when I was a young kid there was no room in our house so I had to sleep in the crawlspace above the house
It was winter and the crawlspace was uninsulated and there was
a small old space heater from the 1970’s that didn’t do anything
unless you were right up next to it. Sometimes I would get up
next to it and the sleeping bag would start to burn on the edges
melt. I’d wake up and move away from it because it would burn
the sleeping bag. One night it was very cold but I didn’t turn on
the heater because I didn’t want to melt a giant hole in the
sleeping bag for good and maybe burn myself. That night
while I was sleeping a brown recluse spider bit
me on the hip. It must crawled in to the sleeping
bag with me because it was cold
The next morning the bite had swollen
up like half a golf ball and in the middle was
a sort of purple spot where the skin was most affected by
necrosis and that spot already looked like it wanted to let
out all the pus inside. I knew that there was pus inside
because it had swollen so much and sort of felt solid but
squishy. I didn’t do anything about it that day
because I didn’t know what kind of a bite it was. The next night
was very cold because it was early february but I didn’t want to
melt my sleeping bag again. The temperature gauge in the crawl
space said it was 34 because some of the heat from the
house did leak in to the crawlspace because it was uninsulated.
I had lots of clothes on but only had a pair of baggy
jeans and my legs were bare under that. That night the
same spider must have crawled in to the sleeping bag
up my pants leg. The next morning the bite from two
nights before had gone to hell because I hadn’t done
anything to treat it right away and I had rolled on to
it the next night and it had turned yellow and purple
and the skin on the whole area was necrotic but on top
of the first bite was a second bite that had started to swell
up as well. I thought this was funny because I was young
and nasty stuff is funny when you’re young.
I sort of squeezed at the fleshy mass and a bit of
liquid came out but not a whole lot of liquid.
There was obviously an obstruction. So I took
a metal needle and heated it up with a lighter to
make it easier to pierce the skin. When it
was red hot I pushed right in to
the top of the hole where the purple was and
it started letting out little bits of pus. I wasn’t
satisfied with the amount it was producin
g but since the hole from the needle went in really deep
I figured a lot more would come out if I pushed on
either side of the lump. At first there was mostly
light red blood and some white pus that was watery
and it sort of ran out. No matter how hard
I pushed it only a little bit of puss would come out.
I left it alone but came back to it later on and by
this time a scab had formed over the top of the hole
. I ripped this off and continued to push on to the
sides of the lump which by this time had lost some
of its original form because the skin was dead
on and around the lump. It had caved in like little
indentations of my fingers where I had pressed
but no liquid came out. The second bite had taken
care of any skin on the first bite that might have
missed the necrosis and even it had its own little lump
coming out of the first. My entire leg was sore
because the muscle tissue was necrotic deep down.
By the next day the skin had died and changed in such a
way I never thought I would ever see a part of myself.
It had turned a dark yellow and the purple was a
solid purple that didn’t mix with the yellow. As
I scratched at it, the skin peeled off in layers and
I kept scratching at the skin and it kept peeling off.
It got to a point where I knew I could just bust
the whole thing open if I really squeezed at it and
it all just came out. The blood in the middle
was blackish and the pus was thick and lumpy
like oatmeal. There was lots and lots of it in there.
After that the spider bit me again on the same hip
but about a month later. By this time the first bites
had healed to an indented scar where the skin had healed
but not come back. The third bite wasn’t as bad as the first
but it still died like the first. Spiders are ok because they don’
t bite people who didn’t have it coming. As much as I’d like to
think I could have prevented that from happening I
would gladly let the spider in to my sleeping bag again
if it was cold but with no guarantee I wouldn’t roll on to it and I say this with warm feelings.
If I let myself met, even just a little
I seep right through the cracks
There were some things young Hildegard
Believed deep down in her heart,
And it affected how
She treated all her friends.
"If you're not a part of my parade,
You're just another useless part
That will get tossed out with all the
Other odds and ends.
She told Rolph Johnson
To go on home..
He simply did not suit her taste.
And little Mary Fennel
To have a life,
But Hildegard had one
She had no plans to waste.
"I'm not sorry," she told them all.
"Because it's you. It isn't me!
If I let you hang around,
Someone important may just see.
And I will not allow that.
Where I am you cannot go.
I'm twice as good as you are.
And I know you know I know!"
She told her Mom one late summer day
She preferred to do things her own way.
She did not need her parent's care.
