She had her hands wrist deep in mud

Her fingers worried some lost root
That had the owner breathless, caught
The flowers grew misshapen, blue
The air in their gasping mouths, taut
Lines of leaves dying in vain,
Holding no sustenance, the tree
Was dying, rotting inside out,
She knelt at its graveside, to free

The tendril of forgotten life
That somewhere in its belly coiled
I found her, hands wrist deep in mud
Pale face streaked damp with hopeful soil
That harbored yet an aching cry
No one had stopped, no one had heard
This lone slip of a girl had stopped
Forlorn on her way, and turned

I touched her shoulder and she stilled
Had she not, frenzied, seen me come?
Her quivering lip gave me answer
Blind eyes, whimpering lips struck dumb
A milky stare that I could look through
A mind of endless blackened depths
But for its confused rolling mass of sensation
Less, not more lightless

I reached a finger to her face
I passed through her, I took her with
The tree would stand, as is, dying,
No more dead tomorrow, and no less
This jewel in the tattered smock
Babbling, incoherent beggar girl
Glowed like an ember in gray dust
She deserved more than this lost world

I took her home, across the veil
As her feet grew into the tree
The next one to stop to help her
Next worthy of my love will be
For now, her fingers dance in clay
That grows itself along her veins
The lidless stare shines benevolent
As queen on her new throne she reigns

What am I but a collector?
A bored god seeking shiny stones
Stray bits of burning humanity
To flesh the rock of my cold home
All the beautiful ones live here
Small goddesses, nurtured and loved
That I could save from that lost mass
of meat and thought I’ve no use of

I am but almost all entombed
Cut off by these walled in souls who
Are all I’ll take to my slumber
These invisible beautiful women, too
Fragile to leave on that cold earth
Amidst the hungry, ravenous beasts
Monsters I am too tired to fight
Creatures I’ve abandoned to their feasts

I am surrounded by fireflies
The last dredges of purity
The chipped pieces of my images
That hold vestiges of mercy
Each one I loved, each one I saved,
Each one who in turn now save me,
Each one who stopped one a rainy night
To help a scared, suffocating tree

Fireflies on the Walls

c. Yusra





Image credit: Imgur :




Abnormally Normal Anne- Fight, Flight, and Fright.


Abnormally Normal Anne

The Diary of a Surprisingly Un-Demented Mind

Entry 31

Warning- This is going to be a long one. It’s been one of those days. You know, when you haven’t made it halfway through the day yet, but it feels like you’ve run a marathon. Or done 2.375  x 10^23 push ups. Or climbed Mt. Everest with one hand tied behind your back. Yeah, one of those kind.

The day started in the strangest way possible. Someone was hammering at the gate in the wee hours of the morning, and when the Mad Hatter stumbled out, he saw that someone had left a tiny (and I kid you not, like three to four inches with tail), tiny kitten in front of the gate.  In a surprising rush of worry, he picked him and ran in and handed him over to me. He’s a tiny little fluffball, the newest member of our nuthouse. I’d put him at about ten days, but severely malnourished. I guess I’m a mommy yet again, lol.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Thing One found two more kittens, presumably of the same litter, mewing pitifully on the porch of an empty house down the road. I suppose whoever abandoned them didn’t notice that the house wasn’t just quiet, it was unoccupied. Thing One got the two kittens home too, and they’re snoozing wrapped up in my pajamas right now. They’re very weak, but I’ve done this before, so it won’t be too difficult. The next two or three weeks will be all about feeding them every two hours and rubbing them down to make them pee. Kittens are a devil of a job, but worth every minute of the grub.

The Mad Hatter was alternating between being a tyrant and being a trout all day. I suppose even he couldn’t help be as vacant as a trout after he’d ground us down into the ground. As if the morning chores and the tub of freshly washed clothes tossed into the muddy yard for no good reason wasn’t enough, one of the Hatter’s many clueless friends dropped by with twelve crates of fresh fruit from his orchard. Now, the poor fellow probably thought we’d  love having all the fruit around, but the Hatter had other plans. Apparently some Blah and Blah from BlahBlahland had asked him if he could send them that specific fruit when he gets the chance. Long story short, I spent the entire day dunking, washing, drying and packing everything from the crates into different boxes and sending them around. There have to be some sort of minimum wage or labor laws about housework, seriously. I swear, if someone as much as asks me if I want to eat fruit for the rest of the month, I’m going to stick a banana in their eye.

Thing Two got me into trouble again as well. She hasn’t been studying, and she doesn’t give a midget bunny’s behind no matter what I say. Now, the Hatter wouldn’t bother much, except that he has this mad (obviously) notion that if I teach her enough, I can get her IQ as high as mine.  I don’t even know what to say to that. It was probably one of the worst days of my life when the Hatter found my IQ out. Every thing has been shoved my nose since then, from how to use an oxyacetylene torch to where to put a comma. And in any other situation I’d like the chance to help. With the Hatter though, it’s a tug of war between his needing my elbow grease and resenting my presence, my very existence, that His Exalted HeadupButtNess had to ask my advice.

Then came the mandatory religious sermon. And the throwing books. And the warnings that my marks better be in the top ten percentile or I could forget about studying after this year. Sure, I don’t mind studying. Heck, I like studying, and I’m lame enough to say that on a public platform. But surely even a demented mind will see, that for me to study, you actually need to let me study? Du-uuuuuh!!!

Oh and yeah, I slipped and fell twice in the day. Once when I was one of those tossed out blankets in the rain, and the second when I thought I could carry a heavy box across the mud slicked yard to the storage ( I couldn’t, obviously. Slipped and jerked the entire weight of it onto my left arm, and now it hurts like a bitch). Boo for mud. And boxes. A bit of solace came when my favorite squeeze kissed it away, so it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. (No really, it doesn’t! I’m not lying at all! 😛 )

Suffice to say, I’m not a pretty picture right now, mentally or physically. I’m going to crawl into bed and do my best imitation of dead for the next six hours, after which I have to finish reading around 2000 pages. But then, that’s still more fun that 2000 feckin’ oranges, so yay in a way.

Oh well, tomorrow’s another day.

Till tomorrow then,

Abnormally Normal Anne.

You Will Come






You will come


You will come to me
Whether or not you like it
Whether or not you think it
Whether or not you know it,
You will come to me

You will come to me
When your bones scream in protest
No matter what you’ve professed
Even if you’ve confessed
You will come to me

You will lie to me
With practiced, perfect diction
To make a fact of fiction
Bolstering your depiction
You will lie to me

You will say to me,
This was never done,
That you’d never reckoned
And now your voice you shun
But you will say to me

And you will pray to me
Begging for my mercy
Pleading for that heady
Rush I give, but maybe,
So you will pray to me

And you will come to me
When nothing more is left
Unhinged and crazed, bereft
Your mind huddled in clefts
Then you will come to me


You will come to me..