Giving Broken a Voice

On Grieving:
After coming out of denial
I have come to believe that I could cry for the lost child within
for the rest of my life, instead I write.

S.B. Joy

I write as a way to express my grief.

Reluctantly Trusting in a Process.

  • Ghostly Me
    Ghosty Me In the ghost that was me there were more than a me. There were parts that are missing and parts that were found. Down silent hallways in silent rooms surrounded by stormy voices. Locked in closets, inside locked trunks tied down to floor ties and splintered wood, in splintered minds and splintered souls, …

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  • The Problem: Grandiosity
    The Problem: Grandiosity I am the problem, the squirrel cage, with no mathematic solution. No matter where I go, there I am adding up two plus two equals minus me. The same me staring at the same me, with more wrinkles day by day, where my furrowed brow deepens tyring like hell to solve the …

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  • Bracing
    Bracing My whole life bracing against, is my learned survival antic. When out of the quiet & blue a family of hoodlums bicycle through bracing they bring an onslaught of laughter. Hooting and frolicking without a care. How dare, without a care do I brace against that? © SB Joy, 2023


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