A Rib and August

 August is filled

with dead

words from 

a narcissist.

A curled tongue

of “I am” brags

accomplishment

without knowing

how to spell it.

How did

breathing

failure 

ever rise

above

his bloat?

I suppose the worst

in him gave freedom

to spill the worst in others.

If it wasn’t so dangerous,

I could find humor in

holders of tissue paper books

and pulpit men not understanding

they’ve surrendered leading to following.

I 

enjoy

being 

a

thorn

when

so 

many 

think

I’m

only

a 

rib. 

 

Susie Clevenger 2025

Needles Without Ink

 

Saturday opens

its book of pain.

I’m tired of reading

the same story.

I search for an ink pen

to write a new chapter.

All I find is needles

searching for a vein.

©Susie Clevenger 2025

The Fading Yesterday Me

I don’t know the yesterday me.

She walked paths of bubble gum dreams

wearing skirts too short for crosses to bear.

I still have long hair, but gray has invaded

golden blond, and I look more hag than innocent.

Oh, my younger me tries to break the 

shadow door, but the creaking bone chain

that holds the key doesn't like to rattle history.

I live in the moment…Doesn’t that sound enlightened?

It’s not. I’m practical because my tomorrows are shrinking.

The yesterday me thought she knew everything.

Today I’m always on a hunt for my phone,

because it holds lists of what I’m sure to forget.

©Susie Clevenger 2025

You can also read it Here at Hello Poetry

I Won’t Wear His Sin

He would have me wear a crown

designed by misogyny to bear witness

I am his queen of the kitchen.

I did not taste an apple to wear an apron

or have my eyes opened to be blinded

by a book of submission. 

It is not a sin to rebel against tyranny.

Knowledge of my feminine freedom

is the power a weak man fears. 

©Susie Clevenger 2025