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More Time


Never enough time.

Being the youngest of four I always thought

I was the furthest from all the changes that come with age.

I calculated my youth by all the milestones I had yet to reach.

Now I find myself on the precipice of something new.

Another change I don’t look forward to.

A slower mind

A slower body

A fine line or three

A head of graying hair

A set of lower hanging tits

The dread is building as I charge forward full force with my heels dug into the ground

An inevitable fate I know we all must face.

Yet I find it difficult to accept

Knowing that everyday it creeps closer, and there’s jack shit I can do about it.

Often staring into the dark fighting the break of dawn.

To what end?

A day closer to that fate?

Time that has no intention of slowing for me.

It won’t give back what it has taken.

To grow old is a Blessing.

Is what old people say to make up for the shitty hand they’ve been dealt,

As bones begin their decay, faulty hearts unnaturally flutter, and strength dwindles.

At least that is all I can see right now.

Perhaps, that too will change.

I thought I had more time.

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What of Me?

What of me when newness fades?
When you have since abandoned longing for my lips.

The shape of my disposition no longer quenching your desires.

What of me when time and toil have stolen my days?
When these arms lose the worth of their breadth.

Ravaged by ailments and grief of this life.

What of me when frailty has taken over?  
A once healthy body lay next to yours.

Edges of my skin rough beneath your finger tips.

What of me?

-Clary

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Frayed Edges

Here I go again.

Omitting truth for peace.

Afraid to crush your fragile sentimentality.

Constantly teetering on the scale of our relationship.

This time I won’t falter,

No mater the cost.

This time I will speak my mind,

Without concern for your delicate heart.

The one I fight to understand as I search for my empathy.

I’m sure someone took it from me.

Perhaps it was misplaced along with the loose change, the keys, and the unkept promises.

Or it’s at the bottom of the junk drawer where I stowed away my thin skin,

when I upgraded to thicker skin and a backbone.

Still, after all of this,

I’ll let you fray my edges.

I’ll let you inside,

I’ll let you take me apart.

I’ll let you see every darkness and every light.

I’ll let you rearrange me until I am no more.

I’ll let you fray my edges.

Then love me for it

and remind me who I am.

-Clary

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Losing My Religion

An entire life spent trying to be what everyone expected.

Kneel, stand, the sign of the cross, Hail Mary & Our Father. Confess your sins to the envious pedophile. No worries, the confessional has a screen.

Not to mention peddling God door to door. A salesman without answers. No Christmas, no Easter, no makeup, no free will.

Let’s not forget the Hallelujahs and praise the Lord. Submit to your cheating husband. Do as you’re told.

Trying my damnedest to squeeze into a mold shaped by my fellow sinners. But I never fit.

This is what it is to find yourself. To choose to ignore all others, and follow God alone.

You will no longer find me tiptoeing down the path of eggshells laid out by those before me. You will find my path of eggshells thoroughly crushed beneath my feet, veering towards whatever end God has in store.

And sometimes, When God gets sick of telling me “this way dummy,” I’m sure there will be some, very prominent, me-shaped drag marks… as He takes me (likely kicking and screaming) down my rightful path, to the place He had prepared for me all along.

-Clary

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Prick

Thank you for making it easy.

Now I can move on.

Much obliged you haven’t written,

or responded to my calls.

I’m grateful you ignore me,

And don’t want me by your side.

At times my thoughts drift back to you

I’m not going to lie.

I lose myself in what would have beens,

What would bes, and what ifs.

But every stolen memory

Reminds me you’re a prick!

-Clary

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Broken Seashells

The crisp breeze blew as time erased another sunset from the sky. The light of the  first star pricked a hole in the darkness and the moon set up, dismissing the pale blue of the day. I found myself staring up, feeling insignificant,  as memories of you began to wash in like broken seashells on a vast shoreline. I find myself trying to piece them together, hoping for a clear glimpse of your face, a memory of my hand in yours, or simply the sound of your voice. It gets more difficult every year. The ocean of my mind pulling back fragments while uncovering others. But  I never manage enough pieces for a clear picture. Never enough for me to see you smile again, or hear the sound of your voice. Never enough to remember how it felt when you’d gathered me up in your arms as a child or tucked me in at night. I know you had done those things, but it’s hard to tell now. Is it my own memory, or just a story I once heard?

