The Taste of Your Absence
I taste the dirt you left in my mouth Infected with injury, grit-stained teeth You lied, and I purchased each facade Opening my aching, needy soul Turning my words into blood, for the devil DonR...
Darla Halyk is the Mom of a teenage boy and girl. Proudly Canadian she was born and raised in Langley, British Columbia where she still resides today. She has a Master's Degree in Verbal Irony and Major's in Sarcasm. Currently working on a book, she also writes for her blog at New World Mom regarding whatever comes to her mind. Her ability to write raw, real and honestly has featured her on The Elephant Journal, Scary Mommy, Your Tango, BLUNTmoms, BlogHer and more. You can also find her on FaceBook at Facebook.com/NewWorldMom She writes because she loves words, and she loves words because they can change the world.
I taste the dirt you left in my mouth Infected with injury, grit-stained teeth You lied, and I purchased each facade Opening my aching, needy soul Turning my words into blood, for the devil DonR...
Woman shadow behind translucent mirror photo via Shutterstock. Standing in front of the steam covered bathroom mirror, naked, dripping wet, and quite honestly ashamed of what is looking back at me, my tween daughter barges in. "I need a hair tie!" She couldn't care less that I'm naked.
Recently, someone asserted that my writing has become a replacement for my gambling addiction. It wasn't implied that, through my writing, I'd chosen to challenge myself in a productive, positive way. Instead, it was implied that my writing consumes me in a dangerous way.
I don't care if one million people write about this story, and I happen to be a small voice among them. I don't care if you think I am jumping on a bandwagon of trending rage. I don't care if your Facebook feed becomes inundated with similar posts.
The beach was mainly used by locals like us, so there was no concern for my safety. Certainly no concern about rape. Everyone knew who who we were.
get elephant's newsletter But I'm not here to talk about inertia or gravitational pulls, at least not in a scientific way. We all chase it-that euphoric spine-tingling magic we can sense in our soul. That deep down, gut-twisting drunk love. Love's potion is an intoxicating drop of dew falling tearfully from the earth's most beautiful flower.
Mornings are one of the hardest times to be a parent. Mornings with two teenagers is comparable to the pain Tom Hanks went through when he smashed his abscessed tooth with an ice skate in the movie Castaway. Maybe you are one of those cheery, upbeat people who enjoys mornings, and somehow you have Ward and June Cleaver's kids.
get elephant's newsletter My 13-year-old brain flooded with euphoria as we walked toward your house. I was overwhelmed with compliments you had eloquently and purposefully placed in my head. I had no idea this was pre-meditated. I was easy prey. You smiled, as you looked down at me and my heart skipped a beat.
My daughter turns fourteen next month. We have an open line of communication when it comes to the birds and the bees. To be honest, my Mom and I did as well. However, it didn't change the fact I chose to speak with my girlfriends about sex and not my Mom.
Perhaps you think you've read every post on the topic of "pussy grabbing." And maybe this piece of writing won't be much different from the last eight hundred and sixty-seven others that have crossed your news feed during Pussy Gate 2016. Yet there is a possibility it will sever from the rest.