I Fully Intended It to Look Like a Slightly Crooked Penis

After my last blackout incident, I began to experiment. I’ve been searching for different ways to present my poem bits. Ripping the edges worked once, so I tried it again. This time, I was going for an eerily melty, slightly crooked penis look. It seems I got it, don’t you think?
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You’ve probably already guessed that I used recycled coffee filters as my canvas. The rest of my supplies included a small hammer, a very thin nail, a needle and some light green thread.

I wrote the expanded poem bit on the coffee filter, and tore the blackout’s edges to form the organ. Once the shape could be appreciated in all its crooked glory, I took the wee hammer and nail and punched two rows of crisscrossed holes all around it. Then came the stitching.

This was my first fully intentional project. I, of course, shall continue my crafty exploration. And only Fate (and a rather imaginative naughty Universe) knows what image we’ll get next.

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a (not so) wee note…
– Do I have to shout “April Fools’ Day?” I hope not. Still, my crafty organ and I have some serious explaining to do. Let me start by saying that the only April Fools element of this post is the title… more accurately, my claim to have intended to shape the blackout like a penis. The truth is that I worked on this piece in the middle of the night, while I was in lot of pain. I didn’t realize what the thing looked like until my Piano Man walked up to me and said, “Is that a penis?” Then completely horrified, he added, “And you are stitching it!” I stopped the needled, took a good look, and burst out laughing. I roared so hard I forgot about the pain.
– If you are thinking that Freud would have a field day with this piece, then we share similar thoughts… especially if you are cackling hysterically while thinking said thoughts. 😀

Self-Rekindled

Write of longing for home, of wrecking a home, of offering sanctuary to strangers in one’s home. He said other things… But my mind had been claimed by the thought of a house that was not a home, of a stranger who had to break a cage before building a home for her Self. And I wrote.

“Self-Rekindled” 

Barely veiled,
inside the bits of her
that are hers still,
she suspects
backtalk is a thing…
just not in his home,
not under the roof
she didn’t choose.

Her natural Self, the one
fighting to re-sprout,
twists inside her bones.
She sees her will
warping
under his damage—
with thought and tooth
abrading his might,
weakening her bindings.

Self-rekindled, she resists
his old kicks… and births
a choice, a real home
for her Self.

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the wee notes…
– Expanded from one of the first blackout poems I ever crafted, which came to mind after a long conversation with an old friend, a glance at “Rebirth” by Magic Love Crow (see below), and Brendan’s prompt at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Home.
– Linked to Prompt Nights and to Poets United.
– Yes, I’ve noticed… My ellipsis affliction has become quite serious… Must seek help…

“Rebirth”, by Magic Love Crow