Once a thief, always a liar
There is no door on my home
There is no “where” I roam
That permission is granted
For you to again request access.
The lights in my windows
The warmth of my hearth
Are obscured from your blows
You, with chosen corrupted self-worth
My over shoulder refrain to your
Strut of smoking guiltless shame
“Never again. Not ever again.
Once a thief, always a liar
You raped what you so
Deserved in your own destructive fire.”
You confessed that death equals love
pain equals love. You are alone.
Alone.
Suffering solitary confinement for life
with shadows of who you dreamed of being
reflected in the mirrors of their burgeoning souls
warming your icy skin with alien affection
you won’t afford to give yourself.
As you stare at the distortion created by the bottle,
that screams generations of return,
understand that love does not equal pain
or loss or abandonment or unnecessary sacrifice
or lies, deception, theft, loss of integrity
or tears of begged forgiveness forgotten immediately
when the other “Lady” comes knocking
with sharp shaved heads, steaming lips,
and nothing but broken promises.
You select the path. You get to choose now.
It will not be long before it will no longer be your choice.
It will be out of your hands. Choose now.
Choose.
I have discovered a magic within
one that depends not on blood, kith, or kin
It is the luminous moon
the heated sun
the gathering of teary puddles
the shattered undone.
The siren’s wail of my mortality
blooming forth into all possibilities
For some a child is a promise of eternal life
a quenching relief from the death born strife
But I have found magic within my hands
which I’ve been commanded to touch on the lands
to forgo my fears of tomorrow’s gleaning
to step loudly into the room of vanity preening
that I, with the breath of truth on my lips,
must shatter the walls with the twitch of my hips
While singing hymns of thanksgiving, love, and peace
While weeping with gratitude, I crawl on my knees
The oceans of tears that matters to healing
have accepted my joy of life now appealing
For I have discovered my magic within
Ne’er shall I die, for the darkness can’t win.
Bunny Ears and laid back mornings
I have arrived at your door.
I’ve unpacked my suitcases.
I’m ready for Your/Our more
My bridges burned cold blazes.
You allowed me haven inside
Fortified soul food, tenderness wed
You gifted my envisioned sight
A place to rest my weary head.
From darkness crept my prism
With rainbow fiery lights
No more the battled schisms
My spirit freed to endearingly alight
I did this
Authored by Mare Martell
Edition: 1
A complete (through 2014) compilation of articles, poems, essays, and art by Mare Martell. Racism, Feminism, Love, Love thy neighbor, honor, truth, lies, and other miscellanea cascade a life learning curve of one woman author.
A self professed lover of life and happiness, this book drives through some dark corners with the high beams of activism running full bore through sexual assault, domestic violence, love, loss, and personal growth.
List Price is $45.00
Mare Martell
I now have bright red hair instead of blonde. (to be fair)
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Reaching for the stars
When I awakened from the dreamless deep,
I was shocked to realize that my eyes could not see.
I had no way of finding upon which path to set my feet,
because all I’d ever done was walk around in sleep.
But then I found the very stars of which you, longing, write,
and I followed them into the sky; into the sacred night.
I heard taps play over picnic grass graves.
It felt good to be remembered kindly for a day
No words of hate shouted, no reminders to my face
The forgiveness of sacrifice, seen in a different way.
I wanted to go like my brothers before me
I wanted to serve with my life, if necessary.
I wanted to be the hero that my father and my uncles are
I wanted to accept their mantle, to be their shining star.
But all I could say when I returned from that place
Was, “No more. I feel like such a disaster, such a disgrace.”
I lived in terror that tore me apart, shredded me inside out.
I couldn’t look in the mirror without hating my every doubt.
I couldn’t reach out for help, because who would understand?
That I didn’t even feel real, that I wasn’t even a man.
I was a soldier without a war.
I was lost in my inner storm.
Although I lost my life, not on the battle-field
My family still stood and by my graveside kneeled.
I heard taps play over picnic green grass graves.
It felt good to be remembered kindly, if even for a day.
Old friends are the ones who holds your secrets tightly.You have come knocking at my door with your basket empty of fruit.
You ask to break bread with me once again, I welcome you with a banquet.
Forgiveness is not necessary when there is a parting of ways with no faults
Things just happened to work out where time apart was required to isolate
Not for feeling alone, but for the seeds to take root, grow, and bloom fully
I offer the platters laden with history, telling each yarn with great verbosity
laughing together, we drink deeply, offer consolation, counsel, connection
We cut cheese (grow up!), melt it onto the bread of reminiscing
our peppered words burning our faces with our shocking youthful antics
I sit lounged in my chair, grateful that the air we share is no longer pungent
It no longer stinks of half-truths, unspoken words, and lost opportunity.
We rip shreds of the layer cake we build with our conversation,
skipping layers of icing, jumping slyly from one inside joke to the next.
We burp satisfaction, of time well spent, appreciated, and honored.
As we rise into the light of a new morning, I escort you out with welcome
for warm and happy returns at your leisure when the need is happenstance.
As I bid you adieu at my doorstep, you turn towards me, arms full of bounty.
We smile the smile of 1,000 lifetimes ago, promising 1,000 more.
Those who want the world to stop burning must first realize that it’s on fire.
Quit selling me your Jesus. Who is thick with thorns?
Don’t bleed your justification while the poor you scorn
Don’t tell me that my color is wrong, that a prison is a matter of fact
When you took away our baseball gloves and gave us baseball bats
Don’t tell me that I need to work, that I’m just a lazy bum
When you sent my job to the Philippines while calling me black scum
Don’t tell me to step up and be a father, when you took mine when I was seven
My mama couldn’t take care of me, she wept “He is watching me from heaven.”
But she believed in the Jesus you sold her that burns like a cross in my yard
She counted prayers and sang the hymns while my brothers lives are scarred
Quit telling me that I love my forty that dims the daily grind
Quit telling me I’m worthless so why should you educate my mind?
Don’t tell me that you value me just to get my vote you take away
You love me about as much as a crack baby born every day
You took away the healthcare to let my people suffer
While praising God and Jesus, filling up your coffers
You spend our money on bars and chains instead of buying books
You take away from teachers and schools, entertaining disdaining looks
Quit selling me your Jesus who is thick covered with your angry words thrown
While wearing the cross you put on your own back, you’re reaping what you’ve sewn.
An Independent Nondiscriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations - FOUNDED 2014
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Hosanna High Community Burial Project
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Life as an American poet of excellence
Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
Love Letters to the Tar Pit
Making Space for Dreams
binge thinking and other things in life
Mare Martell 