Saturday, February 25, 2012

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets!!

“Little Person”

She sits there; the strong one,

Perched high on that throne,

Ruthless and calculating to all who meet her,

Because a scared little person is who she really is inside,

She deflects by joking about all her bitter situations,

As if nothing ever really deeply troubles her,

Her soul hidden by armored walls,

She’s crumbling and her soul is almost non-existent,

They want to get close to her and help her,

The fools want to fix her problems with their weak bandages,

They want to coddle her like a small child,

But she won’t let them manipulate her any longer.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

September 20, 1996

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

This Time It's Personal.


Yes, you.

I know you.

You do, too.

You know who you are. You say whatever crosses your mind -- or your ego, or your mood. You spill it out as an aside. You spew it over email. You 'joke' it out. Then you run. You will ruin a day and walk away. You will say something that haunts a person years from now in a weak moment.

And you will smile, like you didn't know you did it. Like you were possessed, or absent during the launch of the weapon. And what follows is your alibi. A shrug. A grin. An invitation to drinks. What, me? Say something like that?

I know what you are.


I study you, you know. I look carefully, head cocked, at your body language: before, during, and after you launch your missile. I have a little black box for you. It tells me a lot about what you are doing when you do it. I can reconstruct the crash. I can discern and dissect the pressures that brought you to this act of desperation.

I won't rise to your bait. I won't stoop to your level.

I will write you. I will write you as I see you. So, better duck, kiddo. You, hero of your own tale, will have your flaws laid out, bit by bit, until you are displayed on ice like a filleted fish at market. Try not to worry, I will be doing the same to myself.

And the next time you spew on me?

I will smile.

Here's a tip. You are special. But you are not special because you are different than anyone else, you are special in the way that every human being is special. You are exploring your potential. Great! Guess what? Others are, too. If the only kind of exceptional you can be is at the expense of others being exceptional in their way, if there's no room in your vision for that, guess what? You've missed the whole fucking point.

You are not better than everyone else. Or even anyone else. And that's ok. In fact, it's the only true fact of our short, grasping, questioning existence. It's the only answer anyone ever comes to on their deathbed that gives a person any peace. It's knowing, really knowing, that we are all in this together.

So get over yourself. There are plenty of people who like you when you are simply you. Myself included.

I'm still going to flay you open in my writing, though. Girl's gotta have a reason to write.


Sunday, February 19, 2012

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets!


My ghosts they taunt me from the sidelines,
Laughing all the while for my benefit,
If I could only decipher their words of advice,
Maybe I could unwind all these twists,
But they are so muffled all rambling together,
Their words and actions don’t register in my mind,
Hercules a pillar of strength is what they see,
Don’t they realize that their taunting is killing me?
If they would just shut up or go back to sleep,
I could finally be at peace within my soul,
I know it is my fault; after all, I am the one that invited them in,
I just never imagined they would stay so long,
And nobody ever told me how to get rid of them…

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner
September 9, 1996