@Melissa R. Mendelson

Hello, can I knock on your hard cover?

Could I please come inside your world

and leave mine behind?

Let me wrap myself up in your pages,

drink in your words,

and meet those worlds beyond my own,

lives to fascinate and haunt me.

And please, never let me go.

Chase after me in my dreams

as I remember the stories told.

A hero’s journey to mark my own,

and there’ll be monsters down the road.

There will be deep falls but also high horizons,

and there will be great loves and heart-breaking losses.

I will remember it all,


I’m Gonna Live My Life My Way

Marathon Man Movie 1976 — “Is It Safe?”

Our political pals can hold our hand

and wave like jester across their owned land,

pat us on the shoulder,

and tell us that the nightmare is finally over.

Go live your life

while behind their backs, they hold the knife

to cut the strings that bind our net,

let us fall free and just forget.

Forget that we must

for in politicians we trust

that there is no viral impact today,

so live your life in the economic way

because that is all they care about, money,

pushing us worker bees to deliver their honey.

And if we’re stung…

Dedicated to Camrus Johnson & Family

Photo by Keisuke Higashio on Unsplash

We walk past the gate every day.

Most of us hate the sound it makes behind us.

Just another damn day,

but we’re still here,

still moving forward to something.

And most of us are not alone.

There’s always someone standing beside us,

and if we can’t see them,

they’re still there,

watching over our shoulder.

And we move another step forward.

Sometimes, we aim high,

and sometimes, we just try not to fall.

We can’t all be superheroes,

especially in the world that we live in,

but some of us want to do good,

help those that need it

But we won’t fall away

Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash

I heard her crying from the stoop.

Her face buried in her hands.

Tears fell like rain,

splashing hard against concrete.

She would not look at me

as I asked her if she was okay.

She just said, “Go away,”

and I almost did.

But then I saw the gash on her cheek.

I touched her hand.

Dark, brown eyes met mine,

eyes that could burn like coal,

but those eyes did not consume me.

Instead, they drifted as if a soft mist

gracing over flowers near a riverbed.

I sat beside her,

sensing the tension, the guard going up,

Melissa R. Mendelson

Horror, Science-Fiction and Dystopian Author and Poet.

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