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2.1k · Jun 1
I didn't Set
on the canvas. I was
wet and dripping like a feral
kitten. My creator didn’t lay me
out in the sun. And so, my colors

run. The red and blues
look purple. The mother’s milk
curdled. Throwing me up as *****. And so,
I left a stain. Beaten by the brush

I lost my sense of touch. Now
I’m oily. I’m a spill in a broken
frame. I hang on the wall as
a flower. None admire me. But I haven’t
nerves to leave.
1.9k · Oct 2019
I the Bonsai
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
dwarfed and obscure,
sit neatly arranged for all to adore.
Parched from the aridity, neglected by the sun,
I the bonsai never truly begun.

Cast in the shadows, growing off to the side,
never fully *****, always wanting to hide.
I the bonsai have the capacity to grow,
a little warmth and attention is all I need you know.
1.6k · Nov 2018
I'm Missing
sandra wyllie Nov 2018
I’m Missing

some buttons off my old winter coat. It doesn’t
keep me warm any longer because it won’t close
all the way. I’m missing the cap off my toothpaste. It’s dried

at the top, and  hard to squeeze out these days. I missing
my keys again. I can’t drive the car. So I can’t get to the supermarket. I’m missing my best friend. She hasn’t called for

weeks. Wonder what she’s doing. I’m missing all the things I used to do with my son when he was young, like going sledding
after a snow storm and building forts from blankets

and pillows, gorging ourselves on Halloween candy and watching cartoons on a winter’s afternoon. I’m missing my father something awful. It’s been fifteen years since his death. Cancer

took  him real quick. I still haven’t gotten over it. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing me, parts of myself that I gave to others, parts I’ll never recover. That’s before I got burned, before life taught me

some cruel lessons, before I fell in love and got my heart
broken. But what I’m missing most of all is the chance to do it over again in a different way, knowing what I’ve learned today.
1.1k · May 11
You can Paint It
sandra wyllie May 11
gold
as a wedding band.
But it doesn’t shine
in my hand.

You can paint it
red
as blood.
But it won’t flow.
It makes a thud.

You can paint it
green
as clover.
But it only sits.
It won’t come over.

You can paint it
wearing a smile.
But it’ll not be happy –

It doesn’t have eyes
to look into mine.
It doesn’t have a mouth
to sing a note.
It doesn’t have arms
to hold me close.
It doesn’t have feet
to climb the mountain.

I lost a man from this planet.
He lives now under
a slab of granite.
Hard and gray as a stone.
All that's left of him are bones.
1.1k · Apr 2019
If You Live
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
long enough
you’re going to get burned

No one comes out clean
except a stillborn

If I disturb you
unnerve you
then I’ve done something
1.1k · Sep 2019
No Matter What You Do
sandra wyllie Sep 2019
some people
are going to love you.

No matter what you do
some people
are going to hate you.

No matter what you do
some people
are going to ignore you.

No matter what you do
some people
are going to talk about you.

So, keep doing what you do
1.0k · Jun 24
This Skin I’m Wearing
sandra wyllie Jun 24
black as the night sky
brown as flapjacks buttered and syrupy
peach as a peach farm tree
red as my son’s skinned knee
thick as an alligator
thin as a high-school waiter
acned and wrinkled
old and pickled
fresh as a baby’s bottom
fallen as the leaves in autumn
every mole, rash and blush
is lush with life
and hasn’t been touched
by a doctor’s knife
aging isn’t flawless
it’s beautiful
995 · Jul 2019
When You Have To
sandra wyllie Jul 2019
do
something
because
it pumps
the blood
through your veins
because
it releases
endorphins
because
it’s natural
as breathing
because
because
you don’t need
a reason
991 · Oct 2018
Nobody Answers
sandra wyllie Oct 2018
Nobody Answers

