Stones of Virginia

 Were the stones
Virginia Woolf filled
her pockets with chosen
or just convenient?

She walked years
of sun and moon,
but couldn’t find light.

It is lonely in madness.
It is a cell that doesn’t
have a key or enough
food to feed its skeleton.

Peace teases with hope
while mania plays with matches.

Toxic positivity hammers
obsidian melancholy ignoring
pain should have its voice,
and not turned into knives
from smiling everything is sunny.

©Susie Clevenger 2025

Clinging to Moss

 How much can I take
is always answered with more.

Sunny is hard to find in pain.
Hope swims my tears,
and darkness stalks light.

I’m getting through this journey
on weaker legs as silence grows
wild in the corners of each room.

It’s hard to stay resilient when
I am walking tundra clinging
to moss and fighting cold wind.

Honesty isn’t always welcomed,
but I’ve learned to validate my
depression because denial uproots strength.

©Susie Clevenger 2025

Umbrella Lemons

A toast for the empty glass…

the swill of optimism flooding

the back of my throat

to water down sarcasm.

 

Reduced to a moment’s purr

I plant my chin on the bright sunny

and catnap on warm fuzzies.

 

Before I slip too far into escape

umbrella lemons test the tightrope

my mind walks to see how much rope

they can walk before they trigger

the last straw.

 

In the background Pandora’s clock

taunts hell’s picnic is still messy

and I’m the assigned joker with a mop.

 

Like an automaton I stir in my rewinding,

stare at my empty glass, and wonder

how much work it will take

to portray Eris’s chaos as comedy. 

©Susie Clevenger 2021

Eris (Ερις) is the goddess of discord and strife. 

The Sunday Muse #174

Sky Beyond Wire

 

“Let me love you. I will hold your brittle bones together.”

             ~    Rigoberto González

 

A child of cages and dark dreams

I listen to the haunting ring of rain upon wire.

 

Every wingless yesterday stalks my dreams

to pry the wind from hope, yet the butterfly

inside me speaks the language of sky.

 

Weighted with drowning I drink light

from liquid blue shimmers pooling

on the stars beyond my reach, and

hold on to what I can’t see to lead me

through the obsidian eye of frantic. 

©Susie Clevenger 2021

The Sunday Muse #172

Reconstruction

The Architect by Erik Johansson

I draw myself inside out,

the living me uncovered,

uncensored, rooms full of gems

and rotten fruit.

Vulnerable tastes like cheap wine,

the kind that gives indigestion,

a false bravado too drunk

to weigh consequences.

I am of wild dreams, foul words,

heart bleed, civil war between

night monsters and forgiveness,

and a mind that sleeps but never rests.

This blood letting of black ink collects

on white pages, spills around my feet

in an origami hell of crushing frustration.

I don’t know where I will stand after demolition,

when buzzards circle to pluck truth into rumor.

Freedom will leave scars, friends will try to rebirth me

to fit into their acceptance and enemies will gold eye glee.

I am done carrying weight, reorganizing my crazy,

dancing to the tune of suggestions I get over

what I am working through… I am doing all I can

to stand up while falling.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2019

Dedicated to those who struggle with depression.

The Sunday Muse #78