-Clary

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Soliloquy

The smell of fresh rolls wafted through the dining area. I sat at the bar waiting for my order. A man sat three stools down. I caught intermittent mumbles about death, the end of the world, and some Bible verses. I wonder if he knows something I don’t? If he hears the echo of voices from a place I’ll never know. If he sees the faces of loved ones passed? A full conversation with no one. At least no one I could see.

-Clary

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Your Touch

You didn’t touch me again today.

Should I be worried?

Is it happening again?

My thoughts go dark fast.

Has my adventurous nature become mundane?

Perhaps.

But,
There will be a time when you’ll realize what you have.

Hopefully,

Before I stop missing the feel of your hands on my skin.

Before the thought of your mouth on my body fades into time.

Before one or both of our hearts searches for another.

For now, I wait impatiently.

-Clary

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We Rise

No worries,

We’ll be okay, whatever may come.

Empires have risen and fallen

Hellfire, rain, famine, locust, pandemic and all.

We’ll be okay.

We’ll rise from the rubble, rebuild what was lost.

Waters recede, and the sun shines again

We’ll rise from the ash, as spring gifts us her bloom.

Crops are resown, industries recover

Locust die and feed the same earth they once ravaged.

We’ll rise, for our neighbors, our children, and loved ones alike.

We’ll rise, because it is what God intended.

We’ll rise, whatever may come

And when we do…

only a shadow of yesterday will remain.

-Clary

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Lullaby

Help me find sleep tonight.

Bring quiet to this mind.

My body has grown weary, of the hardships in my life.

Silence all stray thoughts.

Bring rest to my eyes.

Let darkness take me in her arms, and sing her lullaby.

Put away the triumphs and failures of the day.

Tuck me in so tightly and make them go away.

My mind has grown restless of the voices in my head,

A perpetual droning in a loop that never ends.

-Clary

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Mistaken Path

I am here but I am gone,

Waiting for new time to dawn.

One without so many cares,

One with less burdens to bear.

I am here but I am not,

A memory of what I was taught.

Like a faded withered tree,

Only a figment of what use to be.

Will I grow to be complete?

Will this path lead my feet?

Will I turn the other way?

I do not think that you will stay?

I am here but I am dead,

My heart, it has no time to mend.

Can not deny mistakes I’ve made.

Or the cost of my charades.

The guilt it presses on my heart,

I have no wisdom to impart.

I should be older, wiser now,

But I got lost, I don’t know how.

-Clary

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Nostalgia

I take my place as part of a final generation that grew up when Saturday morning cartoons were still a thing, and Sundays were still held sacred. Before internet and cell phones trapped us in zombie mode. Saying so makes me feel ancient. It’s a strange thing when change comes so quickly. A quarter of a century from a time when summers were full of boredom and adventure as the cicadas composed the perfect score until dark. When the crisp fall air ushered in the new school year that smelled of fresh linens and rain. And Winter was short, but brutal, for those use to dry heat. And Spring couldn’t come fast enough. We chased lightning bugs, climbed trees, rode bikes, and laid in the green grass. No video game could take us on an adventure the way our own back yard could. It is a strange thing that all of this, while still here, will never be seen the same to those who come after us. Barefoot and happy, a nostalgia we will bear for all of our days.

-Clary

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Mayflies

I use to think when people died young it was because there was so much sadness in their hearts they just could’t keep it from breaking. I would have kept on believing this had I not lost my daddy so young, or experienced the agony of losing two unborn children, only to find I still managed to wake up the next morning. So now, I believe we all just walk around with these broken hearts, seeking out someone to mend them. The world churns its season, and we cling to all the things that once seemed small. The way he shook his leg in anxiousness or the crinkle in their nose when they were deep in thought. In those moments, we remember how truly fleeting life is. We are mayflies in a world that will continue long after us.

-Clary

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Sanctimonious

The words rolled off her tongue so eloquently. I, even believed her bullshit. She wore that infectious smile and feigned excitement when she met someone new. Inviting you to rub elbows with the “elites,” like that is where you belonged. Fooled so many, including myself, with her slippery manipulations. If she said you were enough, you felt you were, but disagree even once and she’d knock you down just as quickly as she built you. No worries, you’re safe, as long as you stay beneath her. Where you belong. As long as she is always right, as long as you are still useful to her.

-Clary

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You

I can’t understand it.

I can’t comprehend.

How a love so deep spawned so quickly from friends.

Just a small spark, ignites a fire;

That makes you think up all these dreams and desires.

