (19)
- February 2009 (22)
- January 2009 (32)
- December 2008 (18)
- November 2008 (20)
- October 2008 (21)
- September 2008 (8)
2 comments
Comments feed for this article
March 30, 2009 at 12:46 pm
poeticgrin
I’m sure you shielded your eyes from the unbearable light.
MEMORY: I’m seven years old and stung by a yellowjacket.
April 6, 2009 at 8:46 pm
Patrice
You’ve been so prolific… and all I do is work right now… (and sleep)… I hope to catch up soon…
meanwhile:
I love this little poem for Brian. And having been the victim of many a yellow jacket gang, I can identify.
Yellow doesn’t always mean a smiley face…