the heart laid bare

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No Apology
the thunder
tinder
VERBAL PORTRAIT OF A CAT OWNER
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
outsider
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

D.I.S.C.

For a while I watched as you clambered over the corpses of your predecessors,
And the wreckage of who you once were trailed behind you almost out of sight.
You came at me in steel and concrete, holding a space lined with broken glass,
Held me up by my hair,
And tried to break off all the pieces of me that didn’t fit.
 
Confused when I backed away,
As though it had not occurred to you that I might have had different plans.
As though I had not occurred to you at all.
Too many years of habit have taken their toll; 
You have forgotten how to be people.
 
You will walk through the world encased in your self-righteousness,
In your high-and-mighty assertions that introversion is not loneliness,
Wearing your DISC profile like a shield and a crutch,
Never changing
Never learning
Never growing...
 
Until you fall, like Icarus -
Plummeting to the earth on scorched and broken wings,
And live out your days in solitude,
Wasting away in the ruins of your once-lofty ideals.

© mjc 02 October 2013

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Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend, public servant; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, random shit-slinger, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.