Miceala Shocklee's Blog, page 9

Misogyny, Misandry, and Father’s Day

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I hate Father’s Day. I by no means hate fathers. I don’t even really hatemy father. I just hate the nationally celebrated day that will overstuff my Facebook and Twitter feeds and force me to think over and over again about the complicated relationship I’ve had since, well,ever with that terrible, wonderful, intimidating word. Father.

Honestly, I’m pretty confused about how I happened. Yes, yes, I do technically knowhow I happened. I have two heterosexual, reasonably fertile parents with...

Poem: I Am Not A Prostitute

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I Am Not A Prostitute

Dear man on the sidewalk,

I am not your prostitute.

I did not walk down this street

so that you could take me home.

I did not call that taxi

just to make you moan.

No meant no,

and I told you so in more ways than one.

I wish you had just listened.

Dear man at the party,

I am not your prostitute.

I did not walk outside

so you could try to score.

I did not pull away

because I wanted more.

No meant no,

and I told you so in more ways than one.

I wish you had just listened.

Dear man in my...

Stubborn Is

“Your heart is a weapon the size of your fist.”

Stubborn Is

Stubborn is going to the beach on a cloudy day,

eating burnt toast or cold eggs that crunch.

Stubborn is doingdishes in scalding water,

grabbing for the soap even as your hands flinch.

Stubborn is staring back at opaque eyes.

Stubborn is pounding a deadened heart.

Stubborn is fighting the battle you’ve already lost.

And stubborn is going on,

refusing topress the off button.

Or stubborn is pressing the off button,

refusing to go on.

Filed under: P...

Become a Story Patron!

Hello lovely readers! So, here on my blog, I post stories, flash fiction, poems, ramblings of highly variable levels of coherence… And you all read it. And like it. I think. I hope.

And because this is blog, free here on the interwebs of cat gifs and other soul-stirring content, I am not ever going to charge my readers for it. This blog is free. The end. Period. Anyone tries to change that and I’ll… I dunno. Hunt them down with a shovel and friendship-is-magic murderous pony and some other sor...

You are a ghost, you see.

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You Are A Ghost, You See

You are a ghost, you see.

You haunt me not so much

in the traces of your life littered

among the foundation of mine,

the trinkets and bestowals of a love

I once thought was true.

No; your memory is nothing so easy

as those leftover tangibles I can hide in a box.

It is the phantom of you, that I cannot abide;

the ephemera of your mannerisms

that now color mine;

the cadence of your voice that carries on in my conversation,

because the pattern of my words had learned to follow...

Flash Fiction: The Wind is a Liar

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The wind is a liar, an elusive suitor who will murmur sweet nothings as he passes by but remains safely intangible for you to ever manage to grasp. He may have you all he wants, but you can never have him. Not really.

All you’ll ever have are the murmurs. A small gust of discontent blowing in the back of your consciousness, left there by some too-strong beat of your heart or flutter of your mind. You let him in. That was the only way to trap him. To catch that one breath, leave it blowin...

Warning: Contains Swear Words

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Alrighty, folks. In case you didn’t read the title, I’m going to warn youright now that this post will contain swear words. If they offend you, you should probably stop reading. Right. Now.

Or keep reading. Whatever. It’s your choice. I’m not forcing you to read this blog. You did so of your own happy accord. Which is why it confuses me, a bit, when readers call me out on language. Which happens, funnily enough, in justone place on my blog: in the comments on the post about how I don’t t...

Slumber

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A poem from the memory of grade school birthday parties,

and a current sleep pattern that’s never quite matched up with the other twentysomethings’.

Slumber

I am always the one in silence.

I am the first one asleep,

and the first one awake.

I sit in empty rooms with sleeping bodies

while the morning breathes quietly.

Hugging my knees,

perhaps reading a book,

and waiting for the life around me

to remember that it exists.

That I exist, too.

Slumber parties

were always a particular kind

of torture chambe...

Accio Books!

Happy (almost!) Friday lovely readers! So, I’m a prefect for the HPA (that’s Harry Potter Alliance, for all you muggles) 2014 campaign calledAccio Books! The idea, put simply, is that books are magic, and magic can change things. Big things, like communities. So, we’re bringing books to communities that are in some pretty desperate need for them.

While the overall Accio Books campaign is doing great (11,000 books and counting!), the donations to the Brightmoor Community Center in Detroit aren’...

Unfinished

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Unfinished

I am grown weary of these boys who break us,

of burnt fingers from hot coffee

and not quite enough substance to the cup.

I am grown tired of these days that crack us,

of bones knocked brittle

by the wear and tear of an all-too-ordinary misery.

I am grown numb from this buzzing in the background

of all the past little onslaughts

that have left us printed with the ink of yesterday’s news.

Filed under: Poems