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After Wide Sargasso Sea

A Girl Always Leaning Forward Looking for A Breeze

The Grapes (Lucious Grape/ August 31, 2005

Lull the Day to Night

I Long For Stars



The Wonder Cat

Where The Dead Don't Mind...

TAKE YOUR PEN NOW AND SEE WHAT YOU WILL WRITE

HERSTORY...NOT A POEM BUT EXPERIENCE #ONE

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

You Taught Me...

Great Big Waterproof World

Thank You For Being Your Own Treasure

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

The Man On The Red Bicycle (an ode) RE-EDITED 12/4/2021

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

At Night, As I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

Only The Lonely.... (its not about what you may think...)

THE HEART IS AN ORGAN ON FIRE

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Off Brand

They Say The Preying Mantis Is No Lady

Broken Things Are Beautiful

A Language You Can't Ignore.... re-edited 1/12/2022

How Hounds-tooth Became Her Friend

You Can Oh Yes You Can (RE-EDITED 1/9/2021 12:07AM PST time and date stamped.)

The Invitation..( the message of .come as you are>>)

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I'm not like anyone
you might know
there may not have been a mold

its not false pride
nor terminal unique-ness
that I'm infected with

the world is a large place
and I spent the early portion of my life
living under circumstances
beyond my control

children cannot select their parents

I had to embrace my
different-ness to survive
I'd no other choice
persist
or dive down a hole

At eight I began to find
solace in running away
I'd load up my bike
and head to the winding river's edge
south of town

I didn't like night sounds
nor the dark
still it was the preferable
alternative

I chose to leave
when I felt I had no other
choice
otherwise
I knew
I could be obliterated
or maybe
I'd explode

It was better to be lost
afraid in the dark
and in the late morning
to lay exhausted in the
hot noon-day sun
screaming at the clouds
when I wanted to

I was purified
living through my fear--
and knowing without any doubts
I could make it
through almost anything
on my own

lying about being an orphan
was closer to the truth
than fiction
and there was no reason
to rue the lie

today at sixty
I face the same challenges
again I am alone
Any illusion of having my real original family
is long gone

it was a fiction
an impossilbe ideal
like a sitcom on t.v.
I was no longer some little child
who clung to the hope
of being considered
acceptable
enough
to be loved

its odd
isn't it
how sixty can be grown-up
in years
but somehow
not enough time has passed
to drown the past

how it comes back to me
when I close my eyes
in dreams
with the dead
and half-living murmuring into my
shriveled ears
and even now..

in the morning when I wake
I have to vigorously shake the ghosts from
my head
since, to them
I am dead
I am dead

morning can be so cold.



legal copyright for this poem/rant 11:49 PM PST Oct 8 2020 time/date stamped
and also for this legally copyrighted and registered site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
and also for this Author/Poet Melissa A. Howells






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