It wraps you in tightly, without regard

Of whom you’re attached to, no matter how far.

It tells you that love has taken up residence.

There’s no way around it, you can’t build a fence.

There’s no wall too high that it won’t make it through

If only that love meant I could be with you.

-Clary

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We Are The Music

We are indeed the music, until the music stops.

That’s what a brilliant soul once said before closing up shop.

An accolade of melody and complex interludes.

Depicting inner essence, defining states of truth.

We all wish life were simple. To what benefit is this?

That our lives should be a single note of small significance?

No melodic company, to fill life’s vast expanse.

No extraordinary serenade, of anger, joy, romance.

We are indeed the music. A tapestry of song.

A symphonic melody one wishes to prolong.

So thread it with emotions, anomalous serenades.

The only ones that get us through each passing day.

Until at last the time comes, when there can be no more.

When one will try to make amends, and pray for an encore.

-Clary

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Once Upon A Time

I sat in my car that gray stricken day and watched drops of water speckle the windshield then collect into tiny puddles. They slid down the glass, like shooting stars, gathering their friends along the way. My mind unable to shake our earlier conversation. “I want a divorce; I don’t love you the way I should anymore”. Silence than shock. Or was it?  While you feigned disbelief the excitement played in your eyes. All the freedom that would come with the end. But you wouldn’t let me off that easy. I mean how could I do this to YOU, right? You fed on my emotions, my guilt, and let the entire fault lie on me. Every church service, every meal, every hand pressed outfit starched and laid out. That’s what I was there for and suddenly, I wasn’t. You knew what would make me hurt and you knew how to lay the guilt on thick so it smothered me. The way you would when you couldn’t keep your hands off me. Those hands. The ones you had tainted with other women. The same ones you used to wipe my tears away. The same ones that held our newborn children and the same ones that held my hands. Once upon a time.

-Clary

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Sunlight

Sunlight streams in signaling the beginning of a new day.

Every day is the same

You are everything to me and I bound myself to you

I made the links myself, locked the locks, and threw away the key

I wanted freedom, but chose chains

Naively bound by doing what is “right”

My heart screams, “This was not supposed to be your life”

It wails and the chains tighten and pinch choking the little that’s left of me.

I found the key and while I want desperately to release these bonds

I can’t do it.

Guilt consumes me for even thinking it

So many other lives tightly intertwined with my own

The broken links would rip them apart, all for my own selfish happiness.

Everyday is the same

Sunlight streams in signaling the beginning of a new day.

-Clary

photography © 2013 CMB Clary
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Excerpt – Antony

The rain poured relentlessly as Antony rushed through the cabin door passed the messenger. His heart pounded in anticipation and teemed with joy over the news.  Completely absorbed by thoughts of holding his first child and kissing his wife, he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten to wear a coat. The sound of thunder rolled out of the sky and the wind blew furiously around him, but nothing could dampen the happiness of seeing his wife and child. He quickly trudged down the muddied path, his large boots  making deep impressions the entire way. Antony finally reached the cabin, and opened the door in one fluid motion with a euphoric smile splashed across his face. The cabin was oddly quiet.

“They must be resting” he thought as he reached the door to Liera’s room and turned the knob. He entered quietly turning back to face the door as he closed it softly behind him.

“Antony?” Miriam gasped, her voice barely audible

“Are they sleeping?” He whispered still smiling and not looking at Miriam or the midwife. He turned toward Liera’s bed, the joy still emanating from his eyes, but as he turned to look at her, his eyes could not accept what was before him. Sprawled across blood stained linens lay Liera. Her once bright eyes now a cold dim stare, rosy lips tinged a faint blue, and her left arm hung ever so delicately and pale over the side of  the bed. Antony shook his head in disbelief as his stomach twisted inside him making every breath feel impossible.

“This can not be,” he raised a hand to his mouth.

Rushing to kneel by her side he took her hand in his own. Tears flowed relentlessly as he rubbed the back of her hand against his face trying to feel her warmth again and sobs filled the room as reality brimmed over. There was no warmth left. Everything that was her had fallen away, and all that remained was an abandoned form shadowing her likeness and completely void of life.

“Why?” the words came out in a sharp drawn breath, tears streamed down his cheeks. His entire body shook and wept in despair. “WHY_____?” he bellowed this time his voice vicious and raw with an anger, and regret that made the mid wife and Miriam burst into a bewailing of sobs.

