Winter cold bitter
Escape icy elements
Ruby red warm fire
Embracing the home sweet home
Illuminating loves light
Mingling of cologne coffee and cigarettes create a sensual scent on my man
I’m comfortable in my own skin just me.
it’s a different story seriously.
Never mind the exposure here’s my closure.
I’m going nowhere fast so best beware.
I got it down to a science my dear.
Thanks for the help I see opportunity.
Blessing in disguise return have no fear.
I'm comfy as can be
As long as I have my teacup
And my favourite cozy blanket
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Wrap This Around Your Metal Brains
Don’t sing along with her—
it upsets her, brings
her close friends into this.
And I’m only human, I think—
I was, or used to be anyway.
Not anymore. I stay awake,
hungry, not wanting
to eat food because
the girls and their dad have to.
I sneak down late, before sleep,
to rummage a bit—
only to be told not to eat
the food that is theirs.
I’ve adapted by losing weight.
With that came madness—
a sort of punishment.
I’m gorgeous and suffering
quietly so no one sees it,
reinforcing another solid,
popular mental illness,
by the way.
And this is my business,
my purpose: dull and witless.
Talking through this, I fear,
would scare a regular person.
I hate this.
I won’t talk to therapists.
Counseling’s out of the question.
I don’t have to pay anyone
for writing this. I don’t care.
Talking to people
I’m smarter than—
this way, one day,
when people come across this,
I’ll be the famous one.
(Posthumously.)
When I was a boy,
all I wanted to do was
dance. And I had
no fear in doing
so.
I'd dance in the morning,
I'd dance at night,
I'd dance inside,
I'd dance outside.
It didn't matter —
and it's all I cared
to do.
Then I grew up,
which doesn't always
mean growth.
And I started to
take notice of all
the other people
on the dance
floor.
Tall, short, skinny,
fat — it didn't matter.
None of them really
were, but they all felt
more beautiful to me
than I did to myself.
And so I took my leave.
I went to the corner
and started watching
everybody else have
a good time.
I started
feeling undeserving.
I started feeling foolish —
more and more so, the
longer I sat there and
watched.
The real fools of
this world, however,
aren't the ones who
continue to dance.
They are the ones
who forget how to.
And for me,
knowing this isn't as
deep as it is
debilitating.
The nights now seem a little colder,
Each morn I wake a little older,
My view of life keeps getting bleaker,
And my will keeps growing weaker.
That star has dimmed that used to guide me
And helped me when I lost my way,
And though there's no one here beside me
Somehow I still get through each day.
But life is just what I have made it,
I've some remorse but few regrets.
When comes the end, I won't evade it
But hope that the reward I get
Is someplace far away from harm,
Someplace comfortable and warm.
Author's note: Dear reader, I'm considering this to be a sort of elegy for my **th birthday.
ChatGPT
You said:
What type of writing is false ad
False Advertising
No judgment... My truth…
Makeup is to enhance, not to mask or even obliterate
the existing canvas…
Padded bras and body shapers are body makeup…
Plastic surgery is inside out false advertising…
Masks represent unease to shame…
I know…
I used to represent and resemble masks…
Comfortable with and in my own skin is priceless and worthy to pursue…
Sherry Barton
April 27, 2024
you were completely comfortable
being miserable
like pain was a roommate
like the yelling was a lullaby
like love was supposed to sting,
and silence meant everything was fine
he broke you in chapters
never enough to close the book
just enough to fold the page over
so he knew where he was up to
you wore makeup like armour
told yourself
“it’s not that bad.
he's just mad.
he loves me.”
but love doesn’t leave handprints
love doesn’t apologise
through locked doors
love doesn’t come home
smelling like fear
you were completely comfortable
being miserable
but comfort isn’t safety
and miserable isn’t love
so one day
she packed her silence
and left the echo behind
it wasn’t brave at first
it was shaking hands on doorknobs
a suitcase filled with
second guesses
fear braided tight
like her hair
she cried as she walked
on the road to nowhere
felt the weight of every “what if,”
every “he didn’t mean it,”
every “maybe i’m the problem.”
but she walked anyway
shoes worn thin
heart heavier than her bags
and maybe she didn’t know
where she was going
but she finally knew
what she wasn't going back to
Is He crowded out of Christmas
By the commerce and the cry
Of a thousand advertisers
Urging everyone to buy?
Do the cards and coloured candles
And the clustered fairy-lights
Keep the Christ-child in the cradle
Of a distant eastern night?
Keep the cardboard cut-out manger
Keep the shiny tinselled star
Keep the neatly-kneeling shepherds
And the wise men from afar.
Keep the feasting and the parties
Let the wine like rivers flow
Keep the glamour and the glitter
Brighten up our winter show.
Keep the Baby in his cradle
Keep the Mary mother mild
Keep our Christmas safe at all costs
But in self-indulgent style.
How for you this Christmas season?
Did the Christ-child come for you?
plump posh plush puffy
pretty, poufy, plaid purple pillows
providing cushioned comfort for Cali
enthusiastically enjoyed by boyfriends
encouraging enlightening enthusiasm
for comfort, coziness, and calmness.
I am comfortable with dogs, because they make me feel safe
Three of them guard me, sleeping around my head and hands.
My husband is also a comfort; I have known him for sixty-eight years.
Since we were four, it would be impossible to be uncomfortable with him.
I am a poet, an artist, a writer, a painter and a cartoonist.
I am comfortable with all of these monikers; they complete me.
When my children and grandchildren visit, I am totally at peace.
Comfortable with my life style, my life choices and my enchanted forest.
I live in an underground house in the woods, with two dog doors.
We have raccoons, skunk, fox, deer, turtles, snakes, and other creatures.
None have come into the dog door, but I am comfortable with them
My dogs will chase the woodland creatures out if they wander in.
Away from alleys, muggers don sombreros.
So sharp, so twisting, they’re like arrows.
The target never narrows.
Sneaking, dancing through the night,
Arrows never cause a fright.
They steal every light.
Not one is safe; they’re everywhere.
Look around for their snare.
Don’t say your cross is too much to bear.
Are you too blind to see?
The answer is in front of me.
I will never be set free.
I feel myself trapped in an endless repetition
Effortless to rationalize each day away
But the sleepless nights bring clarity
A hazy clearness in a cold dark room
The four walls that comfort me most
I imagine they could close in upon me
But a day is easy to pass through
Time that once was so sacred now in surplus
Is it gluttony and sloth I must repent for
Or could it be forgiveness I look towards
To forgive the weight and the lost days
What could it mean to forget
Curtains pulled to dim the sky
Sneaky fabric that hides the sun and
Allows another hour to pass unnoticed
A timeless cycle
Leaving me wistful for a spark
Surely the wool can keep me warm for another night
Things could be different Tomorrow
our
campsite
comforting
comfortable
companionable, conversational
captivating
cathartic
complete
we
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