meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Laughing Maid

TO BE AN ANGEL...

Some Women/Some Woman

The Knowledge...

Time Does Not Recognize Me



I'm A Slug

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

I Long For Stars

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

All Beings Considered

Storms

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

Max on the max

why We celebrate the losers

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

The Times Have Come Back Of Great Want And Lack, This Is The New Great Depression

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

I Feel Fine(r)

And With Words I Let Them Go

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Boy Restored

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

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Malla Batsick


Malla
she was told
so often
means bad
it left her feeling
caught in a dark place
like a coffin
poor Malla
poor bad Malla

fledgling girl-bat of the night
little girl who drove Mama bats
gave her the frights
poor Malla
all the sickness of it

bad Malla
poor bad Malla
child who wanted another name
ambition was not in her number's game
she would've preferred mystery
like annonymity

so how would it be
if she was free
to be the being she never was
and not the one deemed the cause
of every bad event or thing
so  hard to everything to everyone when
Malla is your name so
bad to worse
is the luck you bring

what a fallacy
what emotional logic
being someone's unhappy pet
or vanity project
what was Momma thinking
when she applied your name
to the birth certificate
Malla
poor bad Malla

how having the name
made her do her best to be misconstrued
so hard to be the misanthrope
so often dissed
too often unglued
so often flattened and depressed
playing at High Mass Miss Black Malla
in the very bleakest brackish of hues
Bad Malla
poor petit bad Malla

tis it true how
Malla wanted no one's love
nor no one's fickle trust
and why in unholy confidence
she was truly a bust
had she been predestined to such singularity
whether unfair or just
it couldn't have been this cruel
a small young bat without a tribe or rules
how insane to remain contained within the name of
Bad Malla
poor bad Malla

when one does their best to live up
to an unchosen moniker
it ain't no Christmas present
not even close to Channukah
there was no minor miracle which occured
nor an inspiring chronicle
only an absence of love or light
Bad Malla born
the day after Christmas Night
not a gift but the bane of the day
she gave in spades
presenting her Momma with 58 hours worth
of increasing pain
then re-gifted it to her
(as she was told)
again and again
oh
Bad Malla
poor bad Malla

beyond fate's kind embrace
the original cause
of her parent's first marital pretensions
Malla flies to the shadow lands
to hide her feelings and her face
better not to show any of her imperfections
nor any inflection of human grace

Bad Malla
poor Bad Malla
rarely having
rarely owning
her place

who will ever
take her home
if there is one
/////////////////////


original poem/idea/rant/work copyrighted on Aug 22 2017
and also for this author Melissa A Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title
Meloo (malla) Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

came to me in a flash/dream
I secretly like it
Again, the bluest of menus








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