Monthly Archives: June 2015

Stable As Eggs Served Over Easy


You set yourself on fire for people who are only too happy to watch you burn.
They dance hand-in-hand around your pyre singing horrible top 40 hits,
Celebrating with margaritas,
While you watch your body melt like wax,
And wonder why no one cares that you are starting to feel the heat.

Your hands are bloody with abrasions as the old woody rope you tie to friends in hopes of keeping them connected to you
Unravels so quickly between your fists that it smokes with heat.
A great white shark will struggle for its life while caught on a hook, smashing everything around it in the attempt to break free,
But you expect humans to behave so differently.

You live in a glass house so you know exactly who throws stones and how well their aim is,
So why are you so surprised when you find cracks under the eaves
And ragged holes with jagged teeth along the walls?
Car crashes always occur in slow motion, even when someone is speeding,
And yet, you never learn to get out of the way.

Nobody but you wears their heart on their sleeve as a fashion statement.
Ventricles are so last season
And love may be grand, but it is covered in blood.
You should spend less time concerned with pathogens and more time learning to keep your organs on the inside of your skin.

You are as stable as eggs served over easy,
The yolks of your eyes always on the verge of spilling out,
Getting feelings all over the plate, dripping them onto the table,
Knocking over water glasses as you try to mop them up with the hem of your skirt.
No one wants to eat with you because you are a mess.
Maybe if you learned some bloody table manners, someone would actually want to split dessert with you
Instead of running away and leaving you with the bill.

Some people know how to love appropriately.
They recognize wolves playing dress-up with cashmere.
They portion out their affection according to the calorie chart on the back of the box.
They don’t pray over strange babies or make up songs for their cats.
They don’t need anyone to stick around or to take care of them.
You have no concept of how to love appropriately.
Your expressions of love are the equivalent of broken heels on shoes, runs in stockings, lipstick on teeth, and stray M&Ms melting in the cups of your bra.
You love like the cloud of fragrance in a department store cosmetic aisle: too much, too strong, too migraine-inducing, too asthma-attacky.
You can’t tell the difference between predators and lambs, and you would probably still fight to give the wolf the benefit of the doubt even while you were halfway down his throat.
You think if you perfect your buttercream frosting recipe that you will heal the world.
You think if you hug someone hard enough they will just stop resisting, surrender, and stay forever.

In 2013, Walt Disney released a musical movie called “Frozen” with the breakout hit song, “Let It Go”.
For three years, you have heard this children’s anthem at nearly every home, every coffee shop, and every karaoke party,
But you still haven’t realized that the words won’t change into “Don’t Let Go” even if you shout them really loudly,
Because you are still hoping that someone will come build a snowman with you,
Because you still wish upon stars,
Because you still think there are pots of gold at the end of the rainbow.

When will you learn that growing up means no longer needing to hold hands,
And that love, much like most fast food, should never really be supersized?
People are going to leave you.
People will not want your love.
This is called “reality”.

Maybe it is time to go on a diet – a love diet.
Maybe I need to stop being an all-you-can-eat buffet of emotions,
And more like one of those microwave Lean Cuisines.


heart-shaped egg
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Creative Commons License
This work, “Stable As Eggs Served Over Easy” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


They Don’t Make A Lemon Cleaner For That


Short word
Or long sentiment?
Hard to tell when
Ink from your emotional pen
Bleeds through suicide notes onto tables,
Smearing the Formica, permanently staining shirt sleeves.
After all, when your body is finally gone,
Those mistakes will still linger for others to scratch,
Digging their fingernails into postmortem splatter to further define your scars.
We are never truly gone if our errors survive,
So, leave no notes behind to justify actions.
Fade into oblivion like your agonal breaths
Expelled through lungs seized by death.
It isn’t a complicated notion,
Just say the word.
Lose the sentiment.
Simply vanish.


Creative Commons License

This work, “They Don’t Make A Lemon Cleaner For That” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.