Composure

BrockaPoemsLeave a Comment

One pull of a string collapses everythingHeld together by sheer mental pressure keeping one’s composure in the throes of a scene A room full of people; all thoughts contagiousTheir influence sets to ruinDon’t underestimate the mob determining It’s pure love to not need them. You can’t prove love to the demons Run from the crowd of people where they lack the sense to deliberateas they fall over their own cast-asides and throw awaysWillingness to inflictIgnorance sounds so certainBreak away from all the tearing down and their obligations to participate It’s pure love to not need them. You can’t prove love to the demons Stay in my nightgown for daysIn the mode of dress, I can takeadvantage of my own space; … Read More

BrockaComposure

Concentrate

BrockaHealth & Wellness, PoemsLeave a Comment

I rise up from the floor, from the seated powwow; as if our private group could heal the world’s problems. It is not my first one, nor will it be my last. To sit each time is to return to the roots. We do like to get to the root of the matter. One person’s thoughts extend with only so much bandwidth. So this collection of us, in concentration, generate a lot more power. Positive influence, regenerative. Negative groupthink, degenerative. What kind of circles do you sit in? How do you circulate? What do you say that others agree with? I’m simply asking what you focus on.  ~~~ Early day thoughts have an effervescence, fresh start Midday thoughts have an urgency … Read More

BrockaConcentrate

Exposure

BrockaArt, Poems, RelationshipsLeave a Comment

Every thought and curiosity; every confession and self reflection; every crush and heartbreak; every daydream and plan-for and fantasy; every hate and shame. From whimsy to grand scheme, all had been transcribed meticulously into a journal. It held the culmination of the last year. It lived in a carryall during the day and beside the bed at night. And then just like that -in a snap, it got left behind on a bus. She would never see it again. She felt raw, like she had been folded inside-out. She cried for days. This was the most mortifying thing she could’ve imagined.   ~~~  Amber’s phone is plugged into an outlet on the bathroom counter while she showers. There had been a … Read More

BrockaExposure

Lives of Others

BrockaFashion, Music, Poems, Short StoriesLeave a Comment

I hear the beat and it brings me back to you. We are dancing together in the living room. In our own little world -spinning each other, then pushing apart to individually croon into our imaginary microphones. We are putting on a show in the living room. Attendees are half engaged in muted conversation and half giving us attention. We sing alto and soprano off of one another and when we bellow out the moving, crescendo parts of the song, all attention fully focuses on us. Always. We concentrate the room. We are performers. Many of these people have little in common, but we brought them together.  ‘Oh Lacey, why are you afraid? Look how you get up in front … Read More

BrockaLives of Others

Sleepovers

BrockaMusic, Poems, Relationships, Short StoriesLeave a Comment

Her house is the house. Anyone can show up; anyone can stay. And that’s the draw. But more have shown up this time than ever before and it’s a bit overwhelming. Elbow to elbow, full of body heat. Loud. So loud. Between the energy of the crowd and the bouncing music, the house can appear as if it’s pulsing. She runs through the rooms making sure people are keeping their shit contained. How the hell does she always wake up to a clean house after these parties? They respect! They are not allowed if they don’t. She scolds with the quick. The house is small and she runs a tight ship. She cracks the whip, ‘Empty your ashtrays! Throw your beer cans … Read More

BrockaSleepovers