Male egos-family links…

I lost my spark when the match wouldn’t light. I tried to use my flashlight so that I could see the paper beneath my pen, but the battery was dead. So instead tears fell upon that paper, the words never came like the poetry lost in my phone when reset. My heart erased. There is nothing but numbness where passion was, and digging deep, I still can’t find the words to complete what I had felt. My stories go on, but even the sound of waves don’t bring me elaborate details of analytical thoughts. I clean, I sing, I try to dance, and this world has me spent on who I am — wasted on the fact that they force you to ride the merry go round stealing what was ours in the first place. Our spirits, in it freedom, when we were told in this life we could be anyone and anything given you worked at it. All lies alibi’s to deceive us into believing we mattered. And I used to think I did before people I loved, naysayers forced themselves into my mind, breaking my backbone, causing me to pray to a man above, a man! For it is the man who makes it impossible for the women to break free! And there is nothing our society has done to make it easy to wriggle out of this perpetual circle they have us entrapped in! And when we choose to rebel in the slightest way they make sure we know we’ve gone astray.

Angela K. Crandall ©9/11/19

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Soul Suvivor

“My nightmare is your dream on steroids.
Swinging with the metallic band, I could never comprehend.
So I dive under the covers to hide in a cocoon.
I plunge into elsewhere with purple streaks in my hair far, far away deep in the gray zone.”
-AKC©2/7/18

 

Equality for All

The only sanctuary that exists is in your own mind.
This world is blind
It doesn’t know what unconditional love is
What it knows is fear, hate, and how to take away
What was never theirs,
Because
It says
‘And liberty and justice for all.’
Most of you make me want to die
But I know I have to keep fighting
For those that need me.
I stand with the LGBT community.
~Angela K. Crandall~
©7/27/17

True colors bleed.

The story becomes the writer’s world and the characters merge, becoming her friends. It is there that she is fully herself and accepted. Outside, she smiles, plays the game of the world, if not bitter, and lashes out at those who have deserted her. They corrupt her with the idea that all she yearns for is sympathy. When what she desires is for those to bend for her as she did them.

 ~Angela K. Crandall~

©12/31/15