Photography, Poetry

The Old Days

the old days

“My love, I miss the old you.
Without all the stress
I’ve added to your shoulders.”

Sleepless nights and the quivering dawn never bring me peace. It’s in those lonely moments that I remember. That I once knew the warmth of your touch, your arms holding me together when I struggled to hide my never–ending pain. That I once knew those gentle strokes in my hair, and even though I protested, I never minded when I felt my curls turn to frizz. That I once knew the brilliance of your blue eyes, the sound of your laugh when you struggled to keep from smiling and how it made me laugh as you failed. But these days, I see the gray spreading in your hair, the stress you hold in your shoulders, and how much you try to hide it. Words cannot describe how sorry I am for what I put you through every day. Words cannot express how much I miss you.

© Sarah Doughty

I don’t think I’ll ever stop
missing you.

For the 2016 #MayBookPrompts:
Midnight In The Garden
Of Good And Evil
Photo is mine.

Photography, Poetry

Playground

dark misty tree lg

“My soul lives among the shadows.
But it’s also the land on my redemption.”

My body rots in the warm sun. It pierces my skull like a thousand tiny blades cutting with perfect precision. To make each jab hurt worse than the last. This, my brightened surroundings, are rays beating down onto my scorched flesh, laughing at my inability to coexist in its presence. It taunts me, reminding me that I don’t belong. But I know my place. My soul lives among the shadows, dances with the moon, and twinkles with the stars in the night sky. This, where my demons live and thrive, is my prison. This, my world of darkness, is my salvation. This, where anything is possible, is my redemption. This is my playground.

© Sarah Doughty
2016

I adapted.
So can you.

Photo is mine.

Photography, Poetry

Vengeance Dreaming

“Sometimes, in dreams,
I wonder if hell keeps you in its grasp.
But I’ve never wished for it.”

The sound of your rumbling voice still lingers on my tongue like a rotted apple, writhing with maggots. That print of your palm on my reddening face still burns like a nest of fire ants, just as the rest of my body refuses to forget everything else. Scars covered beneath endless scars. Memories submerged in obsidian oil, surfacing only to taunt me. It is here, in this moment, with black roses surrounding your unmarked grave, that I revel in your suffering with a small smile and a gleam in my eye. A faint whisper escapes me. “I win.” Then I wake up and remember once more.

© Sarah Doughty
2016

I won. And that will never change.

In some ways, the anger that I held for you has melted away. Despite the dreams, I would never wish for anyone to receive eternal torment. Yes, even him.

Photo is mine

Photography, Random Thoughts

A Little Help

Pixabay
I think it’s safe to say I’ve been putting this off for far too long. By this, I mean everything. This is where you come in. My life is out of sorts and I cannot seem to find my way back. Around and around I go. The answers are clear and I know the path I must take, but I keep stalling out. The why is not something I can name. But I do know some of the obvious.

This writer’s block has lasted longer than I ever thought possible. I’ve been neglecting projects I promised to fulfill. My books, my beloved characters, and the world I created have gone untouched for longer than I’d like to admit, for a variety of reasons that have changed over time. And I’m just … tired.

Where am I going with this, you might ask? I have no idea, to be honest. I don’t have any good answers. Maybe I just need time to lay everything out and decide what really matters, and ultimately let other things go. Maybe I just need a swift kick in the right direction. Not literally. Some motivation, might be a better description of what I need.

Perhaps, let’s try this. If you’ve been around for any period of time, you know what really lights me up and gets me animated. The thing that pushes me on. And if you’re aware of that, odds are you’re aware of what dulls me. The thing that’s really not worth my time, but somewhere along the way, I managed to convince myself it was. Can you pinpoint what’s holding me back?

I could use a little advice.

~Sarah Doughty

Photography, Poetry

The Old Days

the old days

“My love, I miss the old you.
Without all the stress
I’ve added to your shoulders.”

Sleepless nights and the quivering dawn never bring me peace. It’s in those lonely moments that I remember. That I once knew the warmth of your touch, your arms holding me together when I struggled to hide my never–ending pain. That I once knew those gentle strokes in my hair, and even though I protested, I never minded when I felt my curls turn to frizz. That I once knew the brilliance of your blue eyes, the sound of your laugh when you struggled to keep from smiling and how it made me laugh as you failed. But these days, I see the gray spreading in your hair, the stress you hold in your shoulders, and how much you try to hide it. Words cannot describe how sorry I am for what I put you through every day. Words cannot express how much I miss you.

