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 Apr 2011 Polly o
Mary Catherine
I’m sorry

The person you are looking for is not here

She is missing right now

Do not worry

She has not been kidnapped

Or taken

Rather the person she was

Has been stolen

And we do not know when she’ll be back

But we assure you we will tell her you said

Hi

I’m sure she would love it if you stopped by later

After she comes back

You see she is very lost right now

And is not very sure

Of anything

She is traveling to find the person she used to be

The person that she used to see

You called in a very confusing  part of her life

Her thoughts are hazy and her mind unclear

She just needs time

Please understand that

She loves you very much

So just leave a message at the end of the beep
 Apr 2011 Polly o
Mary Catherine
Excuse me Miss, the test results are back.
We’ve spoken to your family, and we are
Sad to say that you are numb.
You will start your treatment tomorrow.

I’m


                  So


                                   Sorry


I’ve been numb for some weeks now

It started at my toes

It nibbled on my legs

It flirted with my head

Slowly but surely tiptoeing in

Numbness is a silent killer

It plays nice and deceives you

Creeping through my body

Then it took my heart

For numbness is a backstabber

It is not what it seems

It uses other emotions to find you

It is covered by fear, for they are good friends

It hides under sadness’s billowing cloak.

And it is smuggled through the heart’s border by anger

But now it’s in my heart

For the soldiers have come out of the Trojan horse

They pillage and take

For numbness is greedy

They start at interests and the hobbies

It makes them seem boring and not worth while

See numbness is tactful, precise, and deadly

It plays with your mind, and slowly eats away at your heart

Hallowing it out, emptying you

Numbness is always hungry

And now I don’t know what I have left that it could take.






Do not worry, for this illness you have, this plague, it is not deadly

And while the treatment we have prepared for you will not change you back

Because once numbness steals, It does not give back easily

It taints your mind, and like wine on a white tablecloth

It does not fade easily

Numbness scars the mind

It leaves its signature with a heart

You will not be who you used to be

You will be faded version of yourself

And a talkative young girl like your self should not be worried

For those who come into our hospital as vibrant and colorful as you

Don’t fade as much as the quieter ones

See you were stronger than them

Your mind did not give up as easily as theirs

But we are treating you early

And you will be fixed, not to worry

Our results of this treatment are stellar

See you will not be fully put back together

Just a little shattered

Not as broken
 Apr 2011 Polly o
Mary Catherine
I have a visitor

She touches the glass and talks into the phone

Are you okay

Yes


I


Am


Fine

Just wondering, she smiles

And I’m smiling too

Because she can’t see this glass

Or this divide between us

And she can’t see the phone she’s talking into

If I let down my bars

Unlocked my chains

In the prison of my mind

Could you handle what would pour out

Would I still have visitors?

And would you still stand by me, if I escaped from my prison?

I hang up my phone.

And walk back to my cell.

And nobody notices.
 Apr 2011 Polly o
Mary Catherine
Please Stop.

You have taken everything

You have made me empty

You have made me weak

Pillaged my heart

cracked my soul

I do not have anything left

Taken my innocence

Stole my naïve mind

I am not strong anymore

My battle wounds are showing

I know I have lost

Defeated

My troops have retreated


The hardest part?

Pretending it doesn’t hurt

Crack by crack

Soul breaking

Knees quaking

Do not show then the damage

Do not give the satisfaction

Sweep up your heart

Glue your soul

Do not show them your white flag

Do not give up

See there are many battles

Do not give up on the first

You are far stronger than you think

The damage will remain

Hearts do not fully heal

Souls do not repair

Scars will stay

To remind of what you fought for

Scars make you stronger

Define you

Of the battles you fought alone.
 Jun 2010 Polly o
Whitney Metz
I feel I’m always waiting

but for what I do not know.

Just something to tell me what to do,

a sign to show me where to go.

I’m waiting for an epiphany,

a realization, an idea.

I’m waiting for an opportunity

a reason, an event,

anything from anywhere

to give me the courage to act,

so that finally I can walk away

without ever looking back.

Walk away from everything I know,

this life that’s always been the same,

move toward a life that’s better or worse

just any kind of change.

But I’ve been waiting for so long

I fear it’s all I know.

I don’t think the sign I’m waiting for

is ever going to show.

This waiting has become too much,

I just can’t stand it anymore.

I feel my life closing in around me,

I hear the lock turning in the door.

If I don’t do something quickly

I know that I’ll never get free,

and I will live like so many do,

a life of miserable mediocrity.

I have to act, to change, to move,

to leave it all behind.

I can’t keep waiting anymore.

I have to see if I can find

a way to make a better life

or at least some life that’s new.

I have to live on my own terms,

and see if I can make it through.

I have to make decisions.

I must stop trying to hide.

Even if I fail completely,

at least I can say I tried.
 Jun 2010 Polly o
D Conors
"One is at last killed by what one loves violently."
--Guy De Maupassant

During the nights when I cannot seek the sanctity of
sleep,for it does not come over me until the
deadly light of daybreak;
I listen to the still, small voice
calling out from the cracked, crumbling and
falling
plaster firmament hanging over me--
a proverbial coffin-lid
threatening
to close in over me, nailed tightly
shut
with antique copper spikes
to keep
the good dreams
     out.

I am so often told in tones
echoing sad and
silent
in the O Holy Night,
to write
the elegy of insanity
creeping
     up
from my feet
beneath
these ***** blankets,
seeping,
working its way to my throat
where lies my stifled
cries
that engulf the labored breathing
as my tender, simple
heart
threatens to explode.

Tossing a pillow against the
peeling,
painted wall, I utter
a course *"*******"

to the weathered, unwashed window
by my head
that pounds;
needing the soothing
song-sounds of
whiskey, scotch or
lukewarm beer to revive
my
   sinking,
burning soul as
     i lay me down
     to die,
     i pray to nothing
     and embrace the lies


O, the lies...

I can scarce recall
a time of peace and
bliss,
laying lonely in your arms,
with regret I had to
kiss
your sour lips
perfumed bitter with stale smoke,
***** and other such things like
this...

...this nowhere outside goiing,
going
     gone:
The Wheel of Misfortune,
the agony of armies in
retreat,
the ****** of the mind,
the birth
of Jesus, Muhammad, Krishna
and the plastic
Elvis Presley poking up
off your dusty dull-blue dashboard
like the other man's
***** you left
for mine.

Yes,
on these and every sleepless
forever nights
     I know,
I show that
O, still, small voice
the things
we refuse to see,
and maybe after it's all over
it
will sing myself to sleep.
D. Conors
(checking my dusty files for a draft that may have a date. I think this was composed in the late 1980's)
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