Abandoned Ship


abandoned ship



I’m not as hollow as I feel
My abandoned shell just off your sandy shore
You mock me with a gentle breeze

Whistling through my rusting plates
Leaving me covetous for the sound
Of life and laughter

Dreams unrequited, memories escape
The integrity of my bones slowly gives way
Falling in upon myself

Emptiness echoes through and down
Lonely passageways once full of light
Becoming a flood of sleeping shadows

A bird occasionally lights
Upon my deck in an animated flurry
To mock me trapped as I am

You wrecked me here
But you won’t take responsibility
Acknowledge all the songs you’ve silenced

And while I slip with time, into the sea
You are within my sight
But too far from the scope of my grasp

Are you afraid
If you took a step closer
My fury would rise up like a wave

Might pull you under with me
And push your bones up to the surface
Exposed, your carcass on parade

You trepidate, the thought of your insides
Stretched out, like some side show fake
Gelatinous sea monster who has lost his venomous sting

Perhaps the enjoyment of the taunt
Has outweighed your concerns
All of your doubts in their nest, little chickens

Clucking to themselves, oblivious
While you play the fox
Sniffing hungrily at the door of your own henhouse

More likely, you are as always
You don’t know what you want

There is no satisfying conclusion
Standing in the sun, while you feign sitting in the shade
You are not Switzerland when you have an agenda

You can’t decide what leaves you shining
To sink me, to leave me or to try save me
So you just stand there staring from the shore

Gawking at my spreading rust
All my insides floating like an algae bloom
Turning into a suffocating blanket of red

Declaring that you’re helpless
All you can do is look away now
Let things decompose as they do naturally when left alone

LM 2014 – 2018

* A note:

I stumbled across this unfinished piece about a month ago. It’s been sitting open on my desktop begging to be finished. You may notice it has a poem within the poem. That was difficult to hammer out, but sometimes even a free verse poet likes to toy with structure. I actually began this poem several years ago when I was still working through my breakup with The Josh. It was not primarily about him, in fact it was inspired by the photo of a shipwreck.
This is one of those things, that in the old days, I would have posted on Facebook and there would suddenly be a flurry of angry badgers accusing me of it being about something or someone, that it was not. It generally encompasses our experiences of abusive narcissists behavior; spreading destruction and chaos then refusing to take any responsibility and ultimately only being concerned about their image and their needs. This is something many people identify with. It didn’t have to be specific, but I admit, it is ironic and timely. It just isn’t purposefully related to things coming to light, right now that I will probably write about in my personal blog posts.





Some Thoughts About Motivation


I am, as Carrie Fisher used to say about herself, an over-sharer. I have been jokingly referred to as, the Queen of T.M.I. I share liberally and personally. I process out loud, frequently about my health issues, how I wrestle with depression, anxiety and PTSD, abuse I have taken the brunt of, family, life experiences.

Sometimes people balk or take offense at this. They tell me it’s too personal, that I should keep it to myself, that what I share is inappropriate for Facebook or a blog. This used to be something that occurred more frequently. But now, I think the people who were offended have gotten used to it, given up or it’s just finally sunk in, why it is appropriate.

I do it for me.

I learned a long time ago that returning the shame to the person it actually belongs to, means no more secrets and no more silence. I don’t have to name names, but speaking about my experience out loud makes it real, makes it less painful and it means I am no longer a conspirator. I separate myself from the person who put me through the trauma and become the person surviving it. Why should I be ashamed for what was done to me (or for the resulting life issues) or worry about embarrassing the perpetrator? I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed and embarrassed about. That shame belongs to them! Continue reading





This heart has been to places many
but never one like here
The language keeps changing
And the view is never clear

She’s uneasy with the neighborhood
At once it’s bright and dark
The’re are bars on all the windows
And the benches are so hard

Every door seems bolted fast.
And sometimes she’s locked in
Other times she’s shut out tight
With no warning as to when

And all the while she seeks the comfort
Of a particular pair of arms
A voice to stop her rush and worry
A passion that disarms

Oh her soul it sighs and grows so weary
Hope waning like the moon
She wonders has she made a home here
Or is this to be her tomb?

LM 2014/2016

The image is by an artist named, Kinga Britschgi.
Click here for her website!

And HERE is her Deviant Art Gallery, where you can buy prints, etc.