The Technology Inside Me

I see you peering at my screen
As the electricity is entering my fingers through a keyboard of lust
the next rage, the plan’s next step, the “the” and how we define it.
a race against the clock, tick took off the tock.
Come be a rapper or sing a melody.
With all this twitter, I am losing the true me. I love and hate technology.
Spell check told me to change and I lost me again and again and it will happen again.
Writing and burning, writing and burning, lust and how I am returning.

Comments

Rachael Phillips said…

"With all this twitter, I am losing the true me."

Wonder what reaction that would bring if you tweeted it, listing your blog site.

8:17 AM

Bought

Anthem of heaven incased in this CD on the market. A devotion song reformed to a green collection in his pocket. Culture how it has sought us! Taken our reverence and bought us! Worship sowing designer clothes for the artist. Melodies in bondage begin to simulate the masses. We have the radio to blare the repeat. Give us our fame and retreat This noise of adoration motivates a half hearted beat on the steering wheel. We can no longer own the heart and we can’t preach our message. We are just a copy of a man’s heart once spilled to His maker given over to another to do as he so pleases. We are bought. Owned. I want to work on this one. It seems a little hard to follow. I want it to be concrete and to the point but still lyrical. Any comments or suggestions?

Shy Suicide

Disclaimer: This poem was inspired by someone else's struggle with suicide. Don't worry I am not suicidal. Suicide, why do you hide beneath my white skin? Suicide, why do use my fake smile for your sin? Suicide, why do you keep your cover until the rope is tight, the trigger is pulled, the pills are swallowed, the wrists slit? A black phantom behind my face. A dark word behind my lips. A night in my day. Suicide, why do you ensnare all my companions? They didn’t know. They didn’t see. They didn’t recognize who had overtaken me. You left a message on paper; they read in disbelief. Suicide, you are shy, and yet you have the audacity to kill me.

The Power of Choice: A Short Story

The Power of a Choice Copyright 2010 Tamara Peachy As the money floated down to the bottom of the wishing fountain, I marveled that my baby girl already had aspirations. She was only three, but still genuine expectancy radiated from her confident smile. She had a secret wish tucked in her heart and believed in her two magical pennies. Beads of water dripped from her blonde curls. She splashed the water with her delicate hand. Her laughter seemed to bounce off the water and amplify. Several other children were tossing pennies into the fountain. Their youthful excitement was great entertainment. A thunderous truck engine interrupted the children’s sweet voices. I glanced behind me to see the man driving the truck. Judging from his expression, I assumed he was lost. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him over the engine. I lifted Sadie onto my hip. She nestled her head into my shoulder. Her grip tightened around my neck. “It’s alright Sadie. Mommy is going to help thi

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