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It’s not true
what they said
failure
always an option
in all life-threatening and non-life-threatening
situations
Prediction. If I am gazed upon by the sun, I will burn. My skin will peel. Repeat until I get skin cancer and die. That’s failure or success, depending on your life view.
It doesn’t have to hurt
for me to like the feel
of shallow skin torn from deeper depths.
Not all cuticles run so deep
but removal
makes the edges of my being warm.
I might go to professionals
who tinker and snip
but I don’t wish for nails that are better kept.
I wish for jagged, uneven splits
to be savored and fantasized about
to be at climax torn.
I yelled at my brother because he wronged us, because he wronged me. My aunt is suffering through cancer treatment that will most likely result in her death, but the odds being what they are and her will to live being what it is, there’s no other option. I yelled at my brother because he wants to believe she doesn’t know what’s going on. That she’s drugged up. That she mindlessly drifts in and out of a slumber from which she remembers nothing.
She’s conscious, you idiot.
I realized that he wants to believe—and the rest of them as well—that she’s dying without pain. I think it’s cruel of me, but I tell him, no, she is not out of it and she feels lonely and unloved and how could you not call her ahead of time to say you changed your mind and weren’t going be there?
I don’t know what it’s like to be her. In my own narrow-mindedness, I think I would like being alone. It’s heartbreaking, though, to see someone alone who doesn’t want to be. To figure out that your friends and your family are no where to be found. That you have less than a handful of caring people who visit you and a niece you were never close to as your primary source of support.
So I yelled at my brother, because he has illusions of his own good-guy and godly grandeur. He will tell you about Jesus, if you want. He will invite you to church. He’ll tell you God will set you free, but I imagine he would look puzzled if you asked him if he actually follows the WWJD mentality. For example, would Jesus bail on His aunt? How would my brother have felt if he were left to rot within the confines of four white walls and a number on his back? The rest of my family, they will shoot the breeze with you. They’ll adamantly make promises and say they are 100% behind you…unless they are out any gas money to come see you.
So, there you’ll be. Alone when you don’t want to be. Unloved. A chore and a burden. Outright, no one even bothers to say you’re not a bother.
You are a bother. You will continue to be a bother. Can you die now and let us bury you in the mud where you won’t take up our time and energy?
So I’ve made matters worse, at least for him. Now in addition to my unaccommodating aunt and her silly sickness, I have inconvenienced my brother with my anger. Why do you have to be like that, he asks. I repeat his question with bitterness in my voice.
I hang up.
Most of the time, she fancies herself unstable but really, she is just incompetent. Really, she’s just a fraud. Really, she is just addicted to feeling sorry for herself.
Today, she would rather sit and stare at the stone-colored zipper on her fleece jacket than anything else, besides sleep. She thinks about how she could get a break and sympathy and peace and more sleep time. She thinks about perfectly packaged accidents and momentary quiet.
Nothing is worse than numbness, she thinks. But at other times, she thinks, nothing is worse than feeling. She’d cry but the crocodile tears have run dry. Her soul has run dry.
She’s been lucky and nothing more up to this point, but she’s about to be found out.
Life is meandering and stupid
Let’s get to the fucking punchline already
Let’s laugh at everyone else
and pretend none of the pretention applies to us
Let’s point and stare at all the idiots
Let’s be above them
Let’s ruin our days, years, lives
and never know what for
or why or how come
Let’s do this because we have been patiently waiting for the funny part of the joke like cattle going to the slaughter.
*Written by emerging poet extraordinaire, Straight Up Carol
To my dearest.
Fuck you for leaving me. I actually loved you.
I actually loved you and that is why I am hurting so much
even now after all this time.
You seem to be doing fine and I am still openly hurting.
Fuck you for not loving me enough
maybe you didn’t even love me at all. Fuck you.
Haiku Poems: On What I Won’t Experience with the New Him
fingers through your hair
the feel of just-mown lawn grass
sparks fly with my touch
so you want to go back
Japan is lovely I hear
no more me to see
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
Your Sympathies: