Hey, This is Maureen! – Satire

Holy shit, are you people for real? You have got to be kidding me, you all sound like a bunch of little kids playing make believe. You want me to beg, grovel for your forgiveness? Not going to happen. You can all continue to collectively stroke each others egos in that safe little echo chamber…

La Famiglia (Maureen the Traitor) – Satire

Betrayal (The Informers) You broke the code and you expect us to forgive you? You knew that what happens in the Mafia stays in the Mafia. But you fucked up by sharing our secrets with other collectives and we’ve found you Maureen and now there’s nowhere to hide. I have many questions, but I can’t…

Scarlet Letter

Stones in my hands Coals for eyes Back ramrod straight Cardboard shoulders Stockings run Bloody knees ‘Neath a skirt torn Heft the weight Breathe deep Take aim A sobbing call for justice Memory fades out Remembering His hands upon my flesh Squeezing as I shuddered His fist in my hair pulling Exposing my throat to…

Omertà 3

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part III Silence is seen as a treacherous doubled-edged sword in my tumultuous mind. I never knew what silence meant in my daily life. Since a little girl, I have watched my family delve into anger and confusion over money and disagreement. I have seen people stab me in the back…

Omertà 2

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part II there was a time when it would settle, a threadbare mantle covering all the things that buzzed and hummed inside, demanding stillness. but now it is the rasp of snoring children, the score of tires on asphalt, the whisper of birch leaves. it does not cover so much as…

Omertà 1

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part I In the end, everything is silent. Maybe that’s why I hated it so much, I’d always liked beginnings so much more. My flat when my parents reached the end of the end of their marriage was like being a character in a silent movie. We might as well have…

Lessons in Pain

Pain You’ve made me who I am today I should thank you I really should From the crushing of my young soul To the tearing of my child’s body Can’t forget the burning of callous words Or the maiming of my wounded spirit Not to mention the repeated ripping out of my feathers I should…