When she walks into an empty,
dark house it hits her as a wind tunnel. It’s deafening,
as her hand places the key into the slot and turns
the **** to open the door. It used to be a lively place,

of kids and pets and toys
spewed all over the floor, chocolate stuck
to the couch, and little finger-prints, like art-work
coloring the walls. The television would be

singing in a sugar-coated voice
a rhyming silly song. Now it hardly gets
turned on. It’s only a black, plastic box sitting slothful,
as the logs in fireplace. Those logs are cold

as stone. There hasn’t been a fire in many years
to keep them warm. Her phone doesn’t ring much
anymore. And when it does it’s only a bill collector. Her
children are no longer living there; they have

their own lives. Her friends have divorced
and are in the dating pool. Now a day she spends
most of her time socializing on her computer. Silence
creeps in stealthy and grows like a cancer. You call out
his name. Nobody answers.
952 · Jun 2019
Why is it My Friends
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
are farsighted? I’m splitting in two
in front of them, and still I can’t get
their attention. They walk over me like
I’m fallen leaves. I feel so used. I beg and

I plead for some relief. But they think it’s
my usual drama. So, I wear my steely armor
and smile. I’m not fooling anyone, least of all
myself. So, I hide in a bottle like a ship. And just like

the ship I can’t get out of the narrow
mouth. And there’s a cork at the head that won’t let
anything in. So, here I’m all alone by myself, which is
something I’m used to. And now since I’m split at the bow
I’ve no masts but two hulls.
923 · Jan 1
Resolutions
are as acorns. I bury
them; by noon forgetting
them. The rain and snow
mix. The earth beneath

my feet freezes with all
my bright ideas of making
a brighter year. So, I skate
on the topping.  And as fall

arises I’m propping myself up
as a scarecrow. The ground melts
the snow. And I see the buried
wish, crisp as apples in a dish.  I’d

make a pie with them all. So, high
it’d topple and fall. But this year
I shan’t. No, this year the solution –
No resolutions!
910 · Jun 2019
Ride Like Wild Horses
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
There comes a time in one’s life
when you must ride
Feel the air whip through your hair
as if it were a sail/blaze a trail
Set all things aside
Ride like wild horses into the unforgiving night

Ride across the ocean
until the salt splashes up in your eyes
Ride across the prairies
until the breeze kicks off the flies
Ride like wild horses into the unforgiving night

Ride through droughts and scorching heat
when you’re thirsty and tired
Ride through storms and brush fires
hot as an electric iron
Ride like wild horses into the unforgiving night

Ride into the sky
Part the clouds with your smile
Ride into your unconscious
Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride like wild horses into the unforgiving night
901 · Oct 2020
If I Grew Wings
sandra wyllie Oct 2020
I’d soar
higher than the trees
into the clouds
and catch a breeze

If I Grew fins
I’d swim
longer than the seas
onto the earth’s outer edge
and be a tease

If I Grew muscle
I’d lift
you off your knees
into the dancing stars
and galaxies
898 · Oct 2018
Let's Make it Real
sandra wyllie Oct 2018
Let’s Make it Real

What if the left
got along with the right?
And the right respected the left?
Imagine if the world were our hands,

to cut off one would make
the life of the other one seem almost
unbearable. They’re used interchangeably,
even when we have a predominant

one. I want to envision
a less polarized world,
a world we love and respect one another,
a world that is kind, that is

understanding and tolerant
of differences. What if we lived
in a place where there was peace,
no fighting or protesting

in the streets? What if we were
as our hands? Open to the idea?
We can make it happen.
Let’s make it real.
887 · Mar 2019
I Give These Things Wings
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
Your hypocrisy- wings
Your bureaucracy- wings
Your insults- wings
Your consults- wings
Your expectations-wings
Your impatience-wings
Your resignations-wings
Your demands-wings
Your commands-wings
Your arrogance-wings
Your disinheritance-wings
Your apathy-wings
Your cruelty-wings
Your duality-wings

Bye, bye! Fly high, high away
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
I want to be a blind melon
and have the bumble bee girl as my daughter
I want to laugh at the rain
lay face down in the puddles and drink the water

I want to be the red wheel barrel
glazed with rain water beside the white chickens
that way the world could be mine
I am ripe for the plucking and all the pickings
845 · Jan 2019
Death Come
sandra wyllie Jan 2019
Death come quick!
Come fast!
You’re so slick.
I can’t last.