She had no need to worry there.
"I'm smart. I'm strong.
I'm quick. I'm wise.
And I think I've
Outgrown you guys.
You just don't understand.
I'm a some one
You can never be!"
"Even my Teacher
Thinks I'm bright.
And I must admit.
My Teacher's right."
And she's usually
Sort of clueless, so
It's kind of good she
Seems to know."
Her friends, they vanished,
One by one.
They were in the way,
And they weren't much fun.
They did not understand
Was twice the girl
They could be.
Once, or twice,
T'was true, they heard:
"Supercilious is a silly word."
And Hildegard would turn away,
Without another word
She had so very
Much to do.
She'd planned her life.
T'was true, so true.
It was a life she would not be denied,
A future she'd not toss aside.
She'd be incisive and demure.
They'd never undervalue her.
And to this day,
She's made her case.
No arroganace upon her face.
She's a belle of substance, and rightly so,
Trapped in a very lonely place.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"I call everyone 'Darling' because I
can't remember their names."
~Zsa Zsa Gabor
I’d fling the sun far into your cut corner
and shove moonlight broadly onto your toenails
you would want for so little
as the oceans carry you to shores of your water borne desire
wicked is the world stream when high hopes pegged precarious
onto chalky lines that shift like changing clouds
and lend its kind illusory touch under the lee
end dashed like outcast mirrors whose use
is rod cracked like inside the core of acrid earth
where awaits hot lava in secret fissures to melt all ropes
to bridge so narrow a wing's gapped fluke
jerking maestroms circle overhead
inducing desultory plunge
finger pointing, egg-beating, giddy whirly-whirl
a day will come as yet unknown
when soul rags are panel worked and hylic sheathed
when latticed treats, as American as apple pie
will fill that tabled sky decked with cirrus tablecloth
averted seeker squint feels that cat-eyed wonder
flattened insect on a troubled screen with translucent beauty wings
lets in a dry smile chink of real life dust in heretical relief
bolt that flippin' door – shut out the vulgar world – make fast the curtain sides
broach the unslotted gap you know is yours and proclaim it wide: open sesame!
gouge your way into me.. till I’m fully plugged with light
caulk me with your fingers till my spine near cracks
spike my heart with currents from the milk rush of you
pierce my thigh strips and whip the whetted words out me
tap into the slinky slices of my pervious skylit want
there will be no occlusion as arches meet under shuddered pleats
no, I have precious little time or heart to draw cute sunshine panels onto your retracted sleeve
in that stead, I can really be just plain me
who’d eagerly wrench pale-blue patches from the sky cloth
and steal in zest moonbeams from lovers’ eyes
and heartily fling the sun your way and rob its life-giving warmth
and gladly rip up torn foliage from its homes
along with pert petals from fickle floral parties
if only these were things you’d want
yet, well I know whatever be the pains
there waits little gain
feral feline will trouble little more
heart swing derision flies poor as sad plighted answer rings on
the chill of a frosty kiss
the kiss of love given by the breeze
gliding as if alone on the rink
with only the sound of slicing ice underneath
I reminisce the highlights of the past
My little world built on a fantasy
As I, the queen for the moment
alone with my mind set free
only thinking of what is now
not caring about what could have been
because there a piece of my heart lies
on the ice
childhood, a piece of childhood coming back
not one to haunt
but one to bring a warmth in the midst of frost
that excitement and feeling like it was meant to be, all along
a place of belonging
now that I am older
I have not wholly let that world go
I remember and my heart flutters
love, comes back
and I only imagine
like a hopeless romantic
to find another fluttering heart on the ice
so we can flutter together
... g l i d e
Ask me anything.
My soul is yours to inspect with your fingertip-tapping
On flat-screen cell-phone, iPhone, you phone and I'll say, ask me anything.
Ask me if I cry myself to sleep at night and I'll say maybe.
Ask me if I like that boy and I'll fake smile at you through computer screens
Hiding whatever true feelings I have left to cling to.
Ask me if I think I'm beautiful.
I will respond with the detailed analysis of everything you have ever convinced me is wrong with my body and my appearance. I will tell you that I need some thinspiration, that I've really got to hit the gym more than three times this week and I really shouldn't take sugar with my coffee.
Ask me if I'm friends with Sarah, or Michael, or Brittany,
I'll cringe as I type out forced words of admiration, knowing, they're together laughing curses at their phones reading whatever I have to say about this question.
