Therapy.

Punch out, free to go,
Biting cold, out past the door,
Goodnight to the guys.

Start her up, let's scram.
Silver moon glints off the hood,
Where's that heat dammit.

My music starts up,
The bass resonates within,
Pure bliss fills my head.

Road beneath the tires,
Thumbs tap out the heavy beat,
Take the back way home.

Don't need to think here,
Just let the crescendo ride,
This must be heaven.

Let's just chase the stars,
Forget all of our anchors,
Follow the music.

Oh shit that's a deer.
Damn it got late too quickly.
I need to go home.

Pull in the driveway,
Park it, turn out the headlights.
Let the song finish.

I feel so heavy,
I don't want to be here now,
Damn it got cold out.

Requesting an Audience

Feet reflecting the ache  in my chest,
I heave my legs over the edge of my bed.
Gotta keep pushin,
Gotta keep the demons at bay.
When my feet hit the floor, Satan will say:
"Oh shit, she's up."
...right?
Doc says these meds will work,
Says that it's just a matter of time.
Time....
Something I had less of in my head.
No matter the amount of thoughts I have,
No matter how many equations I solve,
The fiends keep knocking.
Keep begging.
Keep pleading.
I know what will happen if I go there,
I risk never coming back.
In this moment, I want to die.
Again.
This happens hourly,
then vanishes.
My feet hit the floor,
and the insistent beseeching inside my skulls stops.
Another battle won.

Supplement Facts

You held out your hand, 

Molded together my heart, 

And lied to my face. 

Maybe I'm guilty, 

Maybe it was all in my head, 

Yet I still loved you. 

You played me for fool, 

Broke my heart again in pieces, 

And then played victim  

Don't get mad at me, 

You are the one who did this, 

Liar, you'll get yours. 

Stolen Serendipity

Allow me to preface this before I begin:
I. Loathe. Cold.
Nothing against the auburn hues of leaves past their time,
but I just can not stand temperatures below sixty-five.
Except for today.
There comes a point in the transition from mid autumn to late where the world becomes silent.
No frogs.
No geese.
No cicadas.
Just pure soundlessness.
The crisp fog of my breath against my skin breaks me from my revery of utter aloneness.
At this point of the soon-to-be frozen season, I can appreciate the still quiet.
It is not the silence that smothers me,
but the absense of sound.
In which case there is no distracting me from my own thoughts.
Thoughts that remind me when I walk through the door you won't be there to warm me up.
This hush gives me security,
a peace in knowing I am not the only one chilling,
and changing.
In this very moment, and only for just a heartbeat,
can I feel your hand in mine.
And I am serene.

Nana's Eulogy

You raised me from 'homemade pisgetti sauce' and 'two oreos with one minty-mint' after dinner,
Our chances at adventure time meant traveling through the back yard looking for "snakkies and mannies".
Paddling across the brown ocean of your living room carpet on my sturdy serving-tray-turned-boat with wooden spoons for paddles,
Just so we could watch Jeopardy together.
As I became older,
house calls were less frequent,
and 'I love you's, scattered.
But no matter how far I swam,
you were always to be my lifeguard,
my lighthouse.
Running away meant packing my favorite Barbie and pajamas and running as fast as my mind could carry me,
up the path, across the street and into your safe house arms.
Birthdays meant THE cake and the Tea Hive, decked out in our fashionable wear.
But as we grow older, birthdays, running away, and paddling across carpets aren't just memories tattooed on our hearts,
They're the legacy we leave for the following generations.
Nana, so much you have taught me,
and so much more I have to learn.
Thank you.





My Nana, SaraBelle Harker Junkermann was born on August 8th, 1913 and passed on January 19th, 2014. Her legacy is carried on by my mother, brother, sister-in-law and I, and will be passed down to the following generations.

Momentary Appeasement

Once upon a time, in a land no so far away,

there lived a young maiden, 

who always managed to get herself into the worst sorts of trouble. 

You see, she was no ordinary girl. 

She had developed the body of a Goddess, with hair of gold, and eyes like the sea, 

and used her appeasing looks as leverage to get what she desired. 

She ran wild, like a whirl-wind,

romping with one man to the next.

Until her antics caught up with her. 

All her games were thrown back in her face, 

and she, like her once-unsuspecting victims, had to play.

However, the rules had changed.

And her eyes were opened. 

Now did she see the turmoil she had caused,

the families she had split, the bridges she had burned. 

The Game that was once so entertaining,  

became the cage in which she was to carry out her days. 

At every turn, she was remjnded of who she had done, 

and the consequences were repaid tenfold. 

She became meek, where she was boisterous,

invisible where she was apparent, 

and kind where she was cruel. 

After a time, she learned to live, 

and not just survive. 

But when faced with the possibility of hurting yet another man, 

she fought to keep him happy in exchange for hers.

Bearing this burden, 

she thought it her punishment,

for all the chaos she had caused. 

Yet when the man she had tried to make happy realized this,

he set her free. 

With her wings returned, 

she took to the sky, 

and has yet to come down. 

Moral of the story? 

Never give up personal happiness in exchange for the happiness of another's for fear of causing them pain. They will notice and the relationship will suffer. 

The Shores of Time

Close your eyes, and what do you see?

Hear? 

Smell? 

To each their own, as is common in today's reality. 

But what if we could see deeper, closer into another's reality? 

A place once entrenched in blood and tears and sweat has become peaceful.

Tovarisch.

Through the battles, the sun began to rise above the blood moon, 

chasing away the shadows, encompassing my eyes with light.

If only my peace could be shared. 

The demons we once fought together no longer linger behind my eyes, 

only yours.

If the scars we bear could be outgrown, pushed away from memory,

would you still be so blankly staring into oblivion?  

The shores I walk hungrily envelope my footsteps,  but avoid yours altogether.

Dorogoy,  come back to me. 

No longer do we need to battle our ways through time, 

not when safety is our present, and our future. 

Hold my hand, and let me show you,

that this love is nothing to fear.

Tovarisch: Russian for 'comrade', used mostly in the USSR

Dorogoy: Russian for 'darling'