Her old man died. She’d never forget that day. Coming into the house after canning peaches all day in the shed, and finding him laid out on the carpet, a halo of red surrounding his head. She’d known he had guns – had often felt safer and protected knowing they were within reach – but somehow, she had never considered their potential use for self-destruction. Now she wished that firearms had never been created.
Fifty years from now,
a highly prized,
or even qualify as
I always was
ahead of my
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Today my sister would have turned 43 if she hadn’t prematurely ended her life around 8 years ago. I still miss her deeply. Part of me is glad she is out of pain, as she struggled horribly with mental illness, physical pain, and serious addiction issues, but most of me just wishes things would have been different. I don’t hold any real anger towards her final action, but there is a lot of sorrow and wondering exactly what was the final straw.
Has suicide ever touched your life personally? Have you lost a friend, family member, or other important person that way? If so, how do you deal with painful occasions like their birthdays/anniversaries/etc.?
I fear I may be
the unfortunate reincarnation
of Sylvia Plath.
Born fifty years to the day
from her initial entrance,
I draw the parallels
between our lives –
lines that connect
far more than astrology.
Both of us poets,
living through our literary confessions.
Desperate to be taken seriously –
a gift freely granted
to the masculine,
but almost impossible to achieve
with a soft voice and gentle hands.
Both with daddy complexes
due to the abandonment
of an early death,
we seek that missing link
in other men
(some more worthwhile
Our final connection results
in a morbidly strengthened bond –
a certain disregard
for our own lives.
We dream of being free
from this earthly game,
but lack the forbearance
for a lengthy battle.
Instead, we choose to dream of release –
and in our darker moments,
even plan it.
I am not afraid to die –
but I am not yet
unafraid of living.
I’m not sure I have ever written truer words than the 3-line poem above. This little gem came to me while taking a bath last night, so I repeated it to myself like a mantra until I got out of the tub and could write it down.
It is true that I am not afraid of death. I am a bit afraid of the actual feeling of dying, mostly because of the instinctual anxiety I fear it would bring. However, I am not afraid of being dead. In fact, I rather look forward to it. If there is something after death, it will be awesome to explore and find out what else is out there. If there is nothing after death, it will just be like the times I have passed out or been put out for surgery…simply a loss of consciousness which often sounds like a relief in itself. No more worrying. No more pain. No more anxiety or depression.
However, living is scary. Knowing I may have years and years of dealing with anxiety and depression ahead of me. Knowing that I will likely suffer from chronic pain and chronic illness until I die. Knowing that my degenerative conditions will likely worsen with time. Fearing that my husband may get sick or die and I will be alone. Fearing financial ruin. Fearing homelessness. Fearing potentially abusive situations. Fearing the entire planet going to shit (a justifiable fear from my point of view). Fearing that I may end up committing suicide if life becomes unbearable (not the ending I would desire for my life).
Here are a few more Elfchen poems (5 line poems that have the following number of words per line: Line 1 = 1 word, 2 = 2 words, 3 = 3 words, 4 = 4 words, 5 = 1 word, the words on line 1 and line 5 should not be the same word).
open those cuts
and suction the blood
the orange gremlin
in the white house?
on the cover
of a paperback novel
(My apologies to any Trump supporters for #2 lol, as you can tell, I am not a supporter)
(For #3 I just had to write something because I love the name Potemkin)
I came across these “Twittering Tales” writing prompts yesterday and thought it looked like a lot of fun. The challenge is to take a photo prompt and write a short story, poem, or whatever comes to mind, but you have to keep it under 280 characters, just like a tweet on Twitter. I decided to go ahead and write a twittering tale for last week’s prompt as well as this week’s prompt.
Here is the one I came up with for last week’s prompt (photo from Pixabay):
Hearts and stars. Hearts and stars. Simple shapes that any preschool child could identify, but symbolic of so much more.
The heart…love, obsession, passion, heartwarming, heartbreaking, blood pumping.
The star…cosmic, mysticism, alchemy, popularity, holidays, holy days.
And here is the second prompt (photo also from Pixabay). This one took a bit of a dark turn, but it was what came to mind for some reason:
It starts with one word:
Helium. A harmless word? Parties. Balloons floating around the room. Rough, gruff voices becoming chipmunk squeaks.
Or do you picture tragedy? Helium tanks hooked up to hoses. Bodies lying still with bags over their heads. Voluntary euthanasia. The end.
Let me know if you guys enjoyed these. Maybe I’ll do more!
Sword Care Instructions
By: Maranda Russell
dust the bejeweled hilt
and place the sword
in clean purple cloth.
you may admire its sparkle
but do not take internally,
as metal is poisonous
and organs puncture easily.