Death come soon.
Please do hurry!
At noon
wheel me out in a surrey.

Death come neatly.
Come softly.
Take me completely.
Been feeling awfully.
sandra wyllie Sep 2019
The baby cries
Never smiles
Won’t be comforted within your arms
Put him in his baby swing
You didn’t know it autism

The toddler never plays
With the other children
Always stays to himself
He doesn’t drive the toy trucks
He lines them up
You didn’t know it autism

The preschooler doesn’t talk
But his vocabulary his that of a boy in the
second grade
His comprehensive language better than
his expressive
And he always throwing temper-tantrums
You didn't know it was autism

The teachers complain
He can’t sit still
Stares off in space
Won’t join at circle
Other children don’t like him
You didn’t know it autism

The doctor says there is no cure
You scream and curse
And want answers
Now you know it was autism
This is my son prior brain damage
784 · Sep 2019
One Person
sandra wyllie Sep 2019
can give life
and one person
and take life away

One Person
can create
a beautiful masterpiece
or destroy the hope and joy
in a child’s loving, trusting face

One Person
can build this country up
or tear this country down
One vote
can make the difference
as to our future
if that vote is sound

One Person
can change your life
forever –
if given the permission to

One Person
can do many things

One Person
is you
766 · Mar 2019
I Like Rain
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
I like rain in the winter
It washes the snow away

I like rain in the spring
It turns everything green

I like rain in the summer
It brings a peaceful slumber

But rain in the autumn
Is soon forgotten
747 · Dec 2018
Don't Wake Her
sandra wyllie Dec 2018
Don’t Wake Her

from her slumber
Sleep’s the only peace she knows
She gets lost in her unconscious
Takes her places she’d never go

Don’t disturb her fantasies
Her childish ways beguile
Gets her through the rainy days
Paints a pretty smile
722 · Mar 14
Instant Coffee
sandra wyllie Mar 14
is dehydrated
as instant friends.
But the friends don’t
have the same shelf-

life. Blackened crystals
shimmering as fool's
gold are a lump of
coal. As you have

a sip you’ll find them
bitter.. I like
my coffee dated, as I like
my friends –

percolated.
719 · Jun 2019
When I Make Love
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
I close my eyes real tight
so, it’s him I cannot see
and dive into my mind
make-believe
you are there
and when I scream
he thinks it’s him
that broke the rafters
and the beams
that woke the neighbors
soaked the sheets
and when I climb off
I lay back
and smile
and so does he
707 · Dec 2018
Easy on You
sandra wyllie Dec 2018
I’ll hand you a cup
so, when I cry
my tears will flow
as water from a faucet.
You’ll drink it up.
The cup, just toss it.

I’ll hand you an eraser
so, when I write
you can erase the parts
that don’t feel right,
the anguish and sorrow.
Read it now,
the words are light.
689 · May 2019
I Absolve You of Everything
sandra wyllie May 2019
Forgive me
for acting on misunderstandings
placing blame on you
when I knew what I was getting into it
easier to point fingers
I’ve got two hands filled
with enough digits to go around
I look in the mirror
see I’m not perfect
rage is my weapon
resentment my ground
and revenge keeps coming around
I’m self-destructing
in delusion
I got enough work
to take care of the planks
in my own eyes
thanks to forgiveness
isn’t it lovely
isn’t it beautiful
that I’ve only myself
to take me down
681 · Nov 2018
Music Is
sandra wyllie Nov 2018
Music Is

my companion’ it’s so understanding. When the clouds roll in, music is my friend. Where there is percussion
there’s no need for a discussion. It soothes my aching heart

the moment that it starts. People must give their opinions;
tell you what they’re thinking. Music is relaxing. It’s a great distraction. When my nerves are shot I play it a lot. Cymbals are

the thunder, makes me wonder about the universe, the ******, the meek, the cursed. It’s a catharsis, each string from my guitar is strumming my cares away, the lyrics a Shakespeare play,

each teardrop, another note that the composer wrote
especially for me.Music is epiphany, can’t buy that at Tiffany’s. Can’t wrap it in a box, put a ribbon on the top. I can take it on my

walk, when I’m driving, when I’m home, when I’m
all alone. It’s my best friend, sound that never ends.
679 · Dec 2019
I Was Reaching Out
sandra wyllie Dec 2019
for stars up in the sky
until I found that all the stars
are just reflections of my eyes

I was reaching out
to other people for help
until I found the only one
that could help me was myself

I was reaching out
for whatever I could
find. But whatever it was
wasn’t good enough, at least
not in my mind.

