Broken...a poem

Broken

You have completely broken

my already shattered mirror. 

Pieces of glassed shards

pierce my heart.

I bleed with tears

and have a scattered mind

as you mock my slim presecence.

I  no longer am capable

of being whole

and my world as I knew it to be

no longer exist.

Written September 26, 2011

By MR...aka Naila Moon of the Grey Wolf

Unwritten...a poem

Unwritten

The pen strokes lightly across my chest
Simply inked on my heart
The words revealing my soul

I am only a mist
A blink not seen
But awaiting to be born

Soon out of the darkness
Life will be revealed
And once again
The gods will dance in joy

Written by MR...aka Naila Moon of the Grey Wolf
First published Sept. 24, 2009
Republished for Blogger...Sept. 25, 2011

About bullying

Afraid
Beaten

Used
Secrets
Erased



Browbeat
Used
Lied to
Laughed at
Ignored
Eradicated
Done

Where I Am From

WHERE I’M FROM

I am from the Mirror On My Wall, from Cracker Barrel and Pepsi.

I am from the lovely old, brick, white-painted rooms apartment complex, cinnamon and spice home where the cat roams.


I am from the red roses and green grass, the huge maples of reds, yellows and golds.


I am from the annual Christmas parties and Thanksgiving dinners, from Grandmother D and Uncle Jim and the family whose Dad was adopted and only child.

I am from the minor family uproars but who loves each other to death and the ones who have seen an entire country or two.

I am from the Tooth Fairy leaves me money for lost teeth and although Santa brings presents on Christmas Day, it is the Christ Child that is most important.

I am from the United Methodist Church to Catholic Church, who was raised to believe that God should always come first in your life.


I’m from the home of the Grand Ole Opry, where Elvis still lives, where mac 'n cheese and bologna sandwiches run supreme.


From the southern backwoods of Missouri, where you really do walk five miles to school, first to arrive and start the wood burning stove, from the father who could see details behind the camera like no one else could and a mother who believed in health and spirituality, from an uncle who's peacefulness and love of nature I must have inherited, although he was never known to me. 


I am from moldy scrapbooks, whose edges are frail and the boxes of Kodak slides gently placed on a shelf among other white boxes full of the images of my youth. I am from the pages of yellowed albums passing the moments tucked in to rickety book shelves that holds the camera waiting to make more memories for the generations to reveal. Blessings of a large and loving family.

Written by MR...aka Naila Moon 
September 22, 2011