• This Would Be In Character…If Edgar Allen Poe Wrote It.


    The not-so nursery rhyme everyone was expecting of me. Maybe I should go to Baltimore and put this on his tombstone. Funnily enough, his moment of death was two days ago (at the time of me writing this).


    The Tale Of Deborah Downs

    Deborah Downs is a girl who failed to make her mama all too proud

    Mrs.Downs didn’t make a sound

    Mr.Downs couldn’t even bother to just be around

    That’s just how life goes for Deborah Downs

    Word around town is that Deborah makes babies frown

    Since she put her own mother in the ground

    Word around town is that Deborah made the horses leap from the Merry-go-round

    As soon as she rode it, the ride broke down

    Word around town is that Deborah makes all the priests repent and bow down

    As if satan himself gave her the thorny crown

    One day, Deborah became tired of being put in the dog pound

    She was not of her name, sick of the put-downs

    So she decided she would put herself down

    Her tomb reads:

    “Here Lies Deborah Downs, Even God Can Be A Clown.”

    This was the tale of Deborah Downs


    It just sneaks up on me. A itch I just can’t scratch. Until I scratch the paper (or keyboard).

    Written on October 9th, 2024

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  • R is Short for Rumination


    I recently performed this poem at an open mic night. I honestly didn’t have an inkling of what I was going to perform until I saw the crowd, comprised mostly of teens. My inspiration for this poem comes from a Junji Ito story about a young boy whose pain became one with the house he lived in. I believe it was a part of his story collection ‘Lovesickness.’ More significantly, my own dealings with rumination, being a hopeless neurotic and all. Usually, I do not post on Wednesdays, but why not break rules, even if they are your own?


    Rumination

    Rumination involves repetitive thinking or dwelling on negative feelings and distress and their causes and consequences. Girls are more likely to ruminate than boys.

    My room is an open source
    To try and heal open sores
    Licked on by dirty dogs
    Boils like on frogs
    To clean battle scars
    With tears in jars

    I feel the safest in this place
    I can hide the fear on my face
    I do not have a diary
    But I know my thoughts stay beside me

    This is my therapy
    For clarity, most of the time this is a rarity
    Wishful thinking, how dare of me!

    I sing wayward songs of female woes
    Of my soul being exposed
    Of snakes in the shadows
    Of a heart and mind that come to blows

    My room, where I practice rumination
    Is a reflection, on my frustrations

    Written on October 15th, 2023. Two days before my birthday.

    -Sunshine

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