Growing Up

img_3670Something is different.
I can hardly speak
Over the
Tremendous sound of this
Quivering, invisible
Distance.
My bones are
Stronger and
My hair is
Longer and my
Heart is
Wiser but
I’m still having trouble
Remembering how to
Breathe.
Something is different.
Did I get
Left behind
Again?
Or did I move
Forward
Without
You?
Something is different.
Is it you?
Or is it
Me?

– m.m.p.

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The Absent Room

Silent, nameless room
Doused in bright white
Winter-morning light and
The tingling sense of something
Lost
The furniture reeks of absence
The walls bare and blank like
Minds losing memories
One vivid photo
Slipping away into invisible ash
At a time
Ghostly echoes of voices and laughter
Whistle through this room
Like a gentle, stirring breeze
It sings out the name of the
Forgotten one
Who will haunt this place
For all of eternity
With fragments of stolen joy and
Shattered memory
Who can say
What is lost?

-Megan M. Phillips

Memories of a Moment

Golden light dances on my skin
Soft white slashes, blue gray wool
All up above
My ethereal sentinel
The sky
I’ve seen beauty my soul can’t capture
In icy water trickling down cool, damp, dark rock
In crumbled color on the ground
A litter of leaves and life
In blue tinted heaps of earth which
Tower high and mighty in the
Never reached distance
Those moments are so much better than
Memories
But pale versions of these experiences are
All I have
The ghosts of fulfillment haunt my
Hollow senses
To regain my trust in the
Goodness of this reality
I must once again
Experience that vivid feeling
Found only in a
Wonder filled
Moment
Of simply
Being

Peace

Is peace a possibility
In a world so full of hate?
In a world in which
Flowers scorn and mock and destroy
Those which quietly bloom
Adjacent to them
Consumed by the sickly green
Parasite of
Envy?
Is peace a possibility
In a world in which
Time is trampled and tossed and
Smothered into nothingness by the
Slithering hiss of efficiency
A disturbing desire for increased
Consumption at the
Expense of all
Meaningful things?
Is peace a possibility
In a world that has forgotten
What love really means?
Souls neglected while the physical form is filled
Just for moments until the next victim is
Used and abused
Never cherished for the right
Reasons like for the
Sparkle reflecting off her eyes
As she gazes with an awed and open expression at the
Star filled
Ethereal being which is the
Night sky
Is peace a possibility
In a world in which
People kill for amusement?
They laugh and snort and chuckle
As they shoot and strangle and suffocate
Any bit of joy or hope that
Seems it may prevail
Like a small, bright dandelion
Springing up between
Cold and gray slabs of
Concrete
They yank the little flower
From the earth and
Rip it to shreds
Leaving its remains to drift away to
Some far far place they
Mistakenly believe
Might make them feel
Whole again
Is peace a possibility
In this ever darkening reality?
Or will all morality
Eventually cease to
Be?

-Megan M. Phillips

Umbrella Man

Umbrella man
Clothed in black
One leather gloved hand
Tightly coiled about the
Slick smooth handle of a
Dangerously dark
Umbrella
The other raised
Just for a moment to
Pull down his ink stain
Hat
Umbrella man
He steps through life
Day by day
Shadowed and
Suspicious
Humming an
Off key song
With a melody
None can quite place
For it sounds as if he has
Wrenched just the most
Bone chilling notes from
The hearts of the most
Common music he
Could find and
Blended it all together into one
Familiarly foreign
Tune
He steps forth in
Precise rhythm and
Time
His stride is a
Perfect
Disturbing sort of
Dance
His
Gleaming black leather
Toes
Click click clicking like
A creaky door as it finally
Closes
His umbrella is
Set low over his
Blank and shadowed
Face
It’s a peculiar mystery
As to how he can
Even
See with it
Shrouding his eyes like a
Dreary veil
Yet his steps are
Flawless
He has never
Stumbled
He is a hazardous oddity
Stepping and humming all while
Twirling his moonless midnight
Umbrella
At a
Dizzying pace
As he rolls the handle
Back and
Forth and
Back
Between his silky
Fingers
Umbrella man
He never stops to
Lower his umbrella
His arm never tires
His song never stops
His shoes always gleam
His step never falters
His dark never lightens
Not even when the sun
Shines
Umbrella man
He’s all wrapped up in
Black and
Danger and
Mystery on the
Exterior
But really
The
Umbrella man simply has
Grown into the dark in which
He began to hide
Years ago
It has become
Him
His arm is twisted
Crippled from
Holding his inky black umbrella
Over his
Tired
Worn leather face
Umbrella man
The world consumed him
And he
It
Now he is
Doomed to dance and dance and
Die
Each and every day of his
Dark
Peculiar life
Umbrella man
He needs that
Umbrella now
So that he can
Always
Hide
For he knows his
Darkness can
Invade another
So so
Easily
All they must do is
Peer into his
Bitter
Blue ice
Eyes

