WittyWriter

By Holly A. Phillips

Blog Class

Taking blog class. 

Things that terrify me

I keep a list of things

That terrify me

Send a cringe 

Throughout my bones

Things you’re scared of, too

Things I’ve grown to hate by the day

I hate disguises 

Costumes that hide the real you

The scene in Psycho

Sending blood down the drain

Eyes in my window payne

Foot steps in a parking garage

Mirrors give me the creeps

The pitch black does too

I hate answering the door

And going to the bank

And sometimes grocery shopping

I’m scared of guns

Airplanes make me nervous

Mice, spiders, the creepy crawleys 

Even the trunk of my car gives my stomach a knot

I lose sleep over

The soundtrack to Jason

The wet sponge in the office sink

The sogginess of biscuits and gravy

I’m terrified

Of silly things 

I don’t know if fear is overtaking me

Or if I am just trying 

To build a fortress 

Today

Wish I would have stayed 

In bed in the warm darkness

In my mind it rains 

Things you should’ve said (Part 2)

I’ve already written you this letter

Searched my heart for the words

To make you understand 

What it feels like to be had by you

But when I shared my letter

The consensus was as such

Not enough “Mother Fuckers”

Needed more “Piece of Shit”

Where did my anger hide? 

Perhaps it built itself strong

Growing from glass to brick

Adding stilts around my heart to

Ready for the hurricane

Prepping for the blow

The “Mother Fuckers” drowned

Themselves in my sorrow

The “Pieces of Shit” 

Turned into fragments of sorrow 

Knowing I am not the only one you 

Attempted to shatter

Mother Fucker, 

I can’t let you build 

A house of hate inside of me

I’ve spent hours

Rifling through the

Pieces of shit

You piece of shit

I need peace

Of mind

Why can’t you give it to me

Mother fucker, 

Admit your wrongs

Stop hiding

Quit pretending

Mother fucker, 

Take my original advice

Pretend I’m dead 

And oh, 

Mother fucker, 

Nice seersucker suit.

Bean

I like my coffee

Black like the midnight sky 

Jolting my eyes wide 

California Street

The first house I remember

Was on a street called California

Although it was nowhere near 

The West coast

I remember it as a house

Too big for the 3 of us

Every door downstairs

Opened to create a circle

A racetrack for my tricycle 

My bedroom window

Let creatures of the night inside

Giving my cat something to dance to

The black bat

Died by way of ‘Dad with broom’

The yards were huge

With porches in the front and back

My dad cut the grass with a 

Manual mower

Our house was a rock toss

Away from the county library

A few skips down

From a roofing company

Eventually 

Moving day came

To a street called DeSoto

It was smaller, newer

Months went by

And our old house was in the paper

Flames had licked its curtains

Starting in our old empty room

It never looked the same

But I don’t know if it was the flames

Or the ashes. 

Dear straight people, by Denise Frohman 

When I grow up

I used to think 

I wanted to work in an office

On a floor with a long elevator ride

I’d wear a fitted black suit

Have an assistant

My own office

When I got an office

I decorated it like a bedroom

I am a creative

In a box of borings

I don’t wear suits

I wish I could wear jeans

I don’t know if I ever want to wear a suit

Or report to an office

Too many rules

Trying to dampen my creative flow

Don’t want to be like them

Lose my spirit

In a hallway of lunch hours

And meetings

And water cooler gossip

Content

To me 

Is sitting at my dining table

Typing away on my laptop

Maybe I’ll be a stay at home mom

Or just a stay at home writer

Fried Pork

The same summer

I heard my first country song

Was the same summer

I worked two jobs

One at Grab and Go

I was a carhop

Slinging orange sodas

And fried pork tenderloins

I wore my hair in pigtails

Because I made more tips

I also worked behind the counter

at a frozen custard shop

I wore a blue apron

And a matching cap 

My boss at the drive-in

Was cheating on his wife

With another employee

He made the chili for the hot dogs

In a square metal pan

We only listened to country music

My boyfriend that summer

Was a small town baseball player

Who drank beers in the shed in his backyard

He also

Only listened to country music

Driving his pickup down the curvy roads

I don’t remember a day off

But I sometimes find myself

Wishing I could 

Serve fried foods

And custard

Once more 

An Open Letter to My Insecurities

Dear insecurities, 

You’re really starting to piss me off

You keep me from doing things

I think I should be doing

I don’t know why I can’t

Let you go

Why I let you

Stain all of the good things I have

My thighs are too big

Skin isn’t clear

Feet… no

I wish I wasn’t so lazy

I want to be a better writer

Better speaker

More creative 

I wish I didn’t always think the worst

I hate admitting that I like the

rain

I like the dark

I want to sleep sometimes

All the time

I want to stuff you

In a box

Ship you off to another place

Where insecurities go

To lighten my load

The Weight Game

A decade ago I fell in love

With my best friend

It was summer 

We knew there was no turning back

But our time in town

Was short-lived

On the last night of summer

We got dressed up

I wore a white dress

His mom didn’t recognize me

Like I only belonged in black

We ate on the roof of the building

We parted ways until

The fall

When I took a flight 

To see him

Speckled leaves

Cold nights

Football season

I was still in love

When I caught my return flight

But my lost luggage

Was replaced with the heaviest of bags

Bags I still carry 

He didn’t call

He didn’t write

Best friend gone without a word

I worry when I don’t get a call

Start to sweat

Feel the twists in my stomach

As I wait

Wait for the weight to lift

Before it crushes me

Tells me you’re leaving

Without a word 

IRS

You took my money

Made me cry, fret, and worry

Tax day is the worst 

Stress

The clock moves faster
Than I can handle
Night are shorter than
I once remember
People on my back
Teeth gritting
Grinding 
To keep me awake 
Deadlines poking
At my eyelids
My spine slouching
From the added weight
Can’t see the light
Waiting for me 

Hoosier Girl

I am a collection of nail polish

Sometimes I mix & match

I am a leopard trench coat

The only pair of perfect shoes left in your size

I am a fresh mojito under the western sky

The final shot of whiskey in a cowboy’s cantine 

I am my father’s footsteps 

My mother’s ease 

I am a signant ring

A rusted set of spurs

A jar of black ink

I am a country singer

My lungs loaded with romantic stories

Of the days behind me

I am a typewriter 

Leaving lines you can’t quite see

Emphasizing 

    each

        Letter

I am the one that got away

A pocket watch

I am a mouth full of curse words

At the white linen table 

I am a fire pit 

The melody on the radio

I am an old friend

A noisy screen door 

That slams in the middle of the night

I am a cornfield 

Nestled under an Indiana sunset

Waiting to rise. 

Tribute

One of these days

I’ll live in a house

With a door that leads

To the outside world

One of these days

My credit cards will balance

My bills won’t be such a burden

I will actually save

One of these days 

I’ll be put together

I’ll be taken seriously

I’ll believe the things 

I call myself 

I’ll feel accomplished

At the drop of every sun

I’ll drink tea

I’ll be the one 

You want to be 

I’ll be the one

I want to be