I was reaching out
to get high. But the high
could not be sustained. And I
realized that I was playing
a losing a game.

I was reaching out
until I learned to reach in.
That is only when true healing
will begin.
670 · Dec 2020
Don't Add White
sandra wyllie Dec 2020
to my velvet black.
Grey is slack.
And I’m not that.

Don’t add white
to my fiery red.
Pink is girlie-
‘Nough said!

Don’t add white
to my dark navy.
Don’t do light.
I’m not chicken gravy!
659 · Feb 2020
I'm Sick
sandra wyllie Feb 2020
of you second-guessing me
he said. He sounded perturbed
on ever word.

I’m sick
of your rage
he told me before. But if he
lived the violent life I had
he’d have some rage for sure.

I’m sick
of being lovesick
over you. Sick of you making
promises that you never kept. Always
saying that you’d be there –
then left
fighting to get back
a semblance that was

I’m sick
because I relied on you
and then
you broke my heart


I’m sick
of being sick
and never
getting fixed!!

And I'm too sick to start!
657 · Oct 2018
Dandelions
sandra wyllie Oct 2018
Dandelions

make a nutritious salad. Colored eggs
fill an Easter basket.  Dressing up makes her
feel young. She likes to wear her brown hair
long. At the bar yesterday, a ninety-two year old

woman sat drinking pinot noir, wearing a
bright, orange pumpkin hat she bought at the
Christmas shop. Her secret phrase “one foot in the grave,
one foot on a banana peel” You got to slip and

slide and have some fun. Sit inside, and you
go numb. She learned a lot from that old gal,
who put away a whole meal of meat stew and then
ordered a big dessert too!
638 · Oct 2019
How Much can you Put Down
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
in one sitting before quitting
How much can the sun shine before
it turns dusk?
How much can the baby cry before
it learns trust?
How much can the rose bloom
before it withers on the vine?
How much can I pen?
There’s always another line
633 · Jan 2019
LIFT
sandra wyllie Jan 2019
Lift these sagging *****
With an underwire bra
Lift my bad mood
like a shining star
Lift the mean of the world
like my shampoo
Lifts the dandruff
Out of my scalp too
Lift my sad eyes
With a broad smile
Lift all my defenses
With compassion
Lift these mistakes
With forgiveness
That’s all it takes
Lift my spirit
Like a helium balloon
Put a song in my heart
Float me away
Not a moment too soon
Lift love
Like it was leaven
In bread
We don't need hate
The world needs a face-lift
And fast
It's not too late
Don't let time pass!
613 · Apr 2019
Adulting
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
there’s too much
of this -
too much work
and paying bills

not enough playing
and finding thrills
in sand pies
made at the beach

and silly
jabberwocky speech
too much worrying
about this and that

not enough funning
lends you a life
perpetually flat
612 · Feb 2020
Do You Want to Be the Trees
sandra wyllie Feb 2020
in December? Naked and
bare. No colors at all. Stripped of
everything. No one making their home
on your branches. No one climbing
your trunk. Cutting you into logs
to warm their ranches?

Do you want to be the trees
in June? Green! Green! Green! With
babies chirping away. Providing shade
on a lazy day?

Do you want to be the trees
in October in bright, bold colors? A
work of art, raining orange, red,
and gold. Creating a delicate quilt
that unfolds?
597 · Jun 2019
I Break
sandra wyllie Jun 2019
because I am not substantial
as an earthling.

Where I break
the light shines.

Souls unite –
through the cracks of sin.

I transcend
into more than bone and skin.

