A Women’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


Holding in my sadness just makes it worse.
Nobody sees because nobody looks.

© 2020 RB


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


I’m just a tool in your toolbox;
the hammer that gets used the most.

© 2019 RB


Pain is love.
Love is pain.
Different words but both the same.

© 2019 RB

5:59 AM

A cellophane wrapper,
not recycled.

A new baby’s hamper,

A tearful dollop,
salty and wasteful.


© 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


I am a cog and you are a nut.
When it comes to being sensible,
we are anything but.

© 2014 RB

Fades to Black

Life is too heavy,
it weighs on my back.
When sullen and painful,
it all fades to black.

© 2013 RB

Like Water to Vapor

Such as the oil-stained canvas and the ink on this paper,
feelings pour out and expand like water to vapor.

© 2013 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 it 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

Lovey-Dovey Rhyme

Since nothing is as special as a lovey-dovey rhyme,
I figured I would write you one but I just can’t find the time.

© 2012 RB

Dazzling Gold of 24 Carrots

Dazzling gold of 24 carrots.
Singing out loud to broken heart ballads.
Setting no limits on feelings or bruises,
the leader decides what the follower chooses.

© 2011 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

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

“I’ll Mark Yesterday if I’m (We’re) Okay” Calendar/Sign to Post on Front Doors (Copy, Paste, Fwd)

I have a really good and simple idea but I don’t use social media and even if I joined today I wouldn’t have many followers:

Just a simple sign taped to the front door that can be printed out every week or two that is a calendar (maybe with just the current and previous week, not the entire month) that reads something like, “If I’m okay, I’ll mark yesterday”. People can draw out a calendar if they don’t have a printer or they can print out a pdf. The web address would be simple and easy to remember and on every sign. Encourage people to do so clearly and as big as possible. Just mark the previous day every morning (pref) when you wake up. This way, anyone walking by can take notice and knock (or kick) if two days haven’t been marked with an “X”. People can communicate through doors and not open them. Instructions would be clear and specific. A single, uniform way.

I know this wouldn’t be as beneficial to people that are in rural areas that may not have neighbors. Unless, police patrolled. But, that would take a lot to get going. Who knows. A lot of people are dying at home and I worry about their dependents and animals, as well.

Everyone stay safe.

<3 rb

Corona, Virus

I can’t handle what’s to come.
Toilet paper,
There’s none!
Bottles of water,
You can only have one,
If it’s there when you come.
This six pack of beer –
It’s better than none.
Be modest with rations,
But do have some fun.

© 2020 RB

A Hero

Is a hero still so if they’ve long rested their head?
Is a hero still a hero when a hero is dead?

© 2020 RB


Snowflakes falling down on us are there to let us know:
that all the world and all its cares combined creates the snow.
So when you think of winter think of those you love.
And with each thought you have in mind a snowflake forms above.

© 2001 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.

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 –
these parts of me –
if you had to assign a monetary value?

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

Mobility is key.

© 2020 RB

What Matters

Premier Jour,
by Nina Ricci,
my favorite perfume.
Lavender body spray over almond lotion.
My hair smells like an orchard.
I am a woman on the outside;
on the inside I am so much more.
My closest female friends are like sisters to me;
weirdos like me,
assertive and articulate.
Most men do not like that.
But to the men that do-
our heroes,
and to the strong women who hold their hearts:
you could not be luckier,
for you have what matters most in this world:
mutual respect,
and true partnership.

© 2013 RB


Is it you walking inside?

I must admit,
you have my eyes.

As for my love,
maybe another time.

© 2019 RB

This Painful Queue

I see the truth – 
I look away.
Pain better suited for another day. 
That time never comes and it all piles on.
one day it is gone. 

© 2019 RB


The pain that I feel more often than not,
gives me false hope that my tender heart will stop.

© 2015 RB

The Sincerely, True You

You laugh at others and their imperfections –
while blindly staring at your own reflection.

You’re liked by others;
a fact so true.

But nobody knows the sincerely,
true you.

© 2011 RB

Anti-Love Potion

I am what you made me –
some say strong and some say crazy.

When I’m all alone with nothing to do,
I realize,
it’s not me,
it’s you.

The world has lost the bulk of it’s sparkle.

What seemed like love actually feels awful.

So I isolate myself and my emotions until I discover an anti-love potion.

© 2012 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

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

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,
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

Somewhere in My Mind

Here is to life.
There is still time to be proud to be alive.
Here is to time.
Fast forward.
Somewhere in my mind I can find a place to hide;
a place where everything is fine.
Somewhere in my mind is a place where I can fly.
High up in the sky where everything is fine,
I will hide.

© 2013 RB