What’s Under the Bed?

“Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit.” — e.e. cummings

Look under your bed. Are there boxes of condensed memories? An abnormally large clump of cat fur? A lonely plush toy or doll? (Cue Toy Story 2 feels). Is there too much for you to even consider? Is there anything at all?

Some of us have to relearn to be curious again. I’m one of them.

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Poem: “Roma (The Horses Look Sad)”

My family and I spent two weeks in Italy earlier this year. Unfortunately, the carriage horse industry is alive and well in Rome and Florence. My heart and gut twisted in sadness seeing these beautiful horses clopping around the cities with tourists in tow. I wanted to approach them with apples and sugar cubes and carrots, remove the blinders and harnesses from their bodies and set them loose, set them free and galloping towards any green. They looked so numb, so weary. They deserve better.

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Poem: “Yellow Star Thistle”

Hail, thistle girl, freckled skinwalker of scars.
Turn your yellow gaze on me
because inevitably,
death to my white stallions.
eldritch eyes blinking out of fresh soil.
you don’t want me, I can’t have you,
yet for all those horrors
I’d let you butcher my own eyes
with your thorns
unforgiving like me
unforgiving like you.

© Cat and Moth Writings
All Rights Reserved

Poem: “clotted spine”

When people fail to understand your tragedy but critique you anyways.
When people think their advice will save your world when all it does is gratify their egos.
When people bring up your tragedy as an icebreaker and expect you to talk about it.
When people say, “I can’t even imagine.”
When you want to say, “I’ll make you imagine.”

All this and more…this is for us, this is for you.

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What Do I Look Like I Listen To?

“So what music do you listen to?”

“Oh, mostly rock and heavy metal, some Japanese music, little bit of screamo.”


The above is a skeleton conversation on the topic of music, one I’ve had many times. Responses vary, but what never changes is the reaction. The surprise? The arched eyebrows? The slight confusion? The reassessing eye?

Apparently, I don’t look like what I listen to.

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