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b e mccomb Jun 6
it’s friday night and for once
i’m not slinging *****
no tickertape headaches
or low resolution bedtimes

purple cocktail and
a pink sky above
the bricks of a city that’s
turned blue in faded light

and it’s easier now
to be grateful
for what i have
for what i don’t

i don’t have
to relive the past
last year will never
come again

and things may
get darker than
ever someday but
for today i have
this moment
to hold onto

the seconds in which
the fog on my
glasses cleared
and the music in
my ears was coming
from above me
and i didn’t need
to run to my
destination just
walk with time to spare

minutes in which
normal can exist
after a lifetime of
trying to be different

those who know me
will say i’ve changed
and i have
you have to change
when you start feeling
like yourself

it’s not a
glimmering revolution
on a horizon of clarity
it’s when you can
set your own smile
free on your face
let yourself miss
what you’ve lost
but not so much
that you lose today

vulnerability is a
hard gift to give myself
but i don’t want to
live in a box anymore

life is not
a race or sprint
it’s just a walk
on a late spring evening
when flowers in planters
nod in reminder that
potbound plants can
find a way to thrive

growth is a
process
and i’m not
there yet

but for now
there’s air
in my lungs
a plan in my
future and
regrets behind me

and for now
that’s enough
copyright 6/4/21 by b. e. mccomb
or

HOW TO GET RID OF THE MEMORY OF A LOVER WHO BROKE YOUR HEART

Wrap the memory tightly in Saran Wrap
Secure it with strong rubber bands
Lock it in a metal box that has a key
Melt the key in the toaster oven
Completely wrap the box in 7 layers of silver duct tape.
Put that in a plastic bag and seal with staples
Put it on the top shelf of the back bedroom closet
Pile old shoes on the shelf in front of it
Lock the closet door
Nail the bedroom door shut
Burn down the house
Move to Europe
Fall in Love again

Works every time.
             ljm
Don't laugh - I'm SERIOUS ...it works !!
b e mccomb Jan 30
cold string lights
warm street lights

sweater
scrunchie
mask
mittens

fogged over
grey bus ride
it's always
morning
in this world
i've made for myself

tapping keys and
blazing screens and
soft wooden
electronica dreams

coffee cups with
grease on the outside
and swirling flakes
of keep it together girl

don't let your
fingers freeze
and hope that
your toes get warm

and at night pull
the velvety clouds
over your eyes
after you slip down
like hot wax
off a candle

washed down with
soap and daily regrets
washed down with
cold wine and ink

wash
rinse
repeat
tomorrow
but for
right now

*it's all over now
baby blue
copyright 1/29/21 by b. e. mccomb
  Jan 22 b e mccomb
Midnight Rain
a memory that once couldn’t be contained within a room
suddenly fits itself into the palm
of your hand.
this is what happens when you turn around in the middle of walking way

—this is what distance does—

trees that once shadowed over you
now seem like fallen clouds obscuring the city that turned you away.

b e mccomb Jan 19
if this bus
is any later
i will drift
into a pile of snow

i’m not seventeen
anymore
wrapped in three
and a half blankets
to keep myself warm
from the inevitable cold

i’m an amorphous blob
a lump of
coat and scarf
and mask and hair
and cords and lunchbox
and sweater and bag
and cold fingers clutching
a coffee cup

i’m not twenty one
anymore
can’t keep
ignoring things
pushing them
under more layers

claiming it will
keep me warm but
just stifling
me from breathing

i’m almost
twenty three
but when i start
ripping off layers
i’m still
thirteen

under the
trappings of
age there
are those same
fresh wounds
****** on my skin

do we even get
older or do we just
grow wiser in the ways of
silencing the child underneath?

but there’s no time
to think about that
now when the
bus is rounding the
corner and i’m scrambling
through forty
different pockets
to find my pass

and it’s time to go
because if i stand
here any longer
so the snow blows
over me
when the sun comes
out my feet will
melt onto the sidewalk

but that’s another
thought for another
day and it’s time to
leave so i’ll just put on
another layer and
keep moving so
the snow can’t
cover me
copyright 1/19/21 by b. e. mccomb
b e mccomb Jan 17
family is
a knife
cutting birthday cake
cutting roast dinner

cutting paper
and ribbon to wrap
and slicing through
to open the gift

a knife
for what we
do together

but knives
are used
to sever

and when it
pierces
skin it’s that
much more
painful
when the ties
which bind
so easily
strangle

a blade
hanging out
of my side
and everyone pretends
they don’t notice
until they twist
the knife deeper
just to hurt us

i want to
chop onions
slice open
green peppers
add them to dinner
make something
that brings
somebody together

but you
want to
make people
hurt

family is
a knife
copyright 12/25/20 by b. e. mccomb
b e mccomb Dec 2020
butterfly>
biscuits>
olive =
get emotional

butterfly>
needles>
stitch=
me up please

something
is very wrong

tis the season
to smile
go home
and cry

hope??
haven’t seen her

it’s all
blood vials
dead dogs
expired wine
fruit dropped
on the floor

children walking by
looking for a
drunk nutcracker
named tipsy

and i can’t even
syphon off some
of their joy
because something
is definitely wrong
and they’re fresh out

where do the
butterflies go
when it’s winter
and hopeless?

why do they
leave when
we need
them most?

get emotional
stitch me up
rinse
repeat

happy holidays
let the worry
creep through
the greenery

drape some
guilt on the tree
wrapped in twinkling
strings of panic
cranberry flavored
family fights

anxiety but
make it festive

depression but
make it seasonal

could i get a
butterfly down here?

just some kind of
hopeful flutter
a dog
a needle
anything to
grasp onto

just to get
through
december
find a butterfly
on a ransacked
holiday shelf
70% off and
picked over

get emotional
stitch me up

something is
very wrong

depression
but make it seasonal
copyright 12/5/20 by b. e. mccomb
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