Question Air, poem by Emily Lisker

https://theurbanmermaid.blogspot.com/2024/09/question-air.html?m=1

This poem is written by my dear friend, Emily Lisker. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It Means Freedom

I wiped tears from my cheeks as I walked into the grocery store. It had been an extraordinarily difficult day at work. I was working the weekend at my second job, a way to make ends meet and feign hope in getting ahead financially. I passed several patrons in the grocery aisles on my way to find oat milk. I saw the shredded cheese and remembered my daughter asked for kielbasa sausage. My mind was in a fog. I was there, purse hanging from my shoulder, cradling the milk in the crevice of my elbow like a newborn baby, a bag of pre-shredded cheddar cheese pinched between my thumb and index finger. How do you decide which way to go when you're too tired to figure out dinner? I did the next thing. I found the kielbasa. Then I did the next thing. I walked to the cash register. The man at the register glowed with kindness. He was child-like—a sparkle of wonder flashed in his eyes. "Do you like oat milk?" he asked as he scanned the barcode. "Yes, I like to drink it in my coff...
Read more

When I Was A Kid

I had a friend who lived a couple houses down. Her name was Jules, and we would make mud pies and play in my parents' back yard. One day she came to the front door and knocked, holding a black trash bag in her left hand. I was excited to see her and wanted to know what was in the bag. She wouldn't answer—only asked me to get my dad. I was disappointed that she wouldn't show me. My dad told me later that our cat died. Got run over. Jules saw it and scooped it into the trash bag. She gave it to my father so I would never see it. Jules never had a mom around. As she grew older, she got into drugs. I can't remember if she had a kid of her own. She was smart and kind and thoughtful, and I really hope she's okay out there.
Read more

Am I in a Rut or Just Tired? Shifting Blame to Survive, Learning to Shut the Fuck Up, and Showing Up As Yourself Consistently (even when your actions are not!)

Sometimes I get so sick of every single day, the same routines. And I don’t mean it like you think. I’m not married. I don’t wake up to the same alarm each day next to the same person who I kiss on the cheek on the way out the door. My bedroom routine is more of a guide than a schedule. I am the worst at setting a routine and keeping to it. Outside of work, that is. Maybe it’s the bipolar disorder. I can never seem to duplicate my good days by repeating the schedule of that day. Whether I have 7 or 11 hours of sleep, I’m always exhausted. No matter how early I leave for work, I’m always just on time. No matter how much money I have, I end up with just enough. I am consistent in my inconsistencies. Everything in my life, time, money, sleep, etc is predictable in the sense that I am always in need of more. Is it an organizational issue? No! I’m a fantastic organizer! I’m good at my job because of it. But it’s also how I burn myself out at both ends by going a million miles an hour during...
Read more