Poetry – Memory Collector

I collect memories,
or perhaps, more accurately,
they collect me. 

They've taken over the bed
and the bedroom.
They've wandered down the hall
to congregate in the guest room.
Still too crowded, some migrate
to the couch, the stove, and the fridge.
A few have even taken up swimming
in the bathtub
or driving my old Saturn.

Like Tribbles,
or Gremlins,
they multiply fast -
and require constant supervision.

Poetry: Narcissistic Games

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She could never let me sleep.
That would put us
on equal footing
and allow me
to be fully awake
and aware.

Instead,
she would sneak into my room,
shake me awake
and cry loud, calculated tears
while I practiced
hiding my true feelings
and tried my hardest
to become a limp, gray rock
held barely out of reach.

Poetry – When I Was Hit By a Truck

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Not many 10-year-olds
could be hit
by a speeding
delivery truck
while crossing the street
and live
to tell the tale…
but I always was
a weird statistic.

The truck ran
me over
with the ease
of a speed bump.
I even had the
tire tracks
and imbedded gravel
across my stomach
to prove it.

When I woke up
in the ER
I screamed out the names
of all the people
I was going to sue…
until my mother
bought my silence by
bribing me
with the promise
of a brand new
Barbie doll.

(Poetry by Maranda Russell, marandarussell.com)

Poetry: Paper Doll

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I’m a paper doll
with third degree burns.
Dress me up,
make me pretty,
and please, simply ignore
all the raw, peeling flesh
falling onto the floor.

(Poetry by Maranda Russell, marandarussell.com)

 

Poetry: Waiting for the Doctor

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Waiting for the Doctor
By: Maranda Russell

Perch on the edge
kick the drawers down below
lay back
wish I had a pillow
turn to the side
curl up in a ball
poke a hole
through the thick
tissue paper cover
read the poster
about acid reflux
for the 15th time
flip onto back again
count the ceiling tiles
12 in all
play with the blood pressure
thingy on the wall
stand up
run the water in the sink
look through the cabinets
hear doorknob start to turn
hop back onto examination table
try to look innocent.

Insidious

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Insidious?
Hollywood?
Ghosts?
Demons?
Give me a break.
Insidious
is that part of me
I can’t get away from.

~ Maranda Russell

Angry at the Grass

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The grass waves at me
but I don’t feel like
greeting it back.
Must be so simple
to just sway in the wind,
no worries
no cares,
everything you have
the sun painted on your back.
It almost makes me glad
you’ll soon be mown down.

~ Maranda Russell

The Problem is Me

Art by Maranda Russell

The following is a poem about depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder:

The Problem is Me
Written By: Maranda Russell

The problem is me.
The problem has always been me.
It wouldn’t matter
where I go,
where I live,
what house I call home,
who is at my side,
who is under my feet,
who is in power,
or what is going on –
the problem remains
as long
as the problem is me.

The Idea of People

"Lust and Envy" by Maranda Russell

The Idea of People
Written By: Maranda Russell

I love the idea of people,
but I must admit
the reality
often fails to meet
my high expectations.

Why Stars Explode

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Why Stars Explode
Written By: Maranda Russell

Feeling lonely tonight,
wondering if the night sky
knows how I feel –
it seems like she would.

All that emptiness,
the vast space between each star,
perhaps that is the real reason stars explode –
not because of heat,
not because of age,
but simply due to the overwhelming shadow
cast by their own isolation.