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.

Poetry

It Remembers

it remembersu

My womb, it remembers. It remembers, all those nights of heinous, unwanted invasions. What it was like when my skin crawled like a million tiny spiders. It remembers, how it protected itself. What it was like to be a woman when it was still a child. To break into a thousand tiny pieces. To feel like dying, if only to end the pain.

My womb, it remembers, the gentle touch of someone worthy. The meaning of worship, and love. The sense of empowerment, and elation, like a woman should feel. It remembers, a tiny life, growing and strong. Every tiny movement, especially when that life reminded me everything was alright. The miracle. It remembers, birth, joy, and relief. The astonishment of what it created. Perfection.

My womb, it remembers, so much good after so much horror.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – Life, The Universe, And Everything
Photo credit Pixabay, the edit is mine.

Poetry

Living

Breathe in, breathe out.
Dig deep into your soul.
Watch dust particles dance in the sun.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Feel the breeze against your skin.
Find paradise in the smallest of things.
Breathe in, breathe out.
This is life. This is living.
Living isn’t the same as existing.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – Paradise Lost

Poetry

Blue Fire

Blue fire flashed across the sky,
snaking through the swirling,
inky clouds that floated above
the ocean at the end of the lane.
A rumbling thunder that tasted
of smoke and honey
left behind a thick molasses
of silence and the heat of tinged air.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

Poetry

Night Goddess

Her quintessential womanhood,
unmatched beauty, and the way
she looked under the glow of the full moon
were tantamount to a goddess.
She, ruler of night, she, keeper
of my heart, was my paradise.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – Let The Right One In

Poetry

Consecration

These bones, ripped from the bodies of the innocent, lay before me, bleached by the sun and trapped in this world upon unconsecrated ground, will find no peace until The One returns with the ashes of their destructors. Only then will the ground be consecrated and their languid souls be purged from this earthly plain.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – The Lovely Bones
Photo credit Pixabay, the edit is mine.

Poetry

Tracheal Moss

My solitude extended for so long
that my voice atrophied
and my trachea filled with moss and roots.
A caterpillar found its way inside
and nestled itself atop my voice box.
By the time I found a reason to speak,
the moth emerged, silencing me once more.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – A Hundred Years Of Solitude