Something beautiful is created
when into it enters the light.
589 · Aug 2019
Your Head’s too small
sandra wyllie Aug 2019
for all that thinking
your liver's damaged
from all that drinking
Your heart’s too broken
from all the hurting
your arms too stretched
from all that reaching
your spirit squashed
from all that trying
still morning comes
again, you’re rising
584 · Feb 2019
This Life is Mine!
sandra wyllie Feb 2019
Boxes can’t hold me
Scars won’t mold me
You can’t break me
Opinions don’t make me

Failure won’t finish me
Words can’t diminish me
You can’t define me
This life is mine, see
578 · Jan 2019
A Jar of Potpourri
sandra wyllie Jan 2019
Lately I feel weighed down
as chocolate coated brown.
I taste sweet, a cherry lollipop,
fizzy as orange soda-pop.
But inside I’m dissonant ebony,
masked in shrouds of revelry.
I bask all day in purple haze.
Run amok in a cornfield maze,
behind yellow walls of acid rain,
indelible as a port-wine stain.
Smell the smokiness of me.
I’m a jar of potpourri.
555 · Feb 2020
I Just need to Feel Him
sandra wyllie Feb 2020
like the sun
coming up
in the morning.
I’m a boat,
and he’s my mooring.

I just need to hear him
like the birds
in the forest.
I’m a song,
and he’s my chorus.

I just need to see him
like a rainbow
in the sky.
He’s the reflection
that colors my eyes.
554 · Dec 2018
Willing to Take a Chance
sandra wyllie Dec 2018
Willing to Take a Chance

All my life I’ve been wasting time so afraid of what people think and what they might say. So, I played it safe doing everything someone else’s way, always wondering who I am, asking myself again and again.

But I’m willing to take a chance. Yes, I’m ready to take a chance, to awaken these dreams buried deep inside of me.

All my life following all the rules. Doing everything other people do just to fit in. But the saddest part is I never did. Now I look back and wonder what I could have been.

But I’m willing to take a chance. Yes, I’m ready to take a chance, to awaken these dreams buried deep inside of me.

All my life friends weaved their way in and out, leaving me so confused. And there have been lovers too, that I’ve amused. I’m left empty. Nothing’s ever filled me.

But I’m willing to take a chance. Yes, I’m ready to take a chance, to awaken these dreams buried deep inside of me.

All my life keeping quiet like a blanket draped over the couch. Hoping someone out there would unfold me on a rainy day. Maybe someone could see the possibility in me before it was too late.

But I’m willing to take a chance. Yes, I’m ready to take a chance, to awaken these dreams buried deep inside of me.
543 · Jan 2020
FEED
sandra wyllie Jan 2020
a fever
with love

Feed
Your enemy
with kindness thereof

Feed
the hopeless
with dreams

Feed
the cursed
by means

Feed
the lonely
with song

Feed
your temper
not long

Feed
this life
with creation

Feed
your emptiness
with imagination
541 · May 20
He’s Getting Older
sandra wyllie May 20
not as old
as the mountains
or the trees
in the redwood forest

He’s moving slower
not as slow
as the Galapagos tortoise
he moves with purpose

His body’s softer
not as soft
as goose down
but soft enough
to wrap my arms around
and feel protected

He's lighter colored
not as light
as an albino
or a ball of floured
pizza dough
the darker hairs
have turned gray
the blush of crimson
on his face
has melted into butter
but I could love no other
528 · Oct 7
When Silence
knocks
at your door
do you let it in
to take a seat
telling it to wipe its feet
or do you leave it outside
in the cold rain

When silence
bowls
you over
do you scream in its face
and chase it as a child
running with a net to catch
a butterfly
or do you leave it there
to die

When silence
bites
your tongue
do you swallow the blood
of a million things
that flood your head
or lay it out
as the quilt
on your grandma's bed
525 · 4d
Run! Girl Run!
til the air jumps into your lungs
the trees of gold and crimson
are a blur and swims in your dreadlocks
your heart’s a blaring boombox

Run! Girl Run!
past the corner store
til sweat seeps from your pores
don’t look back
run wild as the wind

Run! Girl Run!
with the steam of a locomotive
the fire in your feet explosive
cut yourself from him
he's just a broken limb

