last night i came home

opened the beat up white notebook

that holds the almost year

of tortured words

i spread each letter

 across the floor

of the living room

stood on the couch

and photographed

the collection

a carpet of chaos



desperate sadness

and mindless babble

stared back at me through the lense

frida kahlo looked down

from her perch on the wall

behind me

her questioning

 uni-brow furrowed with

displeasure at my display

About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i release the gamut of tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
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