He tried to wipe the tears that now flowed freely from his eyes, as he gathered himself to stand.

“My child?” he sniffed,” Where is my child, Miriam? His eyes searched the room and returned to meet Miriam’s hollow gaze. She couldn’t respond as she burst into uncontrollable wails.

“Please Miriam,” he walked toward her with a glimpse of hope in his eyes, “Please, he said again, as if asking nicely would allow her to return everything taken from him, “I would very much like to hold our child, he continued.

“But my lord…” she replied between sobs “The child… 

“Yes, my child. Where is he, Miriam,” his eyes searching hers?

“The child my lord… was born without breath,” she dissolved into tears once again.

Pain rippled over him washing him of all hope. The room narrowed as he reached for the door and made his way through the cabin in complete torment staggering out into the pouring rain. Despair crushed him from above with the weight of his loss  and he fell to his knees clutching his hair with both hands and dispelling his anguish completely “No_____. no” he collapsed, tears and rain mixing together in a coupling of agony and sorrow.

-Clary

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Joy

© 2020 CMBClary

Longing to feel joy again

Does sorrow ever take a rest?

Control emotions with behest.

Breathe the air, with weightless chest.

To feel again even in brief

No more tears of pain and grief.

No tangled rage and disbelief. 

Or shattered remnants, just relief

I long to one day smile again.

Does every heart deserve to mend?

Bind up wounds and sorrowed rend.

Undo wrongs and make amends.

To go back now, impossible

No virtuous deeds, no words extol.

No more forgiveness for this soul.

Or simple words meant to console.

So I will sit in unsought sorrow

And pray that joy will come tomorrow.

-Clary

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Carry On

© 2020 CMBClary

Memories brim at every corner of my mind.

A heavy stone in my chest,

A lump in my throat, but,

I carry on.

What else is there?

Just tasks.

All the things no one else will do,

They wait for me.

And while my heart is a still ache,

I carry on.

That’s what’s expected of me.

Just another day

All the hours clambering.

To what end?

And while we all expire, it remains a mystery, but

We carry on.

– Clary

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Merry Christmas!

As Christmas Eve falls upon us again and we each repeat our holiday traditions. (Some of us in a not so jolly disposition) Take a moment to stop, take a breath, and take it all in. Remember those you love, those who couldn’t make it for a visit, and those no longer with us. These are the days that will become memories. Those little babes in diapers will grow up and have babes of their own. One day you will no longer be able to pick up those tiny bodies and dangling limbs and whisk them off to bed. One day you will sing them a final lullaby, until they tell you they no longer need your sweet serenades to fall asleep. One day those tiny hands and sticky fingers will no longer fit inside yours. So, in those moments of frustration that come with the holidays take a moment to see how blessed you are. Tell your parents how much they are loved. Kiss your babies sweet little faces and enjoy their bright eyes of wonder this holiday season. Time changes ALL things. Savor it! Above all else thank God for all He does and gives!

A very Merry Christmas and Blessed New Year Friends!!!

-Clary

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Pet -A Funny Rhyme or Two

I want to keep you as a pet
To come to me at my behest
To dream of me all the day long
To be here at my beckon call

I want to keep you as a pet
To laugh at my comedic fret
To clean my house and smile at me
To be whatever I ask you to be

I want to keep you as a pet
To work and pay off all my debt
To massage me twice a day
And not expect me to repay

So what if they’re absurdities, ridiculous as they may seem
O’ come on boys, a girl can dream.

-Clary

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Cold Winter Day

©2017 C. Clary

When winter dew kisses the earth,

My fatigued soul will long for mirth.

Frigid reminder of what could have been.

A constant pain from deep within.

My body aching, searching for yours.

To touch would be the cause of wars.

To kiss those silken lips so sweet.

To love you with unbridled heat.

But all will end in travesty,

For we both know my history.

There is a heavy price to pay,

For a love that bloomed one cold winter day.

– Clary

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The End

It’s over now.

I ripped you from my life.

You were woven in so tightly for so long.

I didn’t think I could hold it together without you there.

I didn’t think I’d survive it.

I miss you at times.

We were best friends.

I thought by some miracle we still would be,

But I don’t know you anymore.

What has passed is always faded by what is present.

I left you.

I knew you would move on,

I knew you’d be okay without me.

Sometimes I question if I did the right thing,

But I was miserable.

I went over all the reasons,

All the, “what if’s”.

It just wasn’t enough.

