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Something to Bitch About

2/25/2015

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I want to throat-punch Winter.
I want to kick that old man
square in his sagging
gravity-infested testicles.
I really do.
I want to defecate on the
pretty white snowflakes
and shove them back up
Ole Man Winter's arse.
This frigidity is sucking
the marrow from my bones,
and its really pissing me off.
No, I don't want to shovel
any more fucking snow!!
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As He Sees Himself

2/23/2015

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There was that reflection,
dabbled in the honey dew
hue of morning light.
How hideous it appeared,
roaring insults to the tune
of every day life...
flagging the fleshy evil-doer
lines that anchored
in its source.
Reminding him of all
the travesties he failed.
All the wonderfuls never
arisen, or tried, or kept.
He was a tired man,
and his aging hands
strangled the blasphemous
morning dew hue
with personal crimson.
Never again would
he wake to the sight
of himself.
No...instead,
he let his regrets
and unobtained wishes
seep onto ceramic tiles
for the asshole in the mirror
to watch in horror.
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Holes, Blood and Beauty

2/20/2015

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Needles pierced her skin.
Droplets of hues punched
through her epidermis
over and over...
mixing with her aura...
coating her soul
in aesthetic flesh.
Her mind lunged
and lurched in comfort.
The pain of piercing
reminded her of the beauty
no one sees.
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Lowly VaJayJay

2/19/2015

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She didn't have a penis.
She wasn't born equipped
with such a device.
But, this lack of phallicness
never stopped her
from being human.
Her brain still functioned,
even without the
testosterone of those
born with penile equipment.
How strange then,
that what did cause delay,
was the fact that she had
A Lowly VaJayJay.
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Fringe

2/18/2015

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Today,
I should be watching the
pinkish orange glow
of the sun as it travels
to meet my gaze.
Instead,
I sit in the fringe
between the gray gloom
and the I don't give
two flying, sitting,
or swimming shits.
It is what it is.
I sip my coffee,
the taste is bitter
like my first-world problem
plagued attitude.
I've so many things
to be thankful for...
yet I struggle for
perspective.
This fringe is singeful...
blistering even.
It is scarring.
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Bouquet of Yesterday

2/14/2015

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The roses sat on the counter,
in an empty decanter that
smelled of rotten foliage.
She had watched them wither and die
over days, and weeks
that birthed into months.
Time was incoherent…drunk if you will.
She meant to press one,
into the pages of their
wedding album,
but the moment passed.

Now, their long delicate stems
slouched over, shriveled
and crumbling…exactly the way
she felt as she stared
at his empty work boots
nestled near the door.
She couldn’t bring herself to
move them into the donations box.
No…not since the clock stopped.
Time was incoherent…merciless and cruel.


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Internment

2/12/2015

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Her leather black boot
scuffed and stomped on
the dirt...
just below the sycamore.
The autumn breeze tugged
at her sticky hair,
and undulated the smell
of dank pond fish
and bullfrogs.
The smell of victory.
She nodded to the
watch towers, whispered
gratitude to their keepers.
Elbows crooked over
the shovel, she spat
at the turned earth.
"That'll teach 'im."
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Time Machining

2/11/2015

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The blue swirly slide
on the school playground
reminds...

Beckoning a distant time
when the streets flooded
with rain,
and I pulled my pant legs up
to dance down the avenue.
I sloshed in the dirty water,
heeded my Mother's warning
to stay clear of the sewers
as I kicked through
floating sticks that sailed
like mighty barges
on the Mississippi.
Crinkled brown leaves
stuck to my knees
as I smiled at the river
that was my front street.
I sat on the drowning pavement
and I was Queen of the Nile.
All hail my watery fortress!

I want this blue slide,
here on the playground,
to machine me some time
to use the way I want.
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Space

2/10/2015

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Two planets
spinning off
center axis
collided in the dark
empty nothingness
of a surreal universe.
They said hello.
They excused the faults...
the beautiful cracks in each
other's mantled crusts.
Histories of orbital dust
was swept away in
the dark, empty,
surreal somethingness...
and courses realigned.
The planets picked
up their dusty pieces
and bid each other
an equatorial
goodbye.
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The Gentle Carnie

2/6/2015

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Sweat dribbled down his
greasy wrinkled brow.
The droplets glistened in the midday sun
as they slid down his nose,
landing like a liquid moustache
above his single-toothed,
strained smile.