© Sarah Doughty

I don’t think I’ll ever stop
missing you.

For the 2016 #MayBookPrompts:
Midnight In The Garden
Of Good And Evil
Photo is mine.

Photography, Poetry

Playground

dark misty tree lg

“My soul lives among the shadows.
But it’s also the land on my redemption.”

My body rots in the warm sun. It pierces my skull like a thousand tiny blades cutting with perfect precision. To make each jab hurt worse than the last. This, my brightened surroundings, are rays beating down onto my scorched flesh, laughing at my inability to coexist in its presence. It taunts me, reminding me that I don’t belong. But I know my place. My soul lives among the shadows, dances with the moon, and twinkles with the stars in the night sky. This, where my demons live and thrive, is my prison. This, my world of darkness, is my salvation. This, where anything is possible, is my redemption. This is my playground.

© Sarah Doughty
2016

I adapted.
So can you.

Photo is mine.

Photography, Poetry

Vengeance Dreaming

“Sometimes, in dreams,
I wonder if hell keeps you in its grasp.
But I’ve never wished for it.”

The sound of your rumbling voice still lingers on my tongue like a rotted apple, writhing with maggots. That print of your palm on my reddening face still burns like a nest of fire ants, just as the rest of my body refuses to forget everything else. Scars covered beneath endless scars. Memories submerged in obsidian oil, surfacing only to taunt me. It is here, in this moment, with black roses surrounding your unmarked grave, that I revel in your suffering with a small smile and a gleam in my eye. A faint whisper escapes me. “I win.” Then I wake up and remember once more.

© Sarah Doughty
2016

I won. And that will never change.

In some ways, the anger
that I held for you
has melted away.
Despite the dreams,
I would never wish
for anyone to receive
eternal torment.
Yes, even him.

Photo is mine.

Photography, Poetry

Look Up

Pixabay

“My darling, you’re never alone.
You need to know you’ll be alright.”

Look up and take a look into the clear night sky. Can you see the twinkling stars billions of miles away? Can you feel the bitter chill of fall on the breeze? Can you feel winter coming in your bones? Can you feel me there?

Look up. I’m right next to you. I’m gazing at the same starlight. I’m feeling the same chill. I’m feeling the same pull of time. I’m right there, and yet you don’t know.

Because I am those things. I am there. In space. In the air. In your bones. Look up. You’re not alone. You’re never alone. Look up. Can you see me? I’m everywhere. You just need to see it. You need to know you’ll be alright.

Look up.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

Even if you can’t see me,
know I’m always with you.

Photography, Poetry

All I Have

all i have

“All I have of us are tiny grains of sand.
All that we were. All that we could be.”

All I have of us are tiny grains of sand. One brush of your fingers on my cheek here. One gentle kiss — warm, soft lips against mine there. A laugh here, a cry there.

Those grains were us. All that we were. All that we could be.

And as I feel those grains slipping between my fingers, I feel us disappearing with them. I feel those moments slipping away.

I’m faced with an age old question — do I fight? Fight to keep you mine. In my arms. In my life.

Or, do I let you slip away, right along with the sand?

I choose to fight.

Until my last breath  — or you tell me it’s over — I’m going to fight for what we were, what we are, and what we could be.

I’m going to crystallize that sand into glass so we’ll be one for all time.

Because that’s all I have left. And you’re worth the fight. You’re worth all of it.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

All I have is us.

Photography, Poetry

Forgotten

“I was blissfully in love with you.
But then reality hit and a part of me died.”

Long ago, you knew me. I was a different person. Happy. Blissfully in love with you. But now, all of that is forgotten. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t remember what it was like to be happy. Content. Safe. I was hit with reality and lost everything else. You see, a part of me died. I’m different. Lost. Forgotten. A skeleton of my former self. A jumble of missing pieces that can’t be glued back together again.

This is me now. A memory. And this skeleton is all that remains of me.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

This skeleton has
more than enough
pain to bear.