It never would have been enough.

You weren’t enough.

And I guess that’s wrong of me to say.

After fifteen years without saying it.

It’s crowded here in my head.

My mind and heart battle each other.

I find myself alone without direction.

Yet somehow,

Life finally makes sense.

– Clary

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Uninspired

©2019 CMBClary

The vibration of the washer through the wall makes the bed ripple beneath me. My thoughts scatter like shredded paper and I struggle to pick them up and make something coherent of them. All the want of being alone, when I finally am, the desire to produce eludes me. A slight ringing in my ear reminds me these moments are few and far between, like the buzzing of a timer. But I’ve lost interest, in this paper, in writing, in speaking, or creating anything of worth. So I sit here in my silence waiting, pleading, hoping, inspiration will find its way to me again.

-Clary

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The Spaces In-between

Life,

so full at times,

Even all the spaces in-between.

A fullness that inundates every crevice.

This too will pass.

Soft skin to folds of leathery lines,

Strong steady hands to trembling decline.

Golden locks to un-kept silver strands.

And time,

While filled with too much, still insatiable.

Do not grow weary of your busy day,

Soon those spaces will empty.

And Time,

Our companion and our adversary,

Will pause for you.

Soon, that which it gifted will be taken back,

And this world will continue without you.

– Clary

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Thought of the Day

I mostly think that everyone falls on hard times. Even then, being worried that I’ve run out of Dom Perignon would be far less stressful than finding out I’ve just run out of toilet paper and only have a $1.15 to my name. Yes that seems like an extreme, but for many that is reality. I remember being told “There is always someone worse off than you”, So when life seemed to be especially kicking my ass, which was often, I use to tell myself that. Since then I have come to the realization that my situation may not be as bad as others, but it is MINE, and that is enough. All of this to say, life is short and everyone is fighting their own battles…

don’t be an asshole.

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Poetic Curse

©2010 B. Clary

I often think in poetry.

It is a curse my own disease.

To look upon a tree in awe,

Its gnarled roots in winters thaw.

The rolling hills, flowers in sync,

Petals so soft like lips of pink.

A splash of blue upon the sky,

As feathered clouds lazily float by.

The birds they sing in happy tune,

From dawn until the light of moon.

To look upon two lovers kiss,

To know what warmth comes with its bliss.

Sadly a darker half we hide

Poetic curses have two sides

The same tree withers in its loss,

No sign of life, not even moss.

The rolling hills, shallow grave sites,

Reminders of life’s restless plight.

Now only gray blankets the air,

The howling wind clings on despair,

All chirping now has come to cease,

The darkness brings its eerie peace.

Those lovers, yes we see them now,

Adulterous, they break their vows.

I often think in poetry.

My gift, my curse, un-spurned disease.

-Clary

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Etchings

Photograph©2015 B. Clary

All of your things are gone now.

My mind rummages through fading memories,

trying to find one bright enough to cling to.

The wisdom you’d freely given in my youth

reduced to worn etchings on my bitter heart,

relics of a time I had squandered it.

Dreams of you are few and far between

And when life gets hard, which it always does,

I long to speak to you.

-Clary

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My Screen Door

The concrete was hot on my feet that late summer evening. My toes curled in response to the slight discomfort. A symphony of crickets and locusts permeated the warm evening air like an orchestra welcoming the night. I stood there listening to their song, nostalgia washing over me again. Memories of messy brunette hair, bare feet, climbing trees, and hunting rollie pollies, dusted themselves off and re-visited me. Standing there I realized the air was different now, my once wild imagination had slowed and I missed the bursts of ideas that often sparked a succession of poorly engineered parachutes and forts. The simple moments of my childhood, now an intangible artifact only I could see. A hint of sadness wiggled its way to my heart as I headed for the screen door to flee from it. The end of my back heel just made it passed the threshold as I heard the door click behind me. I can’t be certain, but I can almost swear that out of the corner of my eye I could see that messy haired child, with eyes full of wonder standing there, looking in, just outside my screen door.

-Clary

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A Life

The stars pricked holes in the darkness and I wished I could live under them. Warm air wrapped me up and I was home. I stood there a moment thinking of him and what he would have been like. His soft fuzzy hair on my fingertips, a sweet little face and gummy grin, those tiny hands holding tightly to mine. But those are memories that never were. Birthdays that never came to pass and a pain that cuts so deep there is no way it could ever heal. So when someone asks me why I feel so strongly about always choosing life, my response is always… because I’ve already experienced death.

