Dead Inside
By
Serena Mossgraves
The problem with life
Is expectations are so high
So much drama and the cost of pride.
It leaves everyone feeling
Like they might just be
Dead inside.
It drills holes in the soul
For emotion to crawl into
To hide.
Grief
By
Serena Mossgraves
Wallowing,
in the darkness
allowing the weight
to hold you down…
Perchance it is death
in the moment,
only you have forgotten
how to drown?
when even the breath
is more than you know
how to release,
How is it possible to
find peace in grief?
I have updates.
First… I did the annual poetry marathon this past weekend. I signed up for the half marathon and I wrote more than I signed up to do. I was rather pleased with that.
Next, Fae corps publishing is in the process of creating – taking on? – an imprint. I don’t have a whole lot I can tell you about it yet… But it’s actually really close to being a thing.
Next, I was invited to try to write a story (Serena) that is for a really interesting anthology. That doesn’t mean that they are going to accept the story. Just that I am allowed to try for the call. It is entirely out of my normal wheelhouse writing wise. I have until November to write it and I have it halfway done. It has been flowing. I am terrified. But I am writing it anyway.
And the last update for the post is that I do realize that I accidentally scheduled the Tuesday Tunes post last week for the wrong time. It went up at six pm instead of six am. I am grateful for your patience. I will try to be more careful this week.
Loneliness
By
Serena Mossgraves
Soylent green is people
And I have always been color blind.
What does it matter to me
If I am but the last one
Left behind?
People on whole are a cruel
And ignorant lot,
And I prefer loneliness.
For loneliness is dangerous
You can learn to love yourself there.
Dead Inside
By Serena Mossgraves
The problem with life
Is expectations are so high
So much drama and the cost of pride.
It leaves everyone feeling
Like they might just be
Dead inside.
It drills holes in the soul
For emotion to crawl into
To hide.
Two from Serena Mossgraves for a change.
Have you gathered bones?
As many of you know I try to use Serena for my more gothic pieces. I posted the above in a poetry group on Facebook. A private one as I was not ready to share it. In my mind it spoke of finding reasons to live…Facebook flagged it as speaking about suicide or self harm.
I have had my poetry with Serena misunderstood before.
This one I wrote about the Dahlia Murders…and I was promptly told I was writing about the female anatomy.
I am saddened by the removal because I would have loved to have the other poets feedback…but I guess that was Facebook telling me I wrote something worth censoring.
one from me and one from Serena Mossgraves
One from each of us
Pattimouse 