Truth

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Truth

Dust particles dance
within a shaft of sunlight
slowly crossing the room
traveling over my body
warm and comforting
like a lovers embrace
to the mirror where I stand
contemplating my mortality
the sun has become harsh
I raise a hand in denial.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

We are writing about mirrors this Wednesday at Poets United where I’ll link up then.

Pharmaceuticals

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Pharmaceuticals

A pill a pill to kill my ills
a magic potion just for me
once a day to make me chill
I take my tablets happily.

A pill a pill to kill my ills
a capsule for my aches and pains
my doctor has a special pill
for every sickness that I feign.

A pill a pill to kill my ills
a gel cap for my troubled brain
pills that rob me of my will
but next week I will still complain.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

Our society has a pill for almost everything we can think of and a horrible problem with addiction. Sometimes the drug is worse than the illness and fills an emotional need rather than physical. Addiction hurts not only you but the people around you and impacts your life in a negative way. Just because they are easy to get doesn’t mean it’s ok to take them. Be strong!

Forever In A Dollhouse

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Forever In A Dollhouse

I am lost in my childhood dollhouse
stuck in my dreams
forever waiting for my turn
I wanted a real dollhouse
made of wood with pretty wallpaper
but I got a metal dollhouse
with a plastic family and furniture.

The sky’s a sullen shade of cyan
over the stagnant water
of my metallic pool
the sun burns itself out trying
while rust slowly accumulates
smelling just like blood.

These empty, echoing rooms
scraping by against alloy walls
covered in fake pictures and plants
numb in toxic surroundings
while black mold climbs the stamped stairway
I can’t escape this sinking feeling.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

I really did have a metal dollhouse almost just like this. My artwork and animation unnamed.

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads for the theme home.

Writer’s Block

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Writer’s Block

My book it lies unfinished
that sentence dangling there
the words remain extinguished
it’s like my thoughts are bare.

My first book came so easy
the money made now gone
the blank page makes me queasy
my writing just looks wrong.

I meant to write a story
a word, a phrase, a quote
I wanted all the glory.
One word is all I wrote.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

A flash from the past shared with Poets United.

Loss

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Loss

Stark raving emptiness streams
into the screaming void
I used to recognize,

as me.

My heart’s locked up tight
while loss floods me
under a raging river of uncertainty.

I choke on mouthfuls of regret
gasping for air
while floundering in the inky darkness
my mind squirming like a toad.

Those left behind
prime a minefield of hate and lies
each one taking another limb
my memories are bleeding out.

I can find no closure
leaving me,

lost.

This is about the loss of a parent and what can happen with the siblings/others left behind and how it affects them. The artwork is mine.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

Wonder Woman

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Wonder Woman

She can wash the clothes and hang ’em on the line
she can dress the children and make ’em shine
she feeds the pets and cares for you
yet he’s the one who wears the shoes.

She can look real pretty-she cleans up nice
you never have to ask her twice
her cooking wins at the country fair
yet he’s the one who drives her there.

She’s a real wonder woman she does it all
she does it all at his beck and call
empty inside, it pains me to say
this wonder woman has lost her way.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This picture reminds me of that song, “He brings home the bacon, she fries it up in a pan”, and then something about her man. A real balancing act, keep it up or fall!

My mother’s marriage (the 50’s) and her friends had husbands like this, talented women who gave it all up for marriage and kids. Even today women do it, I did this somewhat myself (the giving up of my career without the kids) and still have a little regret about it now. Today I am older, single and wiser; I like it that way.

Written with Saturdays Image Write and Poets United.

The Poet’s Dilemma

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The Poet’s Dilemma

Days and nights spent crafting words to perfection
fueled by cheap whiskey and non-filtered cigarettes
cut off from the very world he writes about.

His prose clever and filled with profound images
the darling of society
everyone wanted his company
designers gave him the finest garments
he lived in a stone mansion with a beautiful wife;
but on the inside…

The poet’s soul is tinted with the blackest black
he has no words left
his muse left him with no note
empty with no more to give.

He sits in his library at his big ornate desk
the glow of the candles outlining his frown
considering the writer’s block that has silenced him
feeling lost.

He inhales, his cigarette glowing red in the dark
he opens his desk drawer to get more whiskey
his handgun next to the bottle.

He pours himself a drink
as he has done so many times before
it burns as it travels down his throat
the loss of words was killing him
destroying him!

He put the handgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

Shared with Poets United.