Miceala Shocklee's Blog, page 6

Old and Greats

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Old and Greats

They tell you to just bleed on the page,

all those old and greats,

as if we still had the time to dig at our wrists

with their sharp-cut fountain pens,

as if we still had ink like that.

But we don’t patch our trousers anymore

or wear scuffed shoes

because our shoes aren’t made

of that kind of material anymore;

we hide our wear and tear now.

Rhetoric isn’t an art like it used to be,

and we spend too much time hiding our bruises

to remember how to properly wrap a wound

once we have let i...

One More Month

I went to the desert and did not see a Blood Moon,

only the end of an eclipse, subtle as my waning sanity

with both of them blowing over dust.

Sand and detritus, that’s all they shine light on,

and some hills in the distance

that I know I’m going to have to drive through again.

Once you go over you have to come back,

that’s the only way to have gotten somewhere.

Make it back to town again

and the full orb’s back to full bright,

just like nothing ever happened

‘cept for one more month gone by.

Filed under...

And you didn’t even know they were crazy.

This week, October 5-11, we take a break from our *regularly scheduled programming, Depression Awareness Month,* for a tribute to all other brain fuckery with *this brief interruption, Mental Illness AwarenessWeek.*

If you’ve read the post before this one, “Depression Is,” you know some of my thoughts on the whole “awareness” bid. I have some bitterness, but for those who really have no clue about the fight that over a quarter of the globe is fighting with themselves, I think being bludgeoned...

Depression Is

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National Suicide Prevention Hotline:1-800-273-8255

or visitwww.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Today, October 1st, is the start of Depression Awareness Month. Well, for those of the social media sphere who’ve had no contact with depression, it is. The rest of us, the ones with depression, and the ones next to those who do, we’re already pretty damn aware.

You see, depression, when it’s there, is a hard thingnot to be aware of. The harder part, really, is not misconstruing what’s being seen....

Loneliness Hits

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Loneliness is a rough sort of rolled-up burning-down summary of life to take a hit of. It’s the kind of hit that leaves you not just coughing so badly you wind up in tears, but somehow proves a bruise-leaver too, on more than just your throat. Loneliness hits that way.

Loneliness is the worst of drags that I cannot seem to ever figure out how to choke down and tolerate. I guess my ears get a little weird, when I’ve sucked down loneliness. I go deaf for a bit, so I can’t even hear the noi...

Missing

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Missing

There was a time

when you and me

were a single word,

and all I heard

in the beating, fluttering earth

was the breath

of you next to me,

when my curves fit yours

because that was home.

My body’s lonely now,

now that you and me

are two different words

and I can’t hear you anywhere

in this silence,

because I don’t remember what it felt like

to hold your hand anymore,

because you decided that anymore,

you didn’t want to hold me.

Filed under: Poems

An Open Letter to Eric Bolling and Greg Gutfeld at Fox News

To Mr. Eric Bolling and Mr. Greg Gutfeld,

yesterday, September 24th, you two made some foot-in-mouth – or should I say dick-in-mouth, by your language – comments about Major Mariam Al Mansouri. Was it because she is a fighter pilot? Or a freedom fighter? Or a figure for justice? How about because she’s a trail blazer? Or symbol of refusing to sit down in the face of injustice?

No. It was because Major Mariam Al Mansouri is a woman.

What’s this, you appear to have thought to yourself, the first f...

On Feminism

Though if you want to be a delicate princess, all the time or sometimes, then you are damn well welcome to do so too.
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Just moments ago, to put it in breaking news lingo, I read an article on Emma Watson’s speech to the UN on feminism and, particularly, the HeForShe campaign. The article cites a glorious portion of Watson’s speech in which she says that she decided to be a feminist because it just made sense.

I decided that I was a feminist. This seemed uncomplicated to me. But my recent...

Hamster Wheel

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Hamster Wheel

Life is an odd sort of hamster wheel –

you have to give money to make money,

have worked to get a job,

have a job to get the work.

You have to written to get good at writing,

put in more to get some not as hard the next time

and put off now for later so that later can be a better now.

Or at least, that’s what they tell you.

Me, I think we could make some different decisions,

and maybe there wouldn’t be so much sawdust

milling around our feet.

But then again,

maybe I just haven’t been a...

Totally Not The Season (i.e. “Christmas Monster”)

Today has been a day of adventure and art and literature and yearning ’round all three for me. I was in Santa Barabara, California as part of a spontaneous road trip with two of my best friends. It was incredibly sunny up in SB – so much so I was worried for a bit that I sunburned during our stop at a gloriously human-vacant beach – so it really didn’t even feel like fall, let alone fast-encroaching winter. But then my internet wanderings meandered me over to an illustration by thefantastic E...