“They’re shippin me to Missurah next week” he says.

“Gotta set up fer a country band” he says.

He picks up my four year old
and ever so gently,
places her in the kiddie airplane ride.
His hands look like piglets
nursing on their momma sow.
The age in his face is sorrowful,
but I can’t quite tell how old that is.
I’d guess his life had been hard,
but it didn’t affect the kindness in his heart.
He never took our tickets.
I don’t think he cared about tickets much.
He tells me where he’s been this past year
as we watch the ride go round and round.
“I do Country and Rock n Roll” he says.
He looks tired.
The heat and the miles taking their toll.
His piglets reach for his ice water.
Gulping it down,
he lets the airplanes keep going,
maybe longer than he should.
The other Carnies are watching
with heavy stares.
I wonder if all of this one’s lights are on,
or if he was supplied with less.
This guy is sweaty, and greasy, and
might seem scary to some.
But he is Teddy Bear gentle as the ride
comes to a stop.
His piglet hands carefully
lift my daughter
and she smiles bright at him.
He smiles back,
as bright as a
single twisted toothed smile can.
My heart sinks a bit,
I can tell he is a kind, but lonely man.
And we move on to the next ride.
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Refuge Closet

2/4/2015

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It's just a closet,
cedar lined, smelling
of mothballs,
but it is so much more.
Hems of flowing
skirts morph into sails
of vivid blues...
accents of green belts
slither to the floor.
High heels
pound those snakes
to a leathery death.
But ssshhh...dont let them
hear you, or to
the plank you'll go.
It's just a closet,
but not with a flashlight
when the power goes dark.
Then it's more.
It's an island of refuge,
settled in with the shoes
of loved ones dead and gone.
Close the door,
lock out the ghosts
and bad monsters.
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Confidence

2/3/2015

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Sparkling with serrated
edges...
she sunk her teeth
as if carving a roast.
"No need to boast"
I told her.
"Keep your humility
and grace" I told her.
"Be a lady. Be elegant,
be the girl he wants
to take home to mom.
Be quiet...
or no one
will want you."
So she smiled a steel
faced grin
that vibrated across
my skull.
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It's Still There

2/2/2015

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                Who are they to tell me who I am? These humans are out of their goddamn minds, why I know exactly who I am! But, I don’t know who they are, and that is becoming an issue. There is one particular human, he’s a man, or he thinks he is, and every damn day it’s the same thing with that one. I think he needs help.

                “Dad, I’m your son…Dad, it’s me, Gary”…dad this and dad that…every single day.

                He ain’t my son. My son was strong, and didn’t cry like this fella does. Every damn day I tell that nurse not to let that kid in here, but she don’t listen. I feel like I’m in an aquarium, and these idiots just come to look at me. Well, ya know what I have to say to that? A lot. I have a lot to say, but who’s listenin? That kid ain’t listening…I tell him to get lost every day, and he still keeps coming back.

                I try to ignore these petting zoo people the best I can, and I’ve been eyeballing their routines. I know that Betty Lou La La Nurse likes to slip out for her cigarettes. I think if I can just hide out in the hall closet long enough, I can catch the door on her way back in. I was gonna try today. I really was. But, this really nice lady came to my room today. This lady, boy she was somethin! I mean, she was really somethin! She was as pretty as pastel lilies in the autumn sun, and her voice was moist molasses I tell ya.

                That starlet shimmied into my room this mornin, dressed in lilac and rose colors. I was surprised, cause I’d never seen her before…I think I’d remember seeing her before! Well, we sat there for the longest time and she told me all about herself, and asked me questions, and we even listened to some Hank Williams. She was a little fresh with holding my hand, but I’ll admit, I kinda liked that about her! I told her my secret plan for gettin out of here, and she said if I do, I can take her dancin. Ah, I still got it!

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    Author

    Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.

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  • Home
  • Showcase
  • Audrie Bretl Roelf
  • Molly Roland
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  • About
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  • Writer Bios
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  • Contact
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