Little Doll

I remember feeling this way
as a child
my brain wild
you feel like a god damn doll
bought by the fat lady
from a shop in the mall
placed so lovingly and dear
in her Curio
how it wreaked of fear
Little Dolls center stage
made of cloth
learn to sew with rage
and stares silently
as the fat lady sings
" blue bayou"
always ignores you
you, who was so important
that day in the mall
now..
on display but invisible
not so loved
after all

Alcoholic

You've lost you allure
no longer a sexy beast
Ha! but a fool
with a drunk's feast
upon his lips
    upon his skin
steeped in rude
Your behavior crude,
lewd and toxic....
a waste.
smeared across your face
in the form of last night dinner
but still yet
you awake in the morning
mourning
for the brain cells
your soul ate last night
and you tell yourself your
" A good boy"

The poems from the past few days are simply my process to understanding a friends suicide. They are in no way a reflection of how I feel about my personal situation. In fact this process of creative madness has indeed helped deal with this news in a constructive way versus my usual, shutting down.
Thank you
Min

Baby rode side car

Baby rode side car
she was already damned
with flames of molten love stained wounds
demons in bottles
that stood in her stead
One pistol shot
and a thousand holes of suicide
resided in her head
There was a ticket in your name
One free ride
to the other side
where Beneath a pretty willow
you can slide back into your wedding band
Arm in Arm
with your vessel watching
you can go be with your man
for on this earth
your lover knew
that you were already dead


~Mindy

In memory 10-16-2013

I open my eyes
to Truth and Morning
the Sun of the Son
disguised as Rebirth
Dressed up in Love
A Sleepless nights'
bad Dream
is Not always a warning
and death
though sad
not always for Mourning
sometimes
it's an Expression
of a Means
of what Lies between
a meditation
between Lovers
in Two Separate worlds
with misunderstood Needs
But the Sun
is always There
guiding Lovers home
and Bad dreams
are just Truths
making themselves known
there will always be
poison spat
in the Face of the born
a vicious Assumption
that bears death's door
but the candle
in That window
was there long before
burned Flames of love
and still Flickers in death
two Souls
Two energies
intertwined forevermore

~Mindy

When I was young

I would stare out the back window

of my fathers oldsmobile and I would

Reach, Reach..Reach for the stars

and walk upon the surface of the moon

swim in the clear blue water of some

crystalized something.

It sounded pretty at the time

right?

Because I wanted to be

and astronaut

a vetrinarian

a marine biologist

and finally

a journalist

Nobody says

I want to be a poet when I grow up

I want live free

in many lives

as very different people

people who dance

stories across my brain.

conversation in my head

"what do you wanna be when you grow up?"


"I'd be a poet. Sitting under my willow trees all year around. A Spring wonderlust in my head, a sparkle in my eye. Scribbling lines of bad poetry on an index card for some editor to publish in my next anthology."
" That is a dreamers world"
" but where would the world be without dreamers?"
" or poets?"

~ Mindy to Mindy