Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Small Town Spew

This is a major work in progress for a poetry slam competition (spoken word) There is much to edit, revise, and add.

Yep, I'm one of those small town girls.
You can stereotype me any way you please.
I know what a combine is. I can drive a 4-wheeler. I've spent time in cornfields. My town is smaller than your entire school.
Oh, and I was sheltered. Big time.
It's never been about what I should do. What I could have done. What I did.
Well, it has a lot to do with what I did.
And didn't do.
You see,
I was one of those girls. A mean girl. Someone who vied to be popular. It didn't matter who I hurt.
It didn't matter whose heart I walked all over. Although, when I did walk all over someone's heart, those puppies were red hot
Maybe it did matter when I stomped all over your Teddy Grahams and hoped they spilled into your gym bag.
And maybe I did mean it when I poured flour all over the outside of your car.
I was never going to admit to something that was going to compromise my reputation. That was social suicide. And unnecessary.
It certainly was fun living in the moment. Living in my moment. I couldn't see beyond it.
I didn't know any better.
I was...Stuck in time.
I was...Stuck in a place I thought was the center of my world.
I was...Stuck between now and later.
I was...Stuck within my own potential.
And I paid for it.
Oh yes, I paid for it big time.
The world was a foggy window; a place unexplored; oblivious.
And what about all of the times I swore my best friend and I would live next to each other in the same city in the same neighborhood? Who was I kidding?
I should have known that would never happen.
At the time, life seemed so simple. Like lemonade.
And then there was someone who I thought was the love of my life. We all know how that turns out in high school. (It doesn't, in case you were wondering.)
In fact, looking back, it was probably more of a train wreck than Romeo and Juliet--at least before they killed each other.
But I was stuck. Again.
I was...stuck between love and war. Fighting for something that was never worth fighting for. A lost cause.
And instead of waving the white flag, I continued to fight harder than ever only to run directly into hostile territory.
But I was headstrong and darn it, this was my dream.
A dream deferred is more like it. Did it fester in the sun? Why, yes it did. It burned the very edges of my soul until I was convinced that love would never exist for me again.
Naive. Sheltered. Gullible. What a package, eh?

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The Things I Carry

I haven't posted here in forever. Finally, we are working on some creative writing in my Humanities block, so I was *FORCED* to write my own version of the first chapter, mirroring the book, The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. If you've never read this book, I highly recommend it. I read it for the first time in college and fell in love with the writing. It's just beautiful...yet disturbing and sad. This book focuses on a company of men and follows them as they fight in the Vietnam War. So, here is my version of the things I carry. I love creative writing. The best part about this piece is there's a lot of truth to it...and a little fabrication...because what writer doesn't add that every once in awhile? :)

The Things I Carry

Pushing the soft, brown stroller through the crowd of shoppers with a bulky, black diaper bag strapped across her left shoulder that covers the spit up stains just so. Signs hanging in the windows scream, SALE 50% off invite her in, yet hold her back, wishing she could fit into the summer capris and cute, sequined tank tops everyone appears to be wearing. It seemed so easy pre-expandable waistbands.

The iPhone in the back pocket of her worn out jeans buzzes, signaling a message from the husband. She reads her only text of the day, then sneaks a snapshot of their babe and hits REPLY. Reeking of rotten milk, she slides a rubber band from her left wrist and reworks her over-processed hair into a ponytail, as carefully placed purple sunglasses return to sit atop her head. This was a necessity. Gazing once more at the tiny, pink bundle stirring restlessly in the carriage, although smitten, she moves quickly.

No time to think as she races to mix a bottle of powdered formula before the storm hits. BPA Free containers and burp cloths have replaced strawberry lip gloss and her favorite celery green Coach purse from Nordstrom. She yawns for the 100th time, squeezing her bloodshot eyes and shakes the bottle carefully…it is a little bit like rocket science.

She tosses a light pink kitty cat blanket over her shoulder and cradles her sweet child, like a delicate piece of art. Balancing the bottle with her chin, she sifts through the bag, guiding her hands through a jungle of diapers, wipes, onesies, pacifier pods, a bottle of Ibuprofen and teething rings in search of her leather wallet. Fingers crossed, she’s hoping for a Lincoln to purchase a beloved, yet necessary Starbucks Frap. The dark circles under her eyes tell a hundred stories all connected to late night escapades, and cause her friends to question motherhood. But she doesn’t. Not once. Well, maybe once.

Sweat trickles down her forehead; she carelessly wipes it away and produces a loud sigh. Her tired eyes whisper to her tired body that it’s time to take a nap. But there’s no time for that. Fumbling through her pocket for the pink pacifier to avoid a meltdown, she feels the tiny links between her fingers and doesn’t recognize it. Solving the mystery, she pulls out the shiny gold chain with a basketball charm hanging from it and smiles lovingly as the memories come flooding back. To shoot again. Yes, that would be nice.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Love this quote

I love this quote because it sums up so much of something I was feeling but could never put into words at one time in my life:

"An angel in the book of life wrote down my baby's birth, and whispered as she closed the book, 'too beautiful for earth.'" -anonymous

Monday, February 1, 2010



Between now and later
It’s like writer’s block, man
Times ten
Take a closer look

At my kids.
Don’t be afraid of
Their ‘ghetto’ clothes
or ‘ghetto’ attitudes.
You can't avoid their
Racial slurs.
Don’t shrug off their
Lack of self discipline
Lack of good decision-making
Lack of self worth
and instead
and their Acceptance of everyone.
Take a bite off
their big dreams
their hopes
their chance to escape
a city
that tends
to swallow
and force
Abuse or
Pregnancy at age 16;
Food stamps
Just to name a few...
And chew on that for
awhile before you
start to judge
My Kids

By: Sarah F.E.

Monday, February 9, 2009



an infant ripped from my grasp
hopes of motherhood fade
as I trip through the reality of m i s c a r r i a g e
Doc says,
"It happens to one in three women now."
And all that means to me is
two other women get to be mothers
while I hide in the shadows
clinging to what was never meant to be.

-July 2005

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Some of my haikus

The first three are about my great grandma and the last two are about some times in my life I hope to never revisit.

Tiny enough to
Fit in a standard shoebox
A big life ahead

A heart so big it’s
Immeasurable; kindness
Flowed through her sweet soul

Perfect soul awakes
Within a tiny body
then flies far away

Tiny infant soul
Never to be born or known
Causes great sadness

Lost within myself
A life created dies
Maternal plug pulled