Alone I sit within walls of my own making

Wondering where all the people are at.

For the first time I can truly see

And the possibilities are unnerving.

My future involves others, and the Other

Lots of different others, I feel.

Yet I sit alone with the new sights and emotions

Wondering just what to make of it all.

Knowing I am being drenched in knowledge

But having no patience for the learning curve.

Not wanting to wait for the addition of understanding

To marry everything as one.

Destiny is showing her face

Beckoning me onto a path full of uncertainties.

“Look there,” Karma says and

I see what she means, however…

But I will be obedient this time

And go where they lead me.

Even though I am frightened and alone,

I am even more afraid of not following, not learning

The lessons I must learn

Because I don’t want to find myself here again.

Will this be the time old karma is fixed?

Will this be the time I ascend?

The finish feels so close at times, but

Is it bad karma yet again making me want to die?

Wanting to follow my brother down suicides’ path

Is stronger and easier than following destiny.

Especially when the hard edges of life

Press on my heart so greedily.

So alone I sit within walls of my own making

Pondering what I have left to teach and

More importantly, how hard the next lesson will be to learn.

~winged woman, 27 Mar 15


Three Revised

A cousin, a brother, things happen in 3’s

Hoped death would come next for me

Instead my Pa went down that dark path

Wriggling and writhing in alcohol’s grasp

So I mourn again and again and again

Left still wishing for my silly own end

I know God is near, perhaps Goddess too

Laughing at this human who wants to be through

Asking to be taken from this nightmare of life

Wanting to be finished with all of the strife

They must have some grand plans for me

To keep me in hell instead of giving me leave

My heart and soul long for my sister dear

Cries out because she won’t let me near

She reads all my words wrong and so false

I don’t like text, I would much rather talk

Chest crushed by the weight of my grief

I no longer have her to help find relief

“Think on good things, believe in good luck”

Sunshiny people need to shut the hell up

They’ve no idea where I’ve been or am going

I’ve had loss of all kinds and the tears are flowing

Platitudes are not going to cut it this time

The best kind of healing comes from these rhymes

Here I am free to be depressingly me

No one judges, no one expects all glee

I can write and rant and know there is another

Who has felt this or seen it one way or the other

Compassion, yes.  Understanding, check.

And reminded the world is in chaos yet

My own battles start to seem very small

‘Tho my pain is amplified by poets who stand tall

I see they are writing about much bigger issues

So in elegant ways, they provide me with tissues

Which help to stop my self destructive wins

Like pulling and picking and scarring my skin

So thank you all for being who you are

For writing poems that take me so far

Away from my existence mundane

To view life from a much higher plain

For carrying me along with your tales

Which help to finally silence my wails

Panic Attack

What lies await outside my front door

Who is out there ready to settle a score

My brain yells out a warning to stay put

Each time the door opens more than a foot

All of my muscles tremble and quake

I suddenly feel very much awake

Sweat beads up on my brow and neckline

I tell myself maybe I can do it this time

Most days I can’t… I’d rather be dead

Is any of it real, or is it all in my head

I want to believe life can be better than this

That I’ll wake up tomorrow and find my bliss

Bed is a sanctuary and torture device

My body hurts from being tossed all night

No exercise and no fresh air

The lack of sunshine keeps me fair

Black moods are best kept to myself

Locked away and put up on a shelf

My mind often wanders to dreary places

It goes back and forth in unsteady paces

I live in silent rooms full of dim light

Trying to cope with this senseless fright

It comes in silently on little cats’ feet

With a swiftness I can’t begin to defeat

The Little Whore

By day a foreman who drinks beer in his truck

Checking on others as he slowly gets drunk.

By night a terror, a menace, a sinister thing

Molesting a little girl and damaging her being.

Mary Hartman Mary Hartman plays on the tv

When he says come sit with me.

A big, brown leather reclining chair

Is big enough to gather me there.

“Let me rub your back while you rest on my chest”

His hands find their way to my non-existent breasts.

Something hard presses upon my thigh

He releases it and places my hand with sigh.

I knew this was going to happen

I have trained myself to become slacken.

I begin to cry before it’s actually in

Already hoping for a quick end.

I am 7 years old and the routine is habitual

I want to make him stop this nightly ritual.

But I also want someone to love me, you see

And our other times can be heavenly.

Loading up wood or caring for cattle

It’s all done in peace without a battle.

I love how he needs all of my help

He takes me on trips with sweet rewards dealt.

Some candy, some peanuts, a nice cold root beer

Hunting and learning how to dress a killed deer.

Small things really, but I am so hungry for love

I willingly lend him my hand like a glove.

Mary Hartman Mary Hartman is our special show

It’s when he wants to get down to business below.

Now later than 40 odd years

I still cannot stand the smell of stale beer.

I have trouble sleeping or even being in bed

Due to the visions and memories running ‘round in my head.

He got away with it, free and clean

My mother found out, but thought court would be mean.

And now I don’t know whom I despise more

Him, her, or me (the little whore).

Dark Colors

I wear a cloak.

The outside is purple and pink and green and yellow; it is happy, smiling, laughing, full of joy.

The inside is black and without end.

I hold the cloak to me tightly so that sometimes even I can see bits of the outside; the colors.

But, the blackness is always there, underneath, closest to me no matter what I do. Life happens and blows the cloak: colors blackness colors blackness….

I’m so tired of the blackness.

So tired.

Tired from holding the cloak so tight. Tired of fighting the blackness.

The cloak is thin enough to let hurt in but too thick to let hurt out, so the hurt hardly ever shows. Everyone sees the colors, but never looks in my eyes, listens to my words. So the cloak holds these in as well and the hurt feeds on the words held.

And the blackness swirls. It is dramatic and everyone is afraid of it. Not wanting to see it or even hear about it.

So it must be tucked in close, folded over and under and held tight so all that shows is the outside….those colors.

The colors seem to be loved.

I feel crazy, but think if I truly were the cloak would be reversed. I would hold the colors tightly to me and be oblivious to the world and the world would only see the void where the blackness is.

So if that is the case, why do I also feel invisible now? When the colors are on the outside? Because the colors hide the black and the cloak only lets hurt in and not out and life goes on around me and no one knows or wants to know the blackness that is surrounding me!

Am I wearing the cloak or is it wearing me, holding me down, smothering me, hurting me a little more each time I fail to keep it tight enough so even I can see the colors?

And I’m tired.

So tired of fighting the darkness.

I look forward to seeing the colors again. Illuminated.lindsey-thornburg2

Blurred Line


Oil and water

Clearly defined

A line between lain straight

Was my mind.

My brother is killed

The monster awakened

The line in my mind

Is violently shaken.

Oil and water

No longer are clear

The line has been blurred

I’m losing what’s dear.

In a spiral I whorl

Down into what is

The blackness of depression

Which only takes, not gives.

Oil and water

Colors come at great cost

Here in this gray void

Where I find I am lost.

It never matters tho

Try and try as I might

One thing is sure

I am stuck in the night.

Oil and water

Shaken is my mind

My brothers’ death

Has blurred the line.