Pride & Prejudice

There are few people whom I really love, 

and still fewer of whom I think well. The
more I see of the world, the more am I
dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms
my belief of the inconsistency of all human
characters, and of the little dependence that
can be placed on the appearance of merit or
sense.

Jane Austen

The Bell Jar I

                             

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; 

I lift my eyes and all is born again.”

-Sylvia Plath

The Last Word

DreaM

Dreams come
Dreams go
There are feelings that I never show
Feelings that you’ll never know

Dreams that shade
Dreams that fade
Dreams that made you who you are today

Dreams that hide
Dreams to find
Dreams that stay only in your mind

Dreams to make
Dreams to take
Dreams that ache

Dreams that are to fear
Dreams that shed tear
Dreams that appear to be real

Dreams that lie
Dreams where you fly
Dreams that take off soaring to the sky…

- Tyra Falconwing

Lesson

“Some of these things are true and some of them lies. But they are all good stories.”

— Hilary Mantel

We Sleep Beneath Birds - Amanda Joy

I didn’t catch your name.
Still,
here I am,
wondering what the point is;

In this perfection
we grow like fingernails
Will we ever stop?
No.
We might be cut or nibble-bitten
or ground down by work.
Yet we become and become
Until we die
and then maybe
we become something else,
then, some more.
I’d buy that book.
Has it been written?
The one that tells us what happens
when we stop becoming.
Some of us think we have
already.
Yes, like death
Truth.
If you find it I will lay with you
and let you scratch my back
with your fingernails,
while I search for it.
Yes
it is an invisible word,
there, not here.
So tonight, without names
We will sleep beneath birds.
Unlike umbrellas, our heads
above our bodies
swallowing glittering tears
before pride’s useless withered hand.
In the face of this
pinnacle of pleasing angles
obscuring our view
of details not meaningless.
As none we are.
As we are.
Hand-tinted as stars met
by ladders that end
twenty feet above the ground.
Your name is a script, illiterate.
On a delta of my hand’s palms
let me gift you
my resistance,
yes,
so we meet


*Amanda Joy