– Clary

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Stupidity Abounds

Once again stupidity abounds.
I was watching the news just sitting around.

They give us amendments and say we can speak.
But don’t read a Bible or someone may freak!

It’s also forbidden that you pray aloud.
There’s someone offended out there in the crowd.

Ah yes! And most definitely never say Jesus.
For a small percent says “that name doesn’t please us.”

No morals,
No boundaries,
If it feels good do it!
Ten Commandments can’t stop you.
There’s nothing else to it.

We wonder why people must kill and destroy.
Just think of God’s laws we no longer employ.

Murder a child?
Oh! Simply appalling.
But if it’s unborn,
No, ooooing or aaawwing.

Not to mention the schools.
Where kids run a muck.
I know what you’re thinking…
We’re plain out of luck!

As I said before, “Stupidity Abounds”
It’s not God’s fault,
No one wants Him around.

So let’s all just face it.
We’ve created this hell.
Will we choose to seek God,
And bow down?
Or rebel?

– Clary

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Have Courage

     At times life is too big. I try to be kind and teach my children to be kind to everyone, in a world that will not be kind to them. (Matthew 5:44) At the same time I teach them to stand up for our Christian morals and values. I have to teach them to value life in a world where it’s okay for mothers to murder their children, as long as those children are still in the womb.  Where staying home to raise a family is frowned upon. I have to teach them what gender they are, in a world where there’s somehow confusion over whether being born a male or female is innate, or a decision to be made later in life.  I have to teach them how to respectfully disagree in a world where not agreeing with certain beliefs, for “inclusions” sake, can get you kicked out of schools and fired from jobs. Where scientifically correct is no longer accepted as truth.  Where fact is irrelevant, truth is offensive, and traditional family values are no longer considered sacred. Where Saturday morning cartoons are now fraught with pushing agendas and over sexualization. Still, I take heart in the only Word I can cling to as the pressure for political correctness builds. In the backwards land of “I’m offended,” where free speech is  no longer a right for those who disagree with Hollywood, LGBTQ, pro choice movements, or feminism. I turn to God as he warned us of what’s to come and I continue to fight the good fight. Not with hate in my heart, but with honesty, love, and kindness at the root. (2 Timothy 3:1-5) Still I must teach my children that we will be condemned by mankind for our beliefs, and we were not promised an easy life as Christians. We were only promised that when all else fell, God would hold us up. On this I lean as a wife, a mother, a sister, and daughter of our Lord and Savior. All of this to say, be encouraged my brothers and sisters in Christ.

Continue reading “Have Courage”
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Monster

That day still seared in your mind. Those moments set on repeat.  It was only one time. A nudge transformed into a push.  A push into a shove. A heavy hand on your cheek. And a lingering metallic taste. Eventually a monster laid in your bed. A monster you invited, you let in, you relied on, you love.

But,
It won’t happen again though. Right?

– Clary

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Food for Thought

Pondered the brevity of life today. Soon realized the powers that be, God in my case, only granted us a small taste of this world because even the short time we’re given is taken for granted. Imagine how ungrateful and wasteful we would be if we lived thousands of years. Imagine the unending procrastination and carelessness if He hadn’t lit the inevitable “fire” of death under our asses…

– B. Clary

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Scorn

2018 B. Clary

I don’t speak to you in riddles

You just don’t understand.

You don’t heed my silent warnings

Just continue as you planned.

If you weren’t such a moron I might still have hope for you

After all these years together you still don’t have a clue

So continue as you do now, without a second thought

Never wonder if I’m happy feeling lonely, or distraught

I’m so sorry that the answers weren’t glaring in your face

And that you’re too fucking stupid to find the love you have misplaced

We sit and eat in silence

You avoid my rabid glare

You’re so damn oblivious

I found her underwear.

Asked if you were hungry in an apathetic state

Brought you back your favorite wine, the whores panties on your plate!

—Clary

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Time

©2018 B.Clary

Time

It flows like water,

Slowly causing strife

An unstoppable power,

Corroding Earth and life

Untrodden path is taken,

one prays that it is right.

That one has not mistaken,

longing wants for plight. 

Uncertain steps in darkness,

as light it fades away.

The pendulum sways swiftly now

with every passing day

Gives nothing to cling on to,

as childhood is a blur

And every waking hour in adolescence is obscured.

