Bad Poetry Reading

I suppose some context is in order, because normally I’m such an upbeat person, but I don’t really have an explanation I’m prepared to fully disclose. In addition to Project Finish Line, which I’ll be writing on more this weekend, I’ve embarked on a bit of an accidental journey that is putting me through my paces, and well…out this came. 

Worry not, my friends, I may not actually be as bullet proof as I claim, but I try to be tough to hit. 

And if you’re reading this, suggestions on a title?

Broken heart, yet still I stand

A shattered shell with grains of sand

Beneath the skin that rip and tear

At throbbing scars already there.

Empty numbness leaves me needing.

Someone stop the jagged edges inside bleeding.

But I walk alone with you forever,

Festering wounds holding me together.

Pull away then turn around 

For though I fight I long to drown

In the merciless sea of time ahead 

That fills my every breath with dread

Of living life an immortal cursed 

To trudge invisible upon the earth 

Across the paths of none who see

What could have been whole is broken in me.

My soul is hope transformed to doubt

Now trapped and screaming with no way out.

At the top of my lungs I silently cry 

Lamenting the second before goodbye 

Where possibilities thrived,
And we were alive,
With reasons to try,
And no end in sight.

But now it’s today,

When you walked away,

Leaving behind you this fractured wraith 

To survive in the absence of aspirations or faith.

So I put on the smile already failing me

To pretend to the world I’m still in one piece

And somehow still similar to

The person I was when looking at you,

But It’s all a lie, for with each ragged breath 

That person is gone, the thing remaining is death.

It’s desperate to fall, but I steady my hand…

Broken hearted, yet still 


I stand.

Know What I Mean-Girls?

Hello again, my friends and (semi) loyal readers,

As promised at the beginning of this journey, I am consistently inconsistent and thus it has been far too long since I last regaled you with my incredible wit and whimsey. And on that same theme, since I wrote about my amazing mom at our last encounter, I am pulling a 180 and diving into to the ever-present-and-popular topic of bitches. Or ‘Mean Girls’ as is the current lingo.

Who are they? What do they do that makes them mean girls? WHY are they so damn mean? And what impact do they have on us? Do they EVER grow up and see the error of their ways?


Having very few answers to these questions, I turned to the warehouse of all valuable knowledge: social media. 😉

I got a variety of answers back, including that some of my own friends counted themselves among the Mean Girls. What!?!? A brave admission. And it had me thinking about some of my own Mean Girl moments (more on that in a minute).

The common themes around the reasons for bitchy behavior were jealousy, a need for power, a need for attention, and insecurity. As a proponent of core cause problem solving, it seems these all relate to the latter – insecurity. How can I be cool? How can I stand out? How can I be the Queen Bee? In shot, how do I feed my baser instincts by establishing dominance? Evidently, the answer is “by being a bitch.” Tearing other people down, making people laugh – especially at the expense of someone else – is a way of being named the Alpha Female. (And let’s by honest, guys do it too. It’s just that women are more insidious and cut throat – we are a gender of survivors.)

I have even fallen into the trap of fighting for Alpha status once or twice on my own, in addition to being the target of other mean girls.

What the mean girls fail to realize is that the best Alphas, true Alphas, don’t establish their status purely through brute force and fear. Sure, physical prowess is a part of what makes them special, but more importantly they fill a critical role in the social stability of a pack. They are the center of organization – they maintain discipline, family, relationships, order, and love. This isn’t accomplished through malice and subterfuge the way the typical Mean Girl works.

About a week after I started this piece, I reunited with some of the same friends I queried via Face Book. It was, of course, a blast. However, though I had already been mulling over the one memorable Mean Girl moment of my life (convincing my group of friends to call a poor, unfortunate girl by the unflattering moniker ‘Baboon’ – I was 15 an not especially clever or creative), I found that something about being surrounded by my ‘pack’ I nearly Mean Girled a tipsy bride-to-be (who, in my meager defense, was about as obnoxious as one small drunk girl can be). She interrupted a crucial game of midget-bar-hosted Giant Jenga (you’d think in a midget bar that Giant Jenga would be regular Jenga, but you’d be wrong – it’s truly giant jenga made out of two-by-fours) that I was winning, and of which I ultimately became the champion, by simply waltzing in while my back was turned and proceeding to very nearly damage the outcome.

I believe my exact words upon turning around and finding Bride-to-Be Barbie nearly destroying my chances at victory were, eloquently, “What the fucking fuck?”

Fortunately, she must have smelled my wannabe Alpha pheromones and wisely (and figuratively) turned her throat to me in a display of vulnerability which allowed me the opportunity to adjust my attitude (AKA pull my head out of my ass) and graciously allow the budding bridezilla her turn at the game. Lucky for her…I mean…fortunately for me and my fellow Jenga competitors, she did not ruin the incredible streak we had going.

It just goes to show that even in my advancing years, and supposedly advancing maturity and wisdom, we all have a little Mean Girl and a little Alpha Wolf in us when the occasion calls for it. The important things is the remember the distinction.