you are a sinner
little girls have pretty curls
I love Oreos
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Category Archives: God
diaspora
driven like snow by
the winds of time, they left home
again and again
Creative writing
a word, one word on
a page begins it all. in the
beginning was the word.
seeking refuge
Aside
a shadow passes o’er
i wait by the water. please,
Mother, sit with me.
glory, glory
thank you lord. give me
faith, courage to fearlessly
meet the challenge ahead
religion
opiate of the masses?
rituals, deities, gods and
goddesses. promises
you owe me
your attention. you
were my mother for God sake.
where were you? not with me.
permission
whom do i ask if
i want enlightenment? God?
Buddha? the wind horse?
crazy
upset anxious and
fearful. feel betrayed. tried so
damn hard to be good.
Sunday afternoon – choices must be made
Why not?
My hard drive wants to get fucked up.
Fuck all you all.
That’s the way we say, fuck you,
here in the South.
Way down South in Dixie.
Doesn’t really mean fuck you, does it?
No, It means fuck me.
Why not it’s Sunday afternoon.
Ain’t nothing else to do.
Why not get fucked up?
It would be fun, right?
That’s what my history tells me.
We talked about this at brunch.
MIght call it fucked up family syndrome –
child becomes addicted to rush
engendered by abuse within the family
needs it, has to have it, to feel alive.
Yeah you see if i get fucked up
then tomorrow will be harder
and I can say to myself all day
“You do not have to do this again.”
Then I can imagine I am being reborn
coming back to life,
like Lazarus rising from the dead.
Like the foxhole prayer.
“God help me.
I swear, God, I will never do this again.
Just help me now. I promise I will be faithful.”
Does pleading with God help?
Does it give life meaning?
Kind of . . . sometimes.
Boy then that is really fucked up.
Look outside,
the sun is shining.
Do something besides sitting
around here getting fucked up.
Fuck you.
Going to watch the Good Wife instead. Happy Sunday to all.
Writing into the Light 