Ask me if I fucked the quarterback of the football team at a party, saying you heard it from someone who heard it from everyone else and I'll respond a quiet “no,” fingers and arms shaking, knowing full well I've never been more involved with a boy than ballroom dancing in the eighth grade and that now I'm too afraid of letting anyone in, let alone into my body, after the hands of a family friend went a little too far and got a little too friendly.
Ask me if I have any friends. At this point, I'm not sure how to answer you. I thought I had a friend in you and all the rest but a rogue rumour wrecked it all and none of you are rushing to my side to help me back up from the fall. I thought at least I'd have a friend in myself, but it seems that I've lost faith and have found no reason to love who I have been molded to be.
Ask me to do the world a favour. Ask me to get lost. Ask me to cut my veins open and watch them bleed. Ask me if I like the taste of bleach. Ask me if I have a rope and chair handy. Ask me to die.
I’m sorry -
I won't be here to answer you.
Even if you do not experience these hateful words, you are contributing to an idea that having this account is normal and "cool" and this idea pressures young girls and boys into making these accounts where many are subjected to the cruelty of intrusive questions and accusations. No human should treat another human like this, even with questions on the internet or a comment typed out behind a computer screen. Think of Megan Meir, whose "friend" manipulated her mind during one of the most intense periods of hormone-hurricanes in her life. Think of Amanda Todd, whose name endured cruelty even after her soul passed on. Think of Rehteah Parsons, whose death proves that words can break hearts resulting in more damage than broken bones ever could.
Think of your own someday daughters and sons. Think of your siblings.
Think of yourself, and when you truly take a few minutes, or an hour, or a week to think on this problem I promise you, you will realize that you do not need to contribute to it.
Please end the cruelty now.
PS: My sister is no longer in school because of this. She is thirteen. On a daily basis she receives death threats, vulgar insults, questions about her (non-existent) sexual activity, and intrusive questions about her social relationships.
She responds to these, because as far as her thirteen year old mind has been convinced by her peers (and I can't blame her, the root of the problem goes much deeper than her ability to make decisions), she has to respond in order to have a high number of questions asked and to gain followers she must be interesting and to have friends she must have a high number of followers).
As a senior student and someone who has never really felt the need to conform to fit any social rules or barriers, I don't think this is okay either. None of it is. It's a vicious circle and someone needs to stand in the way so it doesn't go 'round again and take another life.
So much mud to play with
my mother tells me to leave it alone
yet I play with the mud
while she looks for our home
She keeps crying
then wipes her eyes
I asked her what's the matter mummy
but she won't tell me why
I miss my friends
but don't miss my school
teachers their were strict
and sometimes cruel
Mummy tells me my grandmother has gone away
so I ask her when will she be back
then she cries again
and tells me one day
I wonder if mummy is playing games with me
for this is not the place I lived
but I wonder why my toys are here
I wonder why mother cries so
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oh how I miss the stars,
The ones in the sky that I would often gaze upon,
always thinking of you.
Those stars always made my heart feel heavy.
Made me feel like I was so large, and so small.
Eventually those stars in the sky were replaced by the stars of your eyes,
the little reflection of your glasses, the one's I picked for you.
I stopped going out and looking at stars once winter came.
But that was okay, because I had your stars.
Now it's heating up,
and we're cooling down.
I'll be reunited with my old stars soon,
Just after I've said goodbye to yours.
Fuck I hope it stays.
The snow outside looks like the white noise I hear in my dreams.
It's like holy whispers too powerful.
Thousands of tiny frozen pieces of wind and water that stick to the sidewalk.
It's been seven years since it stayed this long.
Little eight year old Alex says, "It's supposed to storm."
is a weird thing.
I haven't realized that I've grown up.
Being a Summer baby I've always focused on the fact that everyone's getting older than me.
The only time I realize how much time has passed is when I look at the people around me.
Cousins who I saw the day they were born are now entering kindergarten.
Sisters go from being innocent little girls making words out of barrettes have suddenly picked up smoking, and a number of boys with bad reputations, and a hatred for me.
Friends are planning their futures, living in cities far from the ones that we had known.
And I didn't even realize what I've become.
I'm living the dream I've had since I was small, walking the streets I've thought about since I was a little girl, being responsible after realizing that 'out of control' was not a phase that suited me.
Time passes so quickly, and I didn't even realize it until I took a step back.