Stoned and Plastered

Had a date on NYE,
A horrible disaster.
I drank, I ate, I spoke, I sighed,
Turned out that he was plaster.
Food was fresh –
Veggies displayed on a nice platter.
Suddenly I realized,
He was me and I was him…
But the latter.

© 2021 RB

Damn My Fears

Damn my fears of falling down with people staring as I frown.

In pain I feel I’m all alone,
The only place that’s safe is home.

I try not to think of the way that I’m feeling.

I use humor,
As laughter assists with the healing.

© 2012 RB

Just Being Me

Just being me,
Is the only way I know how to be,
If only others could see.

It is much to my demise,
Oftentimes,
Although,
Never a great surprise.

Yet,
Sometimes,
I still wonder why.

In a past life I cried,
But,
The well has run dry.

© 2020 RB

Lonely, Empty Museum Wings

I know you’re out there and I do hope we meet,
Or meet again.

We can love eachother and not be alone anymore.

Lonely,
Empty Museums Wings.

Do you look to the moon the same time as I?
Do you like to watch the ball drop on NYE?
Do you still believe in romance?

There are parts of me I never knew were taken,
Until I realized they may never return.

How much are these pieces worth,
Parts of me,
If you had to assign a monetary value?

Should I be sold for scraps?
Am I totaled?
Will this ride survive?

Mobility is key.

© 2020 RB

Excerpt: An Unrealistic Expectation

Shakespeare was right – we are all just actors on a stage. I am a performer in a vacant theatre with no audience, standing in the spotlight, nervously looking at a world full of nothing but empty chairs. My presentation is irrelevant – no one is in attendance to see or hear. There are no eyes or ears. I am invisible. I am alone. Still, I feel the pressure to be liked and accepted. An impossible feat. An unrealistic expectation.

© 2020, 2021 RB

Erased

You treat me like a criminal.
Unworthy,
Deserving of solitary confinement,
Not fit for society.
Serving a life sentence.
Death is my only way out,
To be burried without a service,
In an unmarked grave.
Erased.

© 2020 RB

A Harsh Reality

You don’t determine your value in this world – other people do. It doesn’t matter if one loves themself, but if they are by others. A harsh reality.

© 2020 RB

A Hero

Is a hero still a hero if they have long rested their head?
Is a hero still a hero when that hero is dead?

© 2020 RB

A Woman’s Voice

It isn’t that easy.
You don’t understand.
One day you’ll realize:
You’re lucky to be a man.
Things may come easy –
For you,
Not for me.
I’m lonely and terrified.
You just don’t see.

© 2020 RB

Shameless

For this season’s premiere,
You were not there,
You were six feet underground.

I imagined you in your chair,
With disheveled hair,
I forgot that you were gone.

You purchased burial plots,
For all of your kids,
Everyone but me.

Now you are dead,
And I am in bed,
Watching our favorite TV.

© 2019 RB

The Heart Cannot See

With much to consume and little to do,
I’ve flattered and faltered to benefit you.
This preposterous infatuation has lead me to believe,
When it is the eyes that are watching,
The heart cannot see.

© 2001 RB

Painful Queue

You see the truth,
Just look away,
Pain better suited for another day. 
That time never comes and it all piles on,
Hopefully,
Eventually,
One day it is gone. 

© 2019 RB

5:59 AM

A cellophane wrapper,
Not recycled.
A new baby’s hamper,
Full.
A tearful dollop,
Salty and wasteful.
Soiling.

© 2019 RB

October 30th, 2018

The end is near and that’s okay,
I don’t want to see another day.
The birds will still sing and people will dance.
As if I never happened,
I never stood a chance.

© 2018 RB

As She Molded Back Into the Tub of Wax

As she molded back into the tub of wax,
The medley that she came from,
She often thought it to be hard to maintain the shape she desired:

A little bird of yellow feathers with polka-dots of red,
Who sang a dark,
Blue song the whole night long and this is what she said:

Although I’d rather be a yellow bird than anything that’s grander,
I often find it all too hard to eat when life is bitter.

It’s easier this way you see,
To blend with all the others,
As broken wings and solemn things die slowly in the winter.

© 2001 RB

I Don’t Want to be Your Rag Doll Anymore

I don’t want to be your rag doll anymore. My threads have worn thin and I barely recognize myself. Once an item of adoration, no one wants to play with me anymore. I’m tired of sitting in your junk drawer with my eyes drawn open. Reluctantly smiling hurts my tired, drunk jaw. It will take some crafty stitching to keep this baby doll from falling apart.

© 2007 RB

A March Without a Beat

Walking towards the music to the sounds of my despair,
If only I could better listen to the true rhythm that is there.
I dance solemnly without a partner,
To a march without a beat,
This chaotic twisting pattern has proved to be too much for my feet.
The pain that once was centered has traveled up and down my spine.
It has made me clumsy in my steps and foolish in my mind.
As I stumble out of these inconsistencies,
I hope to fall into my place.
But I only land inside a different song with a faster,
More painful pace.

© 2002 RB

Looking to the Shadows

The past is a familiar juxtaposition of dreadful memories.
An existentialist’s nightmare is to not understand themself.
They do not comprehend what they have been through,
However,
Fear to go back.
They no longer wish for death because they have already degraded to their minimal reality.
At the climax of depression they feel as though loneliness is enough to kill them.
Once resilient,
They are disappointed by their inability to render reason –
Alone in a cave looking to the shadows to lead them to the light.

© 2002 RB

In Late November

In late November a leaf falls from a tree and is swept by the wind. Although beautiful, in the grand scheme of life she is rather insignificant and much like the others who came before her; their fate to decompose and become a source of energy for those who follow. Although she is slightly wilted and rough around the edges, a passerby notices her and finds her both unique and beautiful, possessing a perfect medley of characteristics that could never be again. He picks her up and places her in his favored journal, where he cherishes her forever as his gift from the wind.

© 2000 RB