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 Jun 1 Renee C
Maddy
Great collection of pens
Grows so much but in my home office now
Notebooks and paper of all kinds
By the night table
In my bag
At the ready
Words are usually floating in my head
All hours of the day
The microcassette he gifted me long ago still works
Tune out nonsense but engage the words
As an educator I know both sides
As a student the Creative writing award in High school
Two books written and something coming in a different genre
You are all in good company because we know and understand
Started at eight years of age and paper is still at the ready
 Jun 1 Renee C
Maddy
Janis Ian's song At Seventeen was my anthem for a very long time
Truth improves like vintage wine if you let it
Right now my song Is Nobody is going to rain on my parade
Despite what used to be
Long ago and closer than you think
Can you make a friend— like a craft project?
I know, I hear this parental voice, “just be yourself.”

All of my classes this semester will be in one building, but I’m a control freak, I wanted to walk my schedule, go class to class, like I will on my first day. I have a locker too—this is so high school—but I wanted to find it, try the combination and plan what I’ll carry. I have questions too, like how’s the wi-fi, are there charging outlets, and where can I get coffee?

Orientation is Tuesday—but who can wait until Tuesday? Classes start Wednesday.  I’d never sleep this weekend with so many questions. I’m already having dreams where I’m lost, late and embarrassed.

So there I was, this morning, dressed for class with my green messenger bag—doing it—schedule in hand. I went into a small auditorium with cushioned, crimson, theater seating—where my first class will be—and there’s this other girl, dressed for class, schedule in hand.

We were like twins, except she’s tall and black and I’m not. Right off she commanded me, handing me her phone, no preamble, no “How do you do,” to “Take my picture.”
Of course, I obeyed, I’m not from outer space. I burst 50 quick frames, as she slightly varied her pose and she did likewise for me.

Her name is Chella and she graduated from Yale last week too, with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs.’ I think I saw her on campus once or twice but our paths had never directly crossed.
“But IS "Global Affairs" a science degree?” I asked skeptically.
“Probably not,” she answered, “but some of us can live with ambiguity.”
Her first direct, commanding phrase limns her personality perfectly.
Yeah, we hit it right off.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
Perfect Day by Povo
Are You Trying to Be Funny? by Everything But the Girl
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/24/25:
limn = to portray in clear sharp detail
the door to his room moans open.

a shadow familiar and sad
like the cold, raining night, whispers,

"Jack, are you awake?"her voice startles him.
"can't sleep again?"

Jack shifts in the chair,
"yeah, I'm awake. i can sleep alright."

he stands, and as he walks to the shadow,
"I want to climb a high mountain
through snow and ice
and never be found."

"a heart that's empty hurts. I miss you, Jack."

"i'm glad someone does. i miss you too."

"you forgot something our last night.
I didn't know it was goodbye."

"what did i forget?"

the shadow moves towards him.
jack slips his arms around her waist.

"you didn't kiss me goodbye."

she puts her arms around his neck.
her lips are soft and warm
and like a summer night, the warmth of her body
comes to him through the coldness of the room.

the shadow raises her head
looks into his eyes as distant
as a sailor tossed on a violent shore,

"why jack, you're crying."

"yeah, i'm crying."

her lips are soft against his ear.
"don't cry, my darlin.
i can't bear to see unhappy.

if you love me. tell me you love me."

he is looking down into her dark eyes,
and softly whispers. "I love you. I do."

"Hold me jack, hold me."

"i'll never let you go..."

...jack probes the snow bridge
with his ice axe. the bridge collapses,
day becomes night
and he is falling, falling,
falling...

startled jack opens his eyes,
jumps out of the chair.
 May 30 Renee C
Liana
It feels great to be unique
It feels beautiful to be special
But being one of a kind
Is so lonely

Can there please be at least one other person in this universe
That's like me?
Can we be two of a kind together?
Just one...
Please

I've had enough of this
I just need ONE other person
I hate this compliment
The sun gleams,
and glitters, famously...
a gilded disco ball,
hung from the ceiling,
of a peaky blue sky.

White clouds, are stretched,
and whipped out,
to a spun-sugar confection.

The wind, snags my legs,
and my bare wrists.
I feel like a side of beef,
on a frozen meat hook.

I gaze, longingly
at the array,
of tender seedlings,
screaming,
to be unpackaged, at last,
and to be freed...

to be given unto the earth,
and surrendered to the elements,
like eager children,
that they may rise, and grow!
...but I can't seem to recall
any of their names, or faces.

...I'm a terrible mother.

Were you impulse buys?
...I hope you'll all be beautiful.
The arctic, unseasonal breeze,
bites at my wrists, again:
a bad-tempered dog,
with an impatient demeanor.

...**** all of this,
I'm going back inside.
Children are taught
Neither to reject nor encourage pain.

Not of the body.
Not of the mind.
Not of the rage boiling beneath their skin.

For they cannot control their thoughts
Any more than they can control
The 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
Or 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.

𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝.
𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑.

So they are 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭—
How to carry fury 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡.
How to let it exist 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠ℎ.

But ah—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧.
And the bugs have erased those—
Through the efficiency of 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞,
They have turned them into 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬.

And 𝑑𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑.
They do not adapt.
They 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲.

So when pain arrives—
When the claws tremble,
When the body seizes with rage—
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭?


Dogs are 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧.
To take it out against 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫.

𝑁𝑜, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑡.
𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡.
Just to 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝
Before the bugs have to deal with it.

So when a small puppy 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝,
When its 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝,
Its 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝—
They handed it a doll and said,
"𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐲."

And the puppy did.

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐦. 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩. 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞.
𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐝. 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.

The plastic head cracked.
And oh, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞
𝑅𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦’𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒.

𝑁𝑜, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒.
𝐍𝐨—𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝.


And the bugs all 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝,
So thrilled the problem had been 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑,
Instead of accepting their responsibility 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡.

So content to 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞—
How it will return when the puppies 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝,
𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝.

The other puppies saw.
Saw the 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫—
The 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥—
The 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥.

Saw that 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 was no longer a burden,
But an 𝑎𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.
Saw that 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 was no longer suffering,
But 𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

And they 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭.

They wanted to 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠
In order to 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 over what could not fight back.

And so the 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.
And so the 𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.
And so the 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝.

𝐍𝐨, 𝐧𝐨—𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑠.
One day 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬,
But 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐬.


For they did not teach puppies 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒.
They did not teach them 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
That it was never meant to be passed along—
That it was never meant to be taken out on the 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐍𝐨.

They taught those puppies one thing.


𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.


~~~

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠.

𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙,
𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐.

𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏,
𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒖𝒎.

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑,
𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠.

𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠.

𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑠.
Suppressium: The Dignicide Doctrine
(The Age of Obedience II)
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