The Sound of Ink

The walls around me feel tighter against my spirit like blue jeans that no longer fit because I fed my feelings.   Anxiety flushes my skin forcing me to attempt to shake it off with pacing.   My erratic walk takes me to my library where brightly colored art greets me from every wall in the room.   I slowly turn letting my eyes feast on brush strokes, dancing images, fantasy figures sailing a paper moon sky.   My mood shifts with electric shocks of inspiration as I absorb the energy of hope, talent, vision, each artist poured into their paintbrushes.   The binding rope of dark emotions I carried into the room slips away, and I feel the creative strength of others lift me, encourage me today is the only door I need to open. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 Poets and Storytellers United ~ Writer's Pantry #26

When all else fails…  I        try on jeans to see       if my pandemic belly       argues with my zipper. I   watch animal videos until my face has giggle paralysis. I          google “witch couture”       for casual spells. I  put another flowerpot on the front porch to see if the HOA notices. I        paste sticky notes on my coffee cup        to remind me there’s life after caffeine. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 Poets and Storytellers United Weekly Scribblings #24

You torch our ears with promises, gaslight flames to burn us in a corner to camp beneath light we can never own.   Streets are littered with dreams no one can fix and hearts that can’t unbreak, while pulpits and podiums prey on us with pyramid schemes.   What about us … the slivers of rage living on the edge of shadows, torn hearts without needle or desire to stich a country into a flag.   We are different colors…different lovers…different souls… broken bones walking the knife blade of those who are more tender with their prejudices than the humans who suffer at their feet. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 Poets and Storytellers United ~ Weekly Scribblings #23

I hold back on the let go, chase words to the corner of my cheek so they can’t reach my tongue.   It isn’t easy in the pressure cooker when pain reaches the boiling point.   Tamp it down…Lock it up…The agony of other souls doesn’t need the added weight of my struggle.   When withers in its question like yesterday’s cut roses. For now, I must water the matches, prune the flames from patience until it is my time to be heard. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #22