the truth about death

death is a character;
a menace, terror, and unfocused
nuisance
yet we yield to
its power

who would we be
if we tried to
fight it–how much time
would we waste

no one knows
and no one wants
to know

What Am I Supposed to Feel? NaPoWriMo#28

Some of the plants in my best friend’s plant therapy room. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

What Am I Supposed To Feel?

I feel nothing.
I’m supposed to feel
something . . .
Something is supposed to
hit me, shake me,
break me into
some semblance of
acceptance — 
isn’t it?

But
there’s nothing there.
I want to be happy.
I want to feel relieved.
I want to celebrate like
the majority of this
world but I know
this is far from over.
The damage is done
and really, how do
we undo it?

Where can we start?
What needs to take place?
So many movements.
So many lives lost
and this one victory
tap-dances on our hearts
and it feels . . . 
other-worldly — as if
the programming of its
occurrence hasn’t reached
the highest ratings and
we’re still waiting for
the go-ahead to
breathe.

I still have unearthed
breaths tucked in from
unjustified killings
stabbing me in
my gut — I can’t find
an endpoint.
There is no safe
zone.

And people laugh
and clap their hands
loudly and join along
in the grand hoopla
of it all while I
shelter-in-place with my
damaged spirit.

Tell me, what am I
supposed to feel?
I carry this verdict
with me, bury it in
my faulty vision, blink
away the madness of it
all, then settle on
the unclear view.

“It’s a start,” someone
says and I can’t help
but hear my trapped voice
rebut, “It’s your start.
I’m finished.”


Justice delayed is justice denied. — William E. Gladstone


Originally published on Medium.

Feeling the Feelings

A Lamentation

Have we always been so
bad at being human or
did we arrive at this point
over time? 
Is inhumanity ingrained
in our souls and passed
down to generations after us?

We’re flailing about in time
knocking down common sense
and running over logic.
I’ve had my share of selfish
people and my stomach is full
of disdain for my brethren
who’d rather skip rules
and toe a harsher line.

One day, the spirit of togetherness
will envelop us and mark us
with its care.
But first, we must crawl out
of our shells and move closer
toward acceptance of others.

On my dying day,
I want to be remembered
as a task manager who
managed to love everyone
but right now, I am nowhere
close to that.

I hope I still have time left.
I want to still have time left.
Please let me have more time.


Originally published via Medium.

The Funeral

Microfiction

Photo by Wojtek Mich via Unsplash

She laid his suit out on the bed. A freshly pressed blue shirt. His favorite speckled necktie. Blue and black cufflinks.

He would look great at his final foray into the crowd. She’ll remember him fondly. His crooked smile. His hopeful laugh. The nasty nights of arguing. So many nights of arguing.

He never saw the machete she wielded in her hand. His last words were, “I never meant to . . .”

She doesn’t miss him as much as she thought she would.


Originally published in The Weekly Knob via Medium.

The Dare

“Underwater Experiments” microfiction challenge

Photo by engin akyurt via Unsplash

She maneuvered underwater like a mermaid. She took to it naturally. The task at hand, the dare . . . Hold her breath for six minutes. Easy Peasy, she thought.

She flailed about rhythmically, flowing with the current. She smiled at the fish that swam by, encouraging her confidence.

A sudden tremor in her legs . . . A hiccup in the plan. Four minutes passed but she was losing air. Could she? Would she . . . Make it?

This, we’ll never know.


This is my contribution to end the Microfiction Addiction “Underwater Experiments” challenge in A Cornered Gurl. We had a great turnout with fourteen submissions, all of which, have been published and can be found by visiting our “Community” tab in the publication. It was a fun challenge and I am glad many took part in it.