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just me

Today it is me here
lying on my porch
face to the sky as I
listen
to the wind
sweeping through my
neighborhood
and nudging the trees,
encouraging them to
talk to me
once again.
Today it is me here
sharing space with
the world
as I study my trees
which have already begun
to change
into colors so vivid
my crayon box cannot
replicate them.
Today it is me here,
and I’m not vying for
this body
and it is only me for now
and this precious moment
is unique because
of the singularity
of voices
I hear inside.
Today it is me here
and I revel in this day
to myself
in the quietness of
the hour
and the stillness
of my usually
too chatty
soul.

little fella

there’s a demon in my belly

just dying to get out.

well ok

in reality

it’s in my ribcage

pounding against my heart and

throwing itself against my lungs.

sometimes i can feel it’s

long

skritchy nails

stretching up toward my throat

trying to gag me –

to silence me –

to choke the life out of me.

so i drink a gallon of water

to try to drown him out and

flush him away.

little creep.

relentlessly he

comes crawling back to me,

threatening to

assault my body

and invade me again

if i as much as open my mouth

and breathe.

c. 2009 denelle hobbs

 

breadcrumbs

 

In the dead of the night

while children are sleeping

I walk the wet grass

on tip-toeing feet.

Deep into the labyrinth

I fly like an angel

guided by starlight,

spurred on by heat.

My hair is a comet

that streams out behind me

The wings that I wear

are a gossamer white.

I chase down your shadow

and run from your memory

I drink to your fortune

and succumb to my plight.

I pour out my heart

and leave it before you

A scattering of breadcrumbs

to show you the way.

I sit in the center

of my dark, empty labyrinth

I call out your name

and bid you to stay.

skeletons in my closet

 

the skin is so tender there,

so soft, so smooth.

i’m surprised at how easily it

opens for me.

like grating cheese

or cutting off a pat of butter.

it just opens up ~

yielding ~

and offers my inner secrets to

the bathroom tile.

and out seep my skeletons,

and cascade to my feet

like a little gothic convention

gathering in the night.

and they

drip. drip. drip.

down to the ground

as though they have jumped from the

highest cliff

headlong

into the sea of grief

and sorrow

which is myself

and my skin.

and my bathroom floor.

which is now collecting these

secretive, skeletal remains

and is busy hiding the secrets

in cracks and

crevices.

a splash here, a splash there,

a little sticky clump on the

sink, even.

it clumps up so fast, into

stringy little ropes, which makes

me wonder ~

are the skeletons trying to

form a rope on purpose?

are they trying to climb back

up

into my head to keep

hiding from the world?

or are they just trying to kill me?

‘cuz i can do that myself.

another cup

 

saturday morning finds me

sitting in my doorway

listening to the pitter pat

of the falling rain,

and soaking up the cool

wind blowing on my face

and skin.

the sky is blanketed

in a quilt of clouds,

all different shades of

gray and silver.

and my bare feet long to

take me to the soft wet

grass

and through the cold

dirty gutters

of my youth.

but my city feet are

too tender now

and i turn back inside

for another cup

of coffee

and a blanket that

i hope will

cover up my sadness.

rightness

 

i’m in the wrong place at the right time.

i’ve never understood that idea or phrase,

thinking always that it meant

to be accidentally at the bank

at the moment it was being robbed

or to be finally sun bathing

in the nude

when a freak and heavy hailstorm hits

and you’ve only just gotten your

nipples pierced.

i didn’t know it meant this.

that i might be here

in this place …

the wrong place.

wrong for me in so many ways and

so many facets

and for so very many reasons a place

that is altogether not right.

yet it is quite the right time for me

to be wrong.

if ever there was a time

well suited for the wrongness

it is now.

and it is right,

this wrongness.

and thus the strange phrase finally

fits snugly inside my brain.

(written summer of 2009.  i think.  or fall.  maybe.)

specialty item

 

i am not something to be tossed aside, or thrown away.

i am not a disposable article or a one serving container.

i am a specialty item.

i am rare and beautiful

and a treasure to behold.

i am not to everyone’s taste, and don’t sit well on everyone’s palette.

i am not for the average man, or the feint of heart.

i am a challenge and a mystery

and a world of trouble.

i am a lover

and a goddess

a vixen

and a nightmare.

i am the breath of life

and the storm of death.

i am eternal damnation

and the salvation you are seeking.

i am a bumpy ride and

a smooth sail.

you may not be ready for me…

are you?

just me

 

Today it is me here

lying on my porch

face to the sky as I

listen

to the wind

sweeping through my

neighborhood

and nudging the trees,

encouraging them to

talk to me

once again.

Today it is me here

sharing space with

the world

as I study my trees

which have already begun

to change

into colors so vivid

my crayon box cannot

replicate them.

Today it is me here,

and I’m not vying for

this body

and it is only me for now

and this precious moment

is unique because

of the singularity

of voices

I hear inside.

Today it is me here

and I revel in this day

to myself

in the quietness of

the hour

and the stillness

of my usually

too chatty

soul.

stolen

there are eyeballs in

the back of my head

but i don’t know who they belong to.

they frown

and scold me all day

reminding me that i’m doing

something wrong again.

they tell me

in subtle scowling tales

that i am not the true owner

of this body.

somehow i managed to get this

skin shell

while the real owner wasn’t

looking.

somehow

i tricked life into letting me

borrow this vehicle

and run it around town

with the rightful owner

locked in the back trunk.

the eyes look quizzically

at everything i do

wondering what i am

thinking

and why i keep getting

away with it.

but since i have

so much hair

no one else

notices a thing

and i spend another day

in my stolen

ride.

 

stolen

(unremembered date, 2009)