Run! Girl Run!
over his lies
leaving skid marks
on his oversized ego
he's only a placebo you're taking
he's moss
shake him off
520 · Nov 2018
Naked
sandra wyllie Nov 2018
Naked

She’s transparent as the tear drops that stain
her pretty face by smearing someone’s hate
under her eye liner and mascara. Don’t listen to

what people say. It shouldn’t matter. But it
does. She’s as sheer as her stockings
when she starts talking. You can hear the pitch

in her voice change, as a sliding trombone. See her eyes
glaze over, as a honey dew donut. Notice her head
drop, as boulder rolling down a mountain. Your words

become a smoking gun that you blow  in streams of
vowels and consonants. She’d rather have it all
fall out than implode. She’d rather be as is,

unclothed. Her heart is diaphanous too. It’s as delicate
as a loose tooth. And when it comes undone she
stores it under her pillow and grows a new one.
518 · Oct 2019
Back in the Same Place
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
We were before
The same place we’ve been a hundred times
But who’s counting
The same place that gets us into trouble
Haven’t we learned
We keep repeating the same old familiar patterns
Sometimes I think it’s just a distraction
And although it does us no good
There’s something very comforting about it
We can’t seem to live without
But we’ll never grow from the same *** of spoiled soil
And we’ll never flourish in the shadow of yesterday’s mistakes
Here we are again –
Back in the same place
508 · Dec 2019
RATS! RATS! RAT!
sandra wyllie Dec 2019
Rats in the cellar. Rats chew through
the screens. Rats make nests under the
umbrella. When you open it their turds
drop like leaves. Rats in the backyard

eating the swill, the leftovers from
last night – chicken bones and skins of
the baked potatoes. When they get stuffed
they peer from the windowsill

into your room. They smell like an
unflushed toilet that backed up and became
overfilled. So, they spill into your dreams. Rats
in the cupboards chewing the bag of flour

so, it looks like it’s snowing - and the bag
like swiss cheese. Rats are your lovers, your
family and friends. They surround you and
get into everything.
498 · Oct 2019
It Takes a Lifetime
sandra wyllie Oct 2019
of choices to decide
which is the right one for you. There’s
so much to choose. A lifetime
of trials and wiles of the young. A

lifetime of making mistakes, having
things go awry. And then brushing it
off to the side. It takes a lifetime of hard
work and sacrifice. And still there’s no

guarantee what you do will suffice. It takes
a lifetime of heartache and angst to carry the
past in your head, not to make it form who you
are, but to become someone better instead.
494 · Aug 15
Go
sandra wyllie Aug 15
Go
as the gazelle
swift and graceful
Leap
as the rocket frog
blink and take off
Swing
as the spider monkey
nimble and free
Dance
as the waves in the ocean
make a splash
Shine
as the stars
twinkle in the distance
Rise
as the sun
every morning
with persistence!
492 · Apr 2019
MOMMY
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
wasn’t those mommies who read story books in laps
and crooks of her *****. She shook those needle painted hooks
until said bled a velvet red and ran off alone to hide inside
the white ruffled canopy bed. She was cumbersome as the long mink

coat; she’d tote on a five-foot one frame of the mentally
insane. Little Dolly she’d call the tiny tot. Now sit and look pretty, don’t spoil your dress or I’ll beat you silly! Daddy had friends inside
his head that kept him entertained.  But when he got angry with them

there was hell to pay. And he took it out on the two with garish
words and hyperbole that could fill the vortex of dolly’s soul. Between the cries and begs mommy got exasperated and wiped the floor up
with dolly’s head like a mop. She must have got brain damaged when

she pitched her skull like a baseball through the glass window. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Boy, did she beat the bejesus out of Dolly!  She had welts the size of thick cigars and her behind was
on fire as a wood-burning stove and hung off her side like a overcooked

marshmallow.   Mommy dearest smoked those Parliaments one after the other. And between each puff of swirling grit she’d cuss out loudly and hurl her spit. Gawd, if only she’d choke on it! The orange bee-hive hair she wore looked like a hornet’s nest. Stung a thousand times young, and a thousand more since they rolled her corpse out the door.
these words speak truth and are scars of my youth
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