Poetry

Retribution Burned

“I revel in the power with a glint
of retribution burning in my eyes.”

The grumbling, crackling of thunder overhead rushes over me as the breeze increases its speed. A warning of the oncoming storm. The ominous flash, hidden behind the dark gray clouds, rolling around each other as if every part of it wants a chance to glimpse the ground beneath it. That is when I hear the leaves of the trees begin to whisper their silent songs. That is when I see the worms in the earth begin to stir, like they’re anticipating the coming rain. That is when I feel the electricity building in the air. And as those dark clouds pass overhead at last, casting me in shadow, I revel in its power with a glint of retribution burning in my eyes.

© Sarah Doughty

And then I take it all in.

A little something
from one of the antagonists
in my fiction series.

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Poetry

One More Step

“Because as long as I have air in my lungs,
there is always a way to keep going.”

Sometimes I think I cannot take another step. That I’ve used every last bit of energy I could muster. Depleted all the emotion that kept pushing me and driving me to keep going. But no matter how bleak the circumstances, or how utterly hopeless my world seems, I always find a way to claw my way up from the cold, muddy ground and take another step. Because as long as I have air in my lungs, there is always a way to keep going.

© Sarah Doughty

All it takes is one more step.

Poetry

True North

“You were my true north on
an otherwise starless night.
And I will always love you.”

Of all the challenges I’ve ever faced, you were the one that showed me I could outshine them all. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. Every step of the way. Every hurdle. Every setback. There was always a new route to take. A new resolution I hadn’t realized yet. You were my true north on an otherwise starless night and I will always love you for who you are.

© Sarah Doughty

Isn’t that how love should be?

Poetry

Crumbling Foundations

“Every second we’re apart,
I feel like my world
is crumbling beneath me.”

In this flickering candlelight, I wonder if you can still read every change on my face as my thoughts linger and drift as the minutes tick by. I wonder if you’re paying attention. Seeing the pain. Witnessing the hesitation. Feeling the words I cannot bear to speak. So tell me, love. Do you notice me? Do you miss me the way I miss you?

© Sarah Doughty

Because every second we’re apart,
I feel like my world
is crumbling beneath me.

Poetry

Lighthouses

“I need you, my love. The taste of your lips.
The way you take my breath away. All of it.”

I left the lighthouse on for you, my love. Did you see it? That glint, hiding in my eyes. The desperation rushing through me to tell you everything you mean to me. That need to reach out to you and revel in every part of you. The warmth of your cheeks. The taste of your lips. The way you take my breath away and only leave me needing more. Those are the moments I crave. To have you in my arms. I left the light on for you, my love. So please, don’t get lost in the night.

© Sarah Doughty

Come back to me always.

Poetry

Hiraeth

“Home is knowing you are where you belong.
And I was lucky I found home with you.”

There’s much to be said about finding home. Because it’s more than a feeling. It’s finding the ones that accept you for who you are, no matter what you are. It’s about finding a place where you can be free to be who you are without worrying about what might be said in whispers and giggles behind your back. You see, a home is merely a place to land at the end of a weary day. But being home is knowing you are exactly where you belong, just as you are. And I was lucky I found home with you.

© Sarah Doughty

There’s no better feeling than that.

Poetry

The Blood In These Veins

“Disaster runs in my veins.
From the moment I was created,
I became a part of a tragedy.”

Disaster runs in my veins. From the moment I was created, I became a part of a tragedy. I became a victim. A liability. A worthless nothing. With a set of DNA and genes I wish with every breath I take to wipe away from my existence, taking all those awful memories with it. You see, the monster that preyed on me is long dead, yet sometimes, I’m hit with a reminder of what was. Everything that happened. The threats. The lies. The pain. The slurred words, and the hot breath that lingered with the scent of cigarettes and beer. I’m reminded that it was all real. I’m reminded once again that even in death, I cannot escape him. A disaster may run in my veins, but I refuse to let them rule my life.

© Sarah Doughty

Finding home
— a true family —
doesn’t necessarily mean
they are your
flesh and blood.

Poetry

Responses

“When your worried thoughts
keep you company, how do you respond?
That’s what defines you.”

It’s about the invisible parts. Those dangers we cannot see. In the light. Or in the dark. Those are the monsters that whisper. Those are the demons that lurk in the shadows. They are the invisible bullets that hit us right in the heart with perfect precision. They are the same ones that haunt us all when we are left alone with nothing more than our thoughts. They are the same ones that know how to keep us awake. How to make us worry. But at the same time, they are nothing more than fleeting thoughts of busy minds. It’s a question of what they say to you when you are the one alone in the night. In the dark. With just your worried thoughts to keep you company. It’s a question if how or if you respond. It’s a question of what you do next. That’s what defines you.

© Sarah Doughty

How do you define yourself?

Poetry

When Tomorrow Comes

“I keep going. That’s surviving.
That’s what it takes to make it to tomorrow.”

I often wonder, late at night, while the world around me is fast asleep, why I’m the one still awake. The one gazing at the moon and the twinkling stars. I wonder why my mind races from one thing to next. Maybe I’m terrified I will forget something of importance. Maybe I already have. Or maybe it’s a byproduct of trying to hold myself together when I feel like breaking into a million pieces. And that’s when I remember. It’s because I don’t stop. I keep going. That’s surviving. That’s what it takes to make it to tomorrow, only to start all over again.

© Sarah Doughty

And that’s the point:
making it to tomorrow.

Poetry

Open Book

“My eyes are an open book,
and if you dare to know the stories,
you’ll see how much I have to say.”

Someone once told me that my eyes didn’t look so much like the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on a sunny, winter day, but that my eyes could hold a galaxy in them. All the colors, blue into green, flecks of yellow, all blended together to look like a far off place full of light, stars, hope, and wonder. That’s what my eyes said through their colors. But looking deeper, in the center that looks directly into my soul, there’s depths that not everyone would want to venture. There’s desperation, heartache, pain, and helplessness. But there’s also a fierce determination to not let it be the defining feature. You see, my eyes are like an open book, and if you dare to know the stories that lie within, you’ll see just how much will I have to fight back against all the things that ha e or will ever try to hold me down.

© Sarah Doughty

That’s who I am.
So take me or leave me.