Poked picked
and prodded
probably pickled
soon too
arm becomes
a cushion
for needles
my mom
had one
in her
sewing kit
a tomato
I remember
Author: Harlan Didrickson
I first started writing this blog as a way to refocus my thinking after a debilitating mental breakdown in 2008. Having been educated in writing, I had hoped that my love for words would have left a trail for me to follow and, well, here we are.
Trust
After all it’s
been spent torched
buried and obliterated
and now nothing
is left so
where does one
go to get
a trust loan
what heart bank
or soul savings
I don’t invest
in someone else
in order to
gain their trust
I give mine
away but now
I’m tapped out
with empty pockets
filled with broken
promises written on
handfuls of bad
paper in blood
Doormat
Ever again
I hardly
think so
forever again
not likely
because my
forever belongs
to me
and whatever
forever I’d
ever given
to another
ended up
being someone
else’s doormat
Bruise
The bruise has
all but disappeared
the spot though
is still tender
as though whatever
it was struck
with such force
that it was
felt cleanly through
like a cut
without a wound
I’m not sure
if it’ll ever
be the same
Rain
So seldom
tears come
now that
when rain
is forecast
out I
do run
hoping to
feel something
other than
the sun
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 