Hungry Little Schnauzer

Hungry little Schnauzer raiding my bins,

Gluttony is the greatest of your sins.

I feed you well, but it’s not enough.

That bin is your diamond-in-the-rough!

Lids can’t contain it, no lock can keep you out.

You’re a very clever dog, without a doubt!

Hungry little Schnauzer raiding my bin,

I love you so much, even when you sin.

Even after, when asleep you be. 

Sleep well, little glutton, you own me!

 

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Don’t give up. You’re doing just fine.

A little voice is speaking. Soft and barely audible as I strain to hear it. Faint like a whisper, echoing into the cave of my ear:

“Don’t give up. You’re doing just fine.”

Words tumble from my lips as I argue with this little noise. Every reason for its contradiction is real, and the memories of all my crucified hopes threaten to snuff it out. Other voices, bolder and louder, screech the agonizing reminders of all the times I have tried and failed. 

My thoughts dance in my head, waltzing to the tune of the shrieks. And they are the thoughts of one who has stumbled and fallen, who got up only to fall again.

“Don’t give up. You’re doing just fine.”

The voice is as faint as ever, but still it speaks. Neither arguing, nor contradicting the others. But this time, it calms me enough to lower my restless body to the ground. 

Not long after, all I feel is my heartbeat and the movement my lungs as they trap and release air. I place my hand on my aching head, my thoughts clearing a little as a welcome breath of cool wind caresses my face.

“I won’t give up,” I hear my voice whisper. “I’m doing just fine.”

I dedicate this post to all who have been here. Whatever you strive for, whatever seems out of reach, it is my hope you will listen to that little voice we all know and too often ignore. 

Be well,

-Beth

 

Is Blogging Helpful to Aspiring Writers?

My hands tread over my laptop’s keys in vigorous strokes. The delicate clicks of plastic tickle my ears as the buttons compress beneath my fingertips. All the while, words pour out like a flood before my eyes. At last, I get to read what I have thought, and the words are good.

The intoxication of writing is known well by every writer. Without it, I may not write. What my mind held in is avalanching through every syllable, and suddenly, every emotion has found a vent.

Before this blog, my writing was confined. Unseen by others, read only by me. Since its creation, I’ve changed. Suddenly, sending queries to literary agents isn’t as scary.

Coincidence? No. My confidence is a muscle that has been strengthened by you, my readers. Every ‘like’ you clicked, every moment you took time to comment on my work, has and is changing my life.

Thank you.

-Beth

 

 

Two Little Tacos

Two little tacos on my plate

Be three, I wish, that would be great!

I ate them, and there’s plenty more.

The two could quickly turn to four.

My hand grips my fork as I think of that third.

The intoxicating thought! I’m being lured.

But I closed my eyes and thought of the scale.

The numbers don’t lie, the truth is unveiled.

I sigh and concede my stomach is sated.

My meal is over, my hunger abated.

I push the plate aside and drink from my cup.

Today, that scale number will not go up.

Fighter

Fighter

I step onto the battlefield. Unarmed, I join the fight.

Almighty God from Heaven above! Save me from this plight!

Searing pain fills my gut; from where I know not came the blow.

What kind of pain can do this? Agony is all I know.

I fall on my back and wait for the next—and surely, Reader, it came!

This time it struck my heart, my core, and it was the greatest of all pain.

Hot breath wafts my face; the gurgle of laughter tickles my ears.

“You are mine now,” a triumphant voice confirms my worst of fears.

It was not a man or beast that struck me; No Devil was my bane.

Heaven and Hell had no part to play in my agonizing pain.

I opened my eyes and saw my foe, Doubt held her ax with glee.

All this time I barely fought, and the war—the battle—was me!

Doubt’s mouth curled, her eyes sparkled with the evil she planned.

She raised the ax above her head, and I raised my hand.

I grabbed the blasted ax, right at its sharpest end.

But no cut met my palm, nothing that needed to mend.

Doubt doubled back with a cry; her eyes wild with disbelief.

She screamed as I had, yet now she shook like a lowly leaf.

I took the ax and struck with blows I never thought I could do.

“You’re gone!” I shout my triumph. “Never again shall I know you!”

The battle is over, and Doubt’s mangled corpse lies at my feet.

The joy I have is bliss, Reader, for I did not know defeat.

But Doubt is healing, she will be back, just like the night follows the day.

Her blows are heavy, the pain is real, and sometimes they don’t go away.

But if she turns your goals into a battlefield

To arms, my friend, and press on! May you never yield!

-Beth

Lady Death

Darkness knows her; all is well.

She will lead you straight to hell.

Her eyes are covered, but she can see

All that you ever wanted to be.

The light is snuffed out without a trace

Keep your head down lest you see her face.

Lady Death, we know you not; only your sting

And the agony of misery you bring!

Do not linger; stay in your lair.

All who trespass her home, beware!

(I drew this last night, and thought she needed a poem. Thanks for stopping by!)

 

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