When you reach adult hood and wonder where it went

There is no restoration of the little time that we are lent.

© 2018 B. Clary

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Imprisoned Mind

Composition comes in the still of the night.

The silence beckons to my thoughts and all its trappings.
A clear mind working without interruption,
I bask in pure solitude, and revel in self contemplation.
Welcoming the crisp nothing that surrounds me, I
can finally breathe.

No longer suffocating, words flow freely
No longer bound, they make their escape

Just pieces of me, simple and complex all at once
Just moments of peace and reckless scrutiny

A small space to escape into my world 
A place where only my thoughts reside

O, if time would stand still for a moment
If night would creep in slowly and stay by my side
If light were not required to swallow it wholly
What enchantment would flee this imprisoned mind?

-Clary

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You Don’t Know Me

© 2008 B. Clary

You don’t love me; Infatuate
You kind of like what you can’t hate.

I make you crazy; Asinine
My hips curvaceous, lips divine.

You don’t know me; Brilliant
How strong I am, resilient.

I make you laugh; Hilarious
My unmatched wit, precarious.

You want to touch; Forbidden
I am mysteriously hidden.

You want to keep me; Possession
I am but an obsession.

You can’t have me; Property
Can’t handle my ferocity.

I’ll walk away, take a good look
That ends your chapter in my book

– Clary

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Paint All of Your Secrets

Copyright 2018 Clary

Can I paint all of your secrets with a waterfall of words?

As you open every window screaming to be heard

As I pull apart the pieces of your badly mangled heart

As I separate the tangled strands that tell me who you are.

Can I wash out all the shades of purple, blue, and red?

Or the tear stained pillows, which lay upon your bed

Let me steal the quiet whispers of my undeserving name

The ones often escaping those lips I’ll never claim

I tore away my portion o f your tapestry of life

Leaving dangling threads and unwanted strife

Unspoken anguish seeps, through you like the rain

Flowing like a poison, running through your veins

You despise the longing feelings that I left upon your skin

The ones there to remind you where my hands and lips have been

So, you couldn’t make me happy and love wasn’t enough,

To fill this void inside of me, to fill my empty cup.

Can I paint all of your secrets with a waterfall of words?

As I regret mistakes I’ve made and all I’ve left unheard

As I walk away and leave you with your badly mangled heart

As I turn my back on everything forsaking who you are.

-Clary
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Erroneous Feelings

Erroneous feelings
Confusion, not grief
Just mixed up what would be’s
Wrapped in disbelief

Chaotic day spinning
Around me again
A mix of emotions
Not sure where or when

My head here is pounding
Underneath my skull
Not sure how I get through
The thick of it all

Children now sleep
Comfortably in their beds
No worry, no danger
Just dreams in their heads

We long to be children
They long to be grown
So many questions
All answers unknown

Can’t quiet the voices
Perpetually droning
Can’t stop the writing
Ink keeps on flowing

-Clary

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Cement Bed

I keep you tucked away in dark corners of my mind because sometimes feeling becomes too much. It clings and hovers around me, weighing me down. A cement slab.

I sleep there sometimes

After all it’s what I deserve. The light is an unwelcome guest permeating my lids. I crack them open only to wince and close them tightly again.

I live there sometimes

My bed made of stone and cement, losing all perception of time. Squandering it away in a prison with unlocked doors.

I long for it  sometimes

Accepting every evil expelled upon me in that bed. I willingly bound myself to it. A craving to just be wanted, just feel something.

I loathe it sometimes

Half a lifetime to realize I alone was to blame , and I have no recollection of when it came to be. I only know that when the time came I was finished doing what I was told.

I opened my eyes., I loosened the ropes, and let the light in.

– Clary

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Written Word

Words seem to scurry from crowded corners of my mind.
From there, to pen, to paper, tearing their way outside.

Scribbling themselves in harmony, across an empty page.
Showing no discrimination, no matter creed, gender, or age.

Telling tales of wars long past, present tales of love denied.
Emanating with emotions, all humanity is assigned.

Seducing us with eloquence, capturing descriptive bliss.
Tainting us with reality, assuring us happiness.

Abrading us with politics, causing loss of time.
Essays, prose and sonnets, and every word that rhymes.

Words, they have no borders, no bond can bind or chain.
No man can stop their presence, and no law that can constrain.

Yes, we are all partakers, of the written word,
Words that scurry quickly, in a frenzy to be heard                                                                        – — Clary