Photo by GR Stocks on Unsplash

“Rules don’t apply to me” she said when teachers questioned her ambition. She went on, and proved them wrong.

“Rules don’t apply to me” she said when peers questioned her abilities. She worked hard, and climbed the ladder.

“Rules don’t apply to me” she said when doctors questioned her optimism. She fought fiercely, and survived.

“Rules don’t apply to me” she said when her people questioned her integrity. She laughed confidently, but was overthrown.

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Photo by Rirri on Unsplash

It’s just a small, grey book,
Smooth and flexible, made
With love, nothing to its look
Letters that have started to fade

I am scared to ruin my treasure
Gently, gently I pry it open
There, beyond any measure
Are stories saved, unspoken

Daily, my little book is resting
On a white shelf, protected
By large sturdy books, its nesting
Hidden, kept, never neglected

My bedroom hides this part of me
From my bed, I have put the shelf
So, I always, unfailingly can see
The spine of this humble book myself

My brick flat serves as the shield
Of the book that paints my past
In pictures, I have carefully sealed
Memories of love, lost too fast

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Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

A moment between everything and not.
A moment where I am myself, but still not.
I stir, only slightly, then
my eyes flutter open.

I am shaken from rest and relaxation,
back to consciousness, away, away.
From dreamland I travel, with indignation
Sleep, please, I beg, outside it’s not yet day.

But when I finally awake, in the shower,
I wonder why I always want to be asleep.
The water seems to hold such magic power;
today I will craft experiences to keep.

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Catherine J. Clark

Catherine J. Clark

I mostly write — and read — short fiction, although I’ve somehow stumbled into poetry too.