A Broken Down Machine

Once upon a daytime thinking binge, I dreamt of being wise.

I hoped to find the path, the love, to give away the green within my eyes. 

I fantasized about connection, protections, and souls perfect.

I emphasized abstract collections, affections, and soul purpose.

I wrote my verses, my songs, my essays and letters from the edge

I sought the scenery, the greenery and

Danced around my bed.

I was butterflies moonbeams, a cat, a gypsy; a poet.

I felt the highs, touched the sky, knew beauty and how to show it.

I could come down, to aplace to lay and wait for issue.

I wouldn't make a sound, start turning blue, crumble into tissue. 

I am empty, alone, tired and bleeding regret.

So hefty is the stone I carry to free me to forget. 

Once I'd been aware, vision clear and saw what isn't seen.

Now I'm laid bare, I drown in fear, a broken down machine.

June 30 2025

When I was dizzy the other day,  and woke up that way,  as I sat there gripping onto the doorway next to the toilet because the world felt like it was spinning out of control,   I thought oh my god,  what if this is a stroke and I went to sleep that way?  Far too long has passed to save me from permanent damage. Then an even more horrifying thought, I'm still alive. If I live through a stroke, what fresh hell would that be? I have absolutely no one. And I sure as hell am not going to ever ever burden my daughter with any thing, especially taking care of me. Number one, why ? What's the point of fighting for life? I thought I hated my life at other times... I still had people that loved me. When I say I have no one, I have absolutely no one. My mother doesn't even know who I am. 

Yesterday I was planning my exit and how she's going to take it and what I need to do to make sure she has no burden, and today it's clear she already considers me a burden.

Really what is the fucking point ? What am I even doing existing? I need to clean up this room, make sure everything important is easy to find. Get a sharpie and write DNR all over my chest and threaten lawsuits. 

Make sure she gets my last paycheck. My life in this apartment feels like pure hell, my life at work is pure hell, I have nothing in between. My depression, anxiety, grief, self loathing is at an all time high. I'm done. After the awful things Aly said this morning why even take the time to write anything or prepare anything. Just go now. Nobody is going to miss me. Aly is just going to continue saying I'm an awful piece of shit. I don't do enough. She's right. I am a piece of shit. 

I love her and David so much, I was a bad mother an even worse grandmother. I don't mean to be. I just am. 

Good riddens. 

Night Inside Me-revised (poetry challenge)

Transcendence; tread lightly.

Co-dependence, beside me.

Perturbance, it feeds the mighty.

The real disturbance? "the night inside me".

But the dark energy, the calamity, won't deny me. 

My synergy, insanity , come on and try me. 

Oh... I long, for a bond with the strong, the sightly Knight beside me. 

would he guide me, like the night inside me? 

The kite glides free, with a fool who might be, holding on tightly... nightly.

The days of light be, bright with spite... relying blindly, blindly on the sun; but we're spun... 

And there's no ride free. 

The night inside, is bonafide and you should try it. 

it's not calm and quiet. 

It's a cricket riot. 

So I wait 

with the bait, 

stand up just and rightly,

 "but I only might be".

Melinda Marinko 

2023 - 2025

Prophetic

 I wrote this 11 years & 9 months before the events of  "9/11" in 2001 happened. I did the sketch sometime in 1990.
I never put these two works together until 2002. Although I did them within months of eachother I never made the connection. There is only one person in the drawing yet, the poem speaks of many.

I titled it: "Who Were They" because at the time I wrote it I had no idea who these people were. Whose story flowed from me onto paper effortlessly and without pause.
I would ask anyone that would take the time to read it what their interpretation was asking , "who were they?"

All those years prior 2001 there was no right or wrong answer. I heard a lot of interesting takes on it ranging from, the lost city of Atlantis to the Vietnam war.
The only thought I had was that I had to include: "who, where, when, why, what and how"

After rereading it many times I concluded that each reference to "they" isn't necessarily about the same "they" in each and every verse, while the entire piece is obviously about a collective event that they and "they" all seperately played a part in, so to speak.

Have I lost you yet? Welcome to the mind of Mel!
(I analyze therefore I am)

Since 9/11 I've brought this out to some of my friends and family that had given their opinions all those years ago and they, like me, get a little chill from it.
My brother also pointed out that the man in the drawing kinda resembles Rudy Giuliani who was the mayor of New York in 2001.

Who Were They?
© Melinda Lantz-Theissen 1989

I wonder what it was that started
As their faces filled with fear?
And why it was that they were parted
From those they held so dear?

I wonder why it happened this way
The lives twisted around?
And who it was that would have to pay
The people on the ground?

I wonder how they all turned out
Those souls lost in the crowds.
Or what it was that filled them with doubt?
The faces in the shrouds.

I wonder where they could be right now?
They’ve hidden from the rain.
Or when it was they made the vow

To never live in vain?

I wonder who led them all away
On to a safer place?
And where it was they fell to pray?
The ones who fell from grace.

I wonder if they plan to come back
To face what’s left behind?
And why it was the evil pack

destroyed all it could find?

© Art and verse original works of
Melinda Marinko (formerly Lantz-Theissen)
Doodle-sketch Created in October 1990