aloe and mango
mix as well as sweet chilli
or your back to a wall
I am not with the party,
Please understand,
I didn’t even vote for the man,
I am full of anger,
I am full of dread,
“did you hear what he said”?
And just when you think you heard enough,
You hear something else…
“he said, what”?
What is the question?
What does he mean?
“just grab their…”
So crude and obscene!
I am angry,
She lost…
I have no regret,
I am not Alt Reicht,
So, I am left,
Standing with you,
We have got to agree,
Support the new minority!
©B L Costello 2017
Everything is so different now.  These changes are blinding.  We need to recognize who our friends are...I hope you all like this.  Comments are appreciated.
Steel ribs,
I can't forgive what I forged in trust.
Twelve years mist the bars with absent tears,
drained as it reaches past,
branded in locks,
muffled knocks:
"It's mother, let me in,"
Its border holds so much hope,
a hole brandished with lost toys and misaligned roadmaps.
A shelter in gravestone gifts,
this gap of safety drags me down and away,
I'm sorry.
I try to fill this pit you dug in my heart with my body;
maybe then the world could forget about me the way you always did.
My apologies won't suffice a home of packaged dirt.
Not a word;
that lounges my lips,
because nothing can surpass
the way it feels to feel
I've had an absent father since I was four. It's hard to explain the feeling, because it feels like nothing at all, and that hurts a lot- if that's not confusing. All feedback is welcome.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about texting you and trying to reconnect.
It’s been quite some time. I do miss your company.
I stop myself every time because I decided the last time you left (which wasn’t the first time, or even the fourth) that I couldn’t keep playing those games with you.
That you weren’t healthy for me.
But I was nostalgic and weak one night and started reading through our old messages.
In just a few messages you did so much
You were concerned about my drinking
Concerned about my health
You redirected my self hate and were so invested and interested in my life.
I miss that.
I miss you.
But despite the tears, I still won’t reach out because I’m terrified that I’ll get the same response as I did the last time I tried (which wasn’t the first time, or even the fourth time, and probably not the last)
”Please stop texting me
A poem not about an ex lover, but an ex friend.
Each of us has a backbone,
That sustains us
and straightens our path.
My backbone is my Faith,
The path I follow is narrow
With certain scoliotic bends
But with all my heart I follow,
And eternity is where my road ends.
And who/what is your backbone?
After a nearly ten-minute rant

she finally concluded with:

" say the least!"

'Far too late,' I thought.
It was all born from her pure frustration,
Curiosity led to trepidation,
This was the fuel to her depravation,
Lusting not envy created speculation.
For the press it was a news sensation
Which became enhanced by publication,
Her subjects the older generation.
Would became more than a mere temptation,
Power now overtook infatuation,
Only demise would be their salvation.

having a go at writing a sonnet not sure if I have done it right someone please tell me .... JB x
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