Monday, 31 March 2014
Wednesday, 26 February 2014
This is definitely not award winning poetry and certainly requires some work, but a fun little poem nonetheless.
Lock Me Up
Twelve times a year, or more sometimes, I completely lose my head,
I'm nuts, but don't you tell me that or you'll take back what you said.
My husband knows, my parents know, I'm sure the kids do too,
Look out, she's back, it's PMS, what the hell we gonna do.
This womanhood we all go through is worse for some than others,
It's part of life for all us girls, our sisters and our mothers.
The sad thing is it's not just gross, there's the hormones, and the tears,
I cry and yell and scream and shout each month of every year.
My husband thinks I'm crazy and wonders what he's done,
One week a month I'm an evil bitch and never any fun.
My kids can never figure out which mommy they're dealing with,
Sometimes I swear they want to find another place to live.
Don't get me wrong I'm still just me, their mommy and his wife,
I'm just kind of out of service; it's all a part of life.
One day I'm me, the next I'm not, the change happens over night,
They say it's all just natural but this just can't be right.
Each little thing is magnified and bound to piss me off,
You may think your tough, but just you see, I'll show you who is boss.
One minute I am laughing, the next tears are running down my face,
I'll beg my hubby to hold me close then say I need my space.
I'll eat the chocolate in the fridge and the chips off every shelf,
Then I'll climb up on our scale and say how much I hate myself.
My closet holds two sets of clothes to compensate this bloat,
Seven pairs of stretch pants and a fluffy blue house coat.
My face breaks out in zits that would put any teen to shame,
I curse and swear and call her out, Aunt Flow she is to blame.
I think my hubby wants to lock me up, say goodbye and lose the key,
But then he would remember that this was never really me.
Bless his soul, this man of mine, for riding this wild ride,
For never giving up on me and always standing by my side.
I swear if it were up to me I'd send myself away,
A spa I think would sure be nice for the entire seven days.
~ T.J. White (c) 2014
Tuesday, 25 February 2014
For now, I think I will try again with the coffee. Perhaps this time I will drink it while it's warm.
Monday, 24 February 2014
~ T.J. White © 2014
~ T.J. Ruberto © 2014
It's been so long I can't remember what I wrote in the last blog entry.
BUT, here we are. Writing. Again.
It calls me. I swear it's like a voice in the night (and the day) that beckons me to the keyboard.
I may have said this before, but I will say it again: Please don't read too much into my personal situation when reading my work. By all means take from it what you will, but don't make assumptions on what my life must be like. I have to say this because some of my work is... well... dark. I don't always write based on personal life events. Sometimes I just write. It's what comes out. For example: the next blog entry, which will immediately follow this one, came to me in a voice (no I am not schizophrenic) I had never heard/felt before. It was just there. It's not my usual style, but I like it. I think others can relate.
I digress....the point is.... don't worry about me. All's good in the hood as I often say. ;)
On another note: ALL WORK IS COPYRIGHTED.