Poetry

By Myself

Sometimes when I’m by myself i cry.

I don’t know why the tears flow

more easily in the solitude of my own mind.

When I fly.

Alone.

They come.

My heart open wide.

Vulnerable to the memories,

pains,

and joys of my life.

Like a songbird that waits for the break

of dawn to open its throat and sing with everything it has,

quieting it’s music in the full light

I fight

the urge to burst,

seemingly with all the strength I have

and so much so

it hurts.

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Mom's Brain

Super Bowl Monday Blues

Monday – February 2, 2015

All day I felt down, kind of depressed. Blank.  Physically I wasn’t at my best which could have been a contributing factor to my less than perky mental state. My body was working double time to correct all of the bad decisions I made on game day. But a hangover created from pulled pork tamale pie, what seemed like gallons of mimosas followed by beer, and a grand total of about three ounces of water taken in over the course of twelve hours wasn’t the sole perpetrator of my condition.  Sure, the game itself, or more accurately it’s outcome, was weighing on me too. Shaking my head everytime that final down replayed itself in my mind only served to worsen the migraine that was stabbing and thumping behind my eyes, but I couldn’t stop myself from doing it. That innate response to disbelief and disappointment couldn’t be controlled. Three feet and three chances squandered. Gah! Commence skull cracking head shake. But the Seahawk’s loss to the Patriots wasn’t really the true culprit in my sulleness either. Super Bowl Monday has, for a very long time, been a day of discomfort born of something much more than who won and lost or my level of indulgence from the previous night. Continue reading

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