Clenched Tight

Still too dark to see

but she can feel

the way her hands are

clenched tight

she couldn’t remember

all the details

only that, once again, 

she was fighting

whispering underneath her breath

“I must win, I will win”

and she knew that she had fought

with all her heart

while she was sleeping

once again

her hands ached from the fight

she had while sleeping

 clenched tight

and ready to win

šŸ‘£Jeanna’ Mead

5 42 a.m.  2- 19-18

Crying Shame

For quite some time, I’ve thought about the conspiracy of love, the relationships we form with people that sometimes,often times,make sense only to us. 

I have,over the years,gotten to know and to care deeply for people that have scars on their bodies, which can be seen and felt,just like my own scars but, the real wounds,the real scars are the ones carved on the soul,hidden from all but the most trusted few.  

Sometimes, though,those scars become chains,snares,gilded circles of barbed wire wrapped tightly because of a decision to hold on to the pain, to yield the  rope of unforgiveness, to create such a web that tangles everyone that even comes close. 

There’s something tragic about seeing people afraid to step outside the confines,to dance with someone,to enjoy company;a cup of coffee, an long conversation because they have been unforgiven, and sometimes, it’s that they haven’t forgiven themselves but far,far more often,it’s because love hasn’t. 

And it is a crying shame

Touch ….

“‘Touch’ is the single most expansive word in our lexicon. Its related definitions fill 23 columns in the Oxford English Dictionary, by far its largest entry.”

“Touch is both a noun and a verb, and act and an event. And it is a sense, ‘the most general of body senses.’ Aristotle regarded touch as the primary sense, both in the history of sensory development, and in its survival value. You can live without other senses, but you cannot survive without touch.”

“Our skin is our largest and most extensive organ of sensation. Any object that touches the skin announces a wide variety of qualities of that object… The skin is the surface of the brain. To touch the surface is to stir the depths.”

– Excerpts from ‘Touching Upon Touch’ by Deane Juhan href=””>Touched

No Need

There is no need.

to keep beating around

the bush

making excuses

and. all kinds of explanations

there’s no need 

to look back

when you’re not going that way

there’s no need

to hold your breath 

hold out hope

hold the place

there’s no need

to sit and wait

do without

wish it could be

a little bit different

there’s no need

to count the days 

or the change

or on anything else

there’s no need

to expect anything 

but what is

already known

all so well

šŸ‘£šŸ’—Jeanna’ Mrad 

11 26 a.m.  2-15-18

She worn a red dress

that she had bought herself

with the boots that were bought

by someone else

that she had touched long ago

She worn red lipstick

left lip prints on wine glasses

coffee cups

and the cheeks of those she kissed

She worn a red scarlet letter

carved upon her heart

unseen but known

well and deep

She worn a red leather strap

tied and knotted 

around the silver words

she always said

She worn red

one of the colours 

she loved the best

There was just something

about the way

it  seemed to match

the way she felt

Red hot and full of life

bursting out of the chaos

set apart

dancing to the rhythm

only she could feel

Torn,Tattered HeartsĀ 

The years haven’t erased

the sharpness of the pain

still brings tears to her eyes

and try as she might

there is a part of her

that can’t forget the day

the hearts were all

torn and tattered

shredded into pieces

marked with words

crossed out and underlined

that left her scarred

where no-one could ever see

she had held the box

decorated with such care

daring to hope against hope

though her intuition had known

All eyes were on her

almost taunting

she really should have waited

but she went on ahead anyway

 took a deep breath

opened up the box

and felt the bottom drop out

torn tattered hearts

words in black 

scratched out the “love”

mark “don’t” instead

broken candy bars

smashed into pieces

There was not much

 she could do

no saving grace

just too late

bite her  tongue

blinked her eyes

willed herself not to cry

slide that box underneath

the wooden desk

pray for strength

to pretend best as she could

until finally the bell rang

 And she escaped

threw away the box

 full of shame and hate

written on so many 

torn, tattered hearts


10 54 a.m 2+12-17