Poem

Through their blank eyes
they speak their dead words
as if they are them. They
caress their means of existence
as an exhibition of ritualistic rounds,
with their spittle dried around
the edges of their mouths
giving way for the darkness
to feed among each closing
and opening of their haunted
caverns; they truly believe they
are among the structure of it all.
And exactly as they are, we see.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – Un. True.

I saw that before seeing it and now it’s as if I didn’t. The song of the dysfunctional moaning happens. As feet move, over screaming cement. A disdain foams just under thought, asking for more and more; move over and feed this original sin. A seedling isn’t just a thing happened, again, as the fearing behemoths protest- It’s all been done before.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

There are only so many windowsills we can chew on while waiting for our fathers and mothers to care about us. Walk a mile into the woods and find where the leaves placed themselves for us to turn over. -Walk back to the same sill twenty-five years later and ask yourself if you’d rather care about who you wanted to care about you, or if you’d like to again walk a mile into the woods to find a few more leaves.

-M. Taggart

copyright 2018

OWT

‘People think I’m crazy. I think a lot. I think when I think. If my eyes seem volatile, they may be, or I’m lost in a non-linear perpetual sliding thought and when I break my mind I come out of it.’ So the frog hopped, asking the young girl to repeat herself. ‘Never mind with you,’ she said skipping away flicking at the long grass. She wore a yellow hat.

-M. Taggart

No way home – Poem

 

lying face down-
with vomit spilling from his mouth

we let him be

We tried to tell him with words-

Hard top roads
are all the same-
only this one-
is yours

Tomorrow-
after the stench has cleared,
He’ll speak with a clean tongue-
And tell you everything you want to hear

**
copyright 2017

Can I Be – Flash Fiction

Can I Be
Flash Fiction
Written by -M. Taggart

Can I Be

As seen in the nine years old boy’s diary before his death-

‘I didn’t know I was bad. I felt it once but I made it go away. Jan 14.

I found out I am not bad. I saw bad today. That is not me.  Jan 21.

I had a good day. My uncle took me to a movie. When I came home he told me he was sorry. Feb 6.

I think I’d like not to be here anymore.  Feb 22.

I did what I was told. I don’t know who else to tell. Feb 28.

Today was good. I was told I could go to school again. I want to go to school again. I want to learn and read books. March 3.

My covers aren’t enough.  March 4.’

The boy was found dead March 5. The boys diary contained notes and drawings.

(edited timeline error.)

Odd Walking Thoughts – He had forgotten he was crazy.

For a long time he had forgotten that he was crazy.  He remembered when-  A friend told ‘her’ about another ‘him’ and being told about this helped him to remember that the two are one and the same. He wasn’t sure he should believe himself because he knows there can’t be two.  It’s a bit like this-  It’s dark and you feel a large stone.  You sit on this stone.  As you touch the stone you feel bits of dirt crumbling off. The dirt falls onto the ground and you’re no longer sitting on the stone.  You’re now looking up.  At another. The ground is your new home and above is a lie. It never happened. There was no stone and there wasn’t a ‘her’ and there isn’t any darkness nor any crumbling dirt.  And there was one. -M. Taggart