My words are a direct reflection of what is being played out in my mind. For artistic purpose and dramatic effect I have duct-tapped the "edit" button…
We walked over the bridge together Symbolic We held hands I could feel the pulse In-sync There were posters banners Handwritten messages The sentiment One and the same The drum beat Kept us unitedAllies Shared around the countryEvery cityEvery communityEvery state#OurBodyOurChoice#BansOffOurBodiesI thought about my grandmother, JennieSuffragetteI thought about my mother, DorothyCivil RightsMy sister, Jenny myself …
To be the object of his full attentionHis affection as if time stands still And she blind to the blessings And privilege he has bestowed Upon her a mere female women The delicate sex - fragile and witless Her strength he is convinced he holds In the palms of his hands He is fixated by …
Red white and blue Shimmering lights flash Sound blaring local news International twist Internal grind gnawing away At our sense of humanity We may have lost the battle - but we have not lost the war There is always time to shift gears Focus on and revise the plan From head to heart And heart …
....thinking back don't give a damn about so many things that used to be paramount to this vehicle this lump of flesh and bone saltwater draw like a fish I could jump in leap of faith no wings of better angels fluttering in the perfection of a sea breeze just the magnification of gills lung-esk …
You might call me denigrating names Names, like sticks and stones Could break my bones Yet never truly touch me Names you would not call Your mother, sister, wife or daughter Or maybe, just maybe you would You could try to hold me back ...or attempt to hold me down And if by some cosmic …
We are not a business deal We are not a property to purchase - or to steal We are a tapestry of magnificent color Texture, pattern, ebb and flow Music high, music low We are not a bottom line Deals made, deals signed We are individuals Uniquely defined All related via one bloodline... ©2017 TrilbyYates
A rush, adrenaline high - his hands shake walking away back stab left over son of a bitch silence engulfs the space on the floor, simplistic empty hole in the wall; questions follow and wounds never heal they go underground waiting for another day to step out and sabotage what tiny thread of hope that …
We may be of A different blood line We are sister friends Of a similar kind And as far as Fuck ups go On a scale Of one to ten We are an odd Yet profound eleven ...and while you Laugh at me We both know I bring a smile To your mouth And nothing …
Old photographs Father front center Children in awe eyes wide Mothers hands tightly folded sepia images wrapped neatly pieces of linen loosely regarded memories change with the passing of time tied with a tender touch obsessive perfection silk ribbon once brilliant sapphire shade of blue faded edges similar to the way stories of the past …
Trilby Yates 