-Megan M. Phillips

Carousel

Spinning
Spinning
Dizzily
Look up
Down and
Behind
There’s a person I
Loved and secretly
Still do
There’s a traitor who
Tore my heart in
Two
Spinning
Spinning
There’s a time
I was happier
There’s a place
I belonged
There’s a song
Full of hopeful notes
And I knew exactly how to sing
Along
Until the strings
Snapped and
My voice was
Gone
Spinning
Spinning
There’s two trees
One strong and new
One ancient and dying
The new one
Bursting up freely
From the dirt and gravel
Where it had been
Buried
So long
While the other
Withers in its
Shadow
What does the new tree
Feel?
Guilt, maybe
But also a
Strong sense of
Pride
While the deteriorating one
Can only cry
Wishing it had accomplished more
In its meaningless life
But instead
It had stayed rooted in
Place till the
Very day it
Died
Spinning
Spinning
Stars dancing with the
Birds above
I used to join them
Time was like a
Lenient parent
Nodding its head
Granting me permission to
Fly
But now it’s a
Controlling one
Yanking me down from the sky
Time to work
Time to give
Time to steal and hurt
No time to think
No time to care
No time to heal
No time to stop
Unless it’s to
Stop feeling
Spinning
Spinning
I’m glued to this broken carousel
Of change
Forever
As life twists the lever farther and
Farther each year
It laughs maniacally as it watches how much
Faster it spins
My thoughts and reason are
Flung out from me as I
Lose control
Spinning
Spinning
They land on their backs
Cry out then
Scatter
Spinning
Spinning
Nothing is the same
Each time the carousel makes its
Cycle
Why is it
That what I had just passed
Is so so
Different?
Spinning
Spinning
Why is it that I
Feel alone here?
There are so many
Seats on this ride
Yet they are
Empty?
Spinning
Spinning
Perhaps the motions are
Getting to me
Do I have any logic
Remaining in my
Tossed and battered
Soul?
Spinning
Spinning
Yet I never let go
Of this wretched handle
Perhaps I believe I must keep
Spinning
Spinning
In order to cycle back and
Recapture that which
Escaped permanently
Long ago
Spinning
Spinning
It is painful but
I am far more
Afraid of
Letting go
Spinning
Spinning
Will it ever stop?
Spinning
Spinning
The more I spin
The more I believe that
The answer is
No
-Megan M. Phillips

Condemned

I was a house.
I was new and clean, my foundation strong and foreign to the small hill I had made mine. The sunlight trickled right over me, my roof sparkling in its soft rays.
I was happy.
Until, one day, a wolf came knocking at my door. I opened it wide, smiling at him. I invited him in, not noticing how the sunlight seemed to die just where he walked.
He started to lie, to play games and change who I was. He rearranged my home to his own liking.
He began to destroy it, to destroy me, bit by bit. He always glued all the pieces back together straight afterwards, and I was content to pretend that being a mosaic was just fine.
But then I started to notice things.
The sun no longer resided over me. My home lay under a ceaseless cloudy gloom; the flowers that had sprung up outside before in multitude were withered and dead. I started to see the hideous cracks scarring the walls and the floors and the doors and me.
I screamed, and at the shrill sound of my realization, everything the wolf had broken within my once happy home came tumbling down, just on the inside, for none to see.
He ran out the door with his hands over his ears, a smirk written across his visage. I locked the door behind him and mourned my loss.
I couldn’t fix the destruction on my own, so I called to a friend, one who I knew would help me rebuild my treasured home.
She’d just escaped from her own wolf, a twisted, bitter creature who had attached himself to her for so so long.
We’d rejoiced when she’d finally slipped out of his fangs.
She arrived at my call, and I showed her every single room, every broken and bitter thing, minding that she watched her step. Sharp shards of my belongings were haphazardly scattered about, after all. I stared at her strangely as she picked through them and scooped up a few pieces, zipping them away into her bag. She didn’t notice that I noticed. I said nothing. We kept walking.
I told her how I struggled as I attempted to repair that which I couldn’t and shouldn’t, ignoring what reconstruction should have been made first. I told her how I continued to destroy what little was left in this home, my heart.
I gave her the key to my most secret, twisted, painfully destroyed room. The one I thought only she could help me fix. The one I entrusted only her with. She smiled sweetly as she gracefully stepped over the fractures of me, telling me all of it could be repaired in a short, short time that was so unreasonably soon in my mind that I never really believed her. I nodded along anyway, but I started to feel strange around her. Doubt nipped at the corners of every room. Was she really here to help me? I questioned her as I began to sort through my chaos, and she smiled once more.
“Of course,” she soothed.
I was silent.
The next day I stepped inside of my home and I could not find her.
I ran and searched through all my suddenly empty hallways and rooms and thoughts frantically, while the building moaned and wailed at my steps.
The windows rattled and screeched, the tattered curtains whipping up and around them, hissing like frightened snakes.
My frenzied search had been unsuccessful. Where was she?
I at last stood breathless before the final room. The most secret, broken one, the one only she and I held the key to.
I did not hesitate.
I threw open the door.
She was there.
But she wasn’t alone.
She was turned away from me,
Hand
In
Hand with
The wolf.
I screamed.
They startled.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
He merely smiled. She seemed annoyed.
“Do you mind?” She dismissed me with one hand.
I shook with a hurricane of unidentifiable emotions.
“How could you be in here? Like this?” My voice cracked. It sounded like a dying wind.
“What? Are you trying to take this away from me? You know I need this.” She said, her eyes and voice full of bitter venom.
I was stunned.
“I thought you were here to fix…me…”
She stared at me like I was as stupid as I felt.
“Your repairs are done. Haven’t you seen them?”
I shook my head.
“No, they aren’t. Everything is just…empty.”
But she’d turned around again, laughing and laughing and laughing with the wolf.
The wolf that was no longer mine.
She didn’t notice the way his eyes glittered just like his eager fangs.
I called out to her
Once
Twice
And again
But she didn’t turn around
And he leaned in closer
Sharpened his teeth as she
Giggled.
I couldn’t watch.
I left.
I stepped out of my secret, special, broken room, which was somehow no longer mine.
The house began to tremble.
I fell to my hands and knees, silently watching my tears make puddles on the cold, bare, floor, as my empty home began to collapse, all around me.
For its foundation had finally crumbled,
And I,
With
It.

Wow! Thank you for one hundred followers! I’ve been here for about three months now, and it’s been a great experience. Thank you for reading my writing, leaving your comments, and following my page! I am honored by your presence!

-Megan M. Phillips