Write Bloody 21 of 23 - Megan Falley - “The Balance
We’re running all the videos from the Write Bloody Publishing Conest! Check out the full playlist here, and check back in throughout the day to reblog/like your favorites to help them win!
Oh my loves, please share this poem. It means a lot to me that survivors of abuse hear it and that it can help them shed some of the societal induced stigma, help realize they aren’t to blame. I’m with you.
—Richard Siken (via poemsbydes)
On behalf of PEN Center USA and Narrow Books, I’m very proud to announce the slate for The Rattling Wall, Issue 4!
I’m feeling the warm and fuzzies that I’ll be appearing in such a beautiful and respected journal. Holy, home.
I do already have a book published by Write Bloody, but I wrote a second book in the year since the last was published, and I would love the opportunity for them to publish me again! If you want to help me make that possible, please “like” this poem right here. XO
PLEASE “LIKE” THIS VIDEO. YOUR LIKES CAN HELP MEGAN FALLEY GET A BOOK DEAL WITH WRITE BLOODY PUBLISHING. This is Megan Falley’s poem “The Balance” (after Rac…Friends, please go check out Megan Falley’s poem “The Balance”. Vote for her video by liking it on Youtube and you can help her get a book deal with Write Bloody Publishing! Megan’s a friend and a very talented poet and you should definitely give this poem a listen.
The sweetest! Thank you!
THIS IS TONIGHT
For so long I thought this poem was only for me, and it is so rewarding to know that I put it into the world and it was also for someone else. Thank you so much for your compliments. You don’t stop writing either, k?
after Rachel McKibbens
There were days when it looked like love,
especially if you turned down the volume.
But even if you didn’t.
Bus rides asleep on each other’s
shoulders, splitting a pair of earbuds
plugged into a song as if sharing
a secret.
Afternoons where we stayed in
our pajamas and played video games
and he bought us twin bodega sandwiches
and remembered mine
without the meat.
And while I look back on these memories
with equal, if not more repulsion,
I know that I wasn’t an idiot
to stay. That my heart invented
its own verb which meant To Love
The Dog Who Licks The Scar It Gave You.
On a dirty bar couch on Valentine’s Day
he said I would fight with you every morning
if it meant I could kiss you every night and at the time
it didn’t sound like The Codependent National Anthem,
or a vending machine where you put in fury
and get out passion
or even like the things I read now
in pamphlets—the ones I trust upon other women
like my own righteous gospel—
it sounded like the sweetest thing
he’d ever said to me. A poem
I could fold real small and carry
around in my locket, not noticing, for months
how it also kind of
choked.
-Megan Falley
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Help Megan get this poem published in a new book by Write Bloody Press by voting for it HERE. Your support means the moon.
