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Meghan Dec 2019
Like Alice down the rabbit hole.

There comes a time when it has to stop. Just. Stop. But that time is a long way off I fear. It’s further and farther yet to fall. This never-ending tunnel of life, of things grabbing you in the dark, secrets spilled and truths taking hold. Like a sesame seed trying to sprout in mud. It’s bigger than a mustard seed, but it isn’t moving a mountain anytime soon.

Have I lost faith? Is that what this sickness is? Just a complete lack of faith, of understanding, or will? The willingness to go on dragging one foot in front of the other is there, but barely. Steps range from shambling stumbles to jarring, ragged limps. But still it’s pulling along. One foot ****** from too deep mud, placed with a squelching sound ahead again, as the hungry earth tries so hard to drag you down; to keep you there, entombed and sinking. Until the bog takes over and the air can no longer hear your screams.

This is life.
Meghan Oct 2019
I always wanted to be a dancer,
but life had other plans.
Dancing still brings me joy,
still thrills me to watch
The cut of a dancer's line,
the intention in their sole --
Moving
with such joy,
such sadness.
Conveying every emotion
known to man
with the point of a toe
and the sweep of an arm.
The freedom of movement
Strength
Grace
Precision
I still wish I'd been a dancer
...
It's never too late to start.
Meghan Sep 2019
life flows like a river
But eventually,
we all come to a waterfall

And when the bottom drops out
we come crashing down below,
sure we're crushed by the weight
of the Waters,
of Life

Surfacing into the chaos,
into the calm,
always surprised
and gasping our first breath
as if we're back from the dead
-- but we're not

We float,  full on the idea
that death did not take us
life's grasp not relinquished

Do we rejoice; cry?
frustration and joy mingle --

we float on,
drag ourselves to shore
Knowing full well
we'll have to cross that river again.

Breathe.
Eyes closed; In, out, in
Sigh a heady breath --

And begin again.
Meghan Jul 2019
Bleed me 'til I cry
Bleed until my emotions dry
Just a cut
Surface, skin
It's how I feel
Without/ within

Just a split
Let them out
These things that crawl
Beneath my flesh
My soul, like tar
Buried deep
Trapped upon their tiny feet
Six by six
Six
Again

Each emotion
Grown legs and given rise
Slipping from my fingered grasp
Crawling, creeping
Across my thighs
High,
And high,
And high

Until this skin
This split, divide
Recedes with time
Feelings ride back,
And back,
And down

As one-by-one
My cells are knit
And once again
It's time
To bleed
To bleed
To bleed me dry.
*I've never been a cutter, but this is how I imagine it would feel for me.

"I say, for me, Art definitely imitates life."
~Meghan Carbary, 2019. Quote after writing Cutter, after having accidentally sliced her finger in the lunch room at work, while doing other people's dishes.
Meghan Jul 2019
A movie,
Written haltingly,
Is shown
In flashes
Of light upon the dark.
Snippets of images
That
Draw up no remark.
With haunting clarity
Read,
Find the beauty --
Between
The Truth
And the lie.
Meghan Jul 2019
There's a dinosaur in my washing machine,
having himself a bath.
There's a Brontosaurs in my refrigerator,
having himself a snack.
The Raptor in the rec room is just
romping round the ground.

There's a pony parading through the puddin',
A stallion on the stove.
There's horse in my hamper,
wrinkling all the clothes.

A duck went down the drain today,
while emptying the tub.
The cat is on the keyboard,
asking for a hug.

You might think my menagerie strange,
But you don't know the half –
That's just the animals,
who've given you a laugh.
 
There's a truck in the toilet,
a tractor on the bed,
and a big, pink convertible,
parked upon its head.
I found an airplane in my dishwasher
and a copter in the cupboard.
The books are in the broom closet,
The brooms are on the lawn.
Socks are on the front porch
Waiting for summer to come.
 
If this all seems crazy to you,
I'll guess that you don't know
the joy it is to have this mess
If you've not yet 
been blessed... 
'Cause sleeping in the car
Are toddlers two, and three.

04/02/2019
~MRC
Here's to all the moms out there!
Meghan Jul 2019
I have an extensive dilemma
Wherein
There’s modest prospect
That dictates obtaining in-depth qualifications
Worthiness to ensure the origination
Seeking nominal negative backlash
In the realm of traditional obligations
From Feb. 2018 I was given a list of words I was no longer allowed to use in writing at my job... so I turned then into this poem.
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