Giving Broken a Voice

Inner Critic

I have been freed from the man with thin orange lips & pencil thin mustache & a big red pen & yellow pointy teeth hungry to change every word I write into pointless syllables. © SB Joy, 2021 © SB Joy, 2021

Crows Feet

Worrying, deepening wrinkles,crows feet at my edges of timecut deeper from winds & stormsinto a well worn wall, adobe thick,mud proofed in the sunof my distresses. Storms, find me frettingover uselessness. Silverware,china patterns, the right gaugeshot gun, sofa colors & styles,impenetrable impeccable prayers,correctly folded towels, right answersdishes in the dishwasher stackedin strictest order. Ah, lost …

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Prick ly Pear

Thank god, mym-other & f-atherhadn’t discoveredthat paddle with allthe attached pins & needles & used a leather belt instead. © SB Joy, 2021 © SB Joy, 2021 That belt hurt my pride, my ass and destroyed any trust I had with my parents. Without trust there is no relationship. To this day I struggle with …

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A family can survive major pruning.The loss of parent, grandparent, child.However, a family tree can’t survive without its bark. The stripping away of my childhood’s outer layer.The intentional toughing up routines backfired,thinning the skin until raw and every word or touchburned like a bare light socketsunk into my exposed muscle and sinew. Skinned alive, exposed, …

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Barking Instead

I meant to write a poem today, however, I lacked resolveand a bitter brotherly love. Mostly, I lacked the memories that could chain me to a tree. Instead, to my neighbors chagrinI barked all day. © SB Joy, 2021


Sour Words streamed from my eyes,Pooling into a paragraphOf tangerines, lemons & limes. Oh, how I wish I never tasted you,Mother’s milk. SBJ © SB Joy, 2021


Fifty years plus, silenced & caged. To write is to free the golden finch, imprisoned at eight,by a man’s filthy hands, reaching where clawsdon’t belong. The golden finch’s songsruptures the cage & the silence. SB Joy © SB Joy, 2021

In State, 2020

I laid in state,like everyone else, waiting escapefrom this frozen box,zipped in a white bag, stacked like firewoodawaiting cremation. © SB Joy

2 + 2 = 4

Two twigs twined between two branches reaching, breaching the rule of bark, stark naked, like our  four legs tangled between heaven and the heavens. © SB Joy

Greedy Hands

Angel in bright white night gownSoiled, smudged from your earthly visit,Trapped in the trauma of a little boyRaped by his mother’s man. You can’t unsee, that dirt, that stain,It doesn’t come clean, the bile Of man’s defiling greedy hands Shoveling himself inside a little boy.  © SB Joy


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