The Devil Says Sleep

Day breaking through the night

Cruel clock telling me to wake

Mind screaming against the light

Crying for my body’s keepsake


Heart hurting for more sleep

Sand paper eyes, seeing blurry

The devil says there’s no need

Rest your head, lay here with me


Whispering lazy dreams in my ear

Stretch, roll over, lay comfortably

He says exactly what I want to hear

Exorcising guilt from his delivery


Light bleeds through the blinds

The day is needing my service

Bed sheets are warm and kind

The devil works to preserve us


Pull painfully up, breaking bones

Weary but willing to go ahead

Need to care for life and home

Devil speaks softly from my bed


Cursing his sweet lethargic words

All day, he lingers in my thoughts

Tomorrow, promising broken cords

But that attempt will be for naught


The Devil Says Sleep, Summer Teel 5/28/2018


I have an addiction to sleep. I always feel like I could take a nap. Unfortunately, a side effect of many of the meds I am on is drowsiness. It’s a trade off I have to make in order to stay balanced.

My Memory

My memory fails me

What I have lost is the





The reason I entered a room

I have also lost the





People I used to know


My memory fails me

It holds possessively





The hearts I have broken

Of these I remember





The damage that I caused


My memory fails me


My memory, Summer Teel 2/21/2018


Memory is the weirdest thing. I can be introduced to a new person and five seconds later I will have to ask them there name again. I can seriously have a favorite song and have no idea who sings it or the title even though my husband (the encyclopedia of all music) as told me 100 times. Can I forget every transgression of my entire life though, no. They hit me in the stomach like a baseball bat ten times a day. I cringe while remembering the dress I wore day I broke my husbands heart.  I remember the people who were at the party when I said some awkward embarrassing joke. The bar I was at the night I way over shared with an acquaintance. I don’t just remember, I relive it, every one of them.

Mocking Birds

We are just mocking birds

Screaming the broken angry

Cries of the Grackles nearby.

Drowning the soft melodies

Of the sweet song birds beneath

The stark crackles and growls.

We take the noise from this other

Proudful, unoriginal, and aggressive

Loud, nonsensical, and possessive.

No songs to have, to call our own

We copy the lamenting moans

Then screech them at one another.

While an oil drenched black bird

Casting his wayward golden eye

On to the chaos he has created.

Boldly breasted, brash and conceited

A top his lofty pompous perch

Reveling the dysfunction of this flock.


We are just Mocking birds, screaming.


Mocking birds, Summer Teel 2/17/2018



The lack of original thought in our culture is drowning us. The holdouts of thinkers are sinking in the noise. It seems sometimes that rational people have given up trying. I know I am more likely to shake my head and quietly stand there while I hear someone spouting the massive flaws in the collective belief system. I don’t like that about myself, but I am so exhausted of trying to defend higher thinking.

Bird on a Wire

Bird on a wire

Seeking balance

We are doing just fine

I am also a liar


The predictive text

Is always wrong

Barely alive right now

Cannot wait for the next


Vodka in a jar

Hair of the dog

Another failed attempt

Escape, but not to far


Our own creation

A slave to whims

It all burdens my heart

Under God, one nation


Bird on a Wire, Summer Teel 1/29/2017


Just some thoughts on our interaction with our world. How difficult it has become to deal with our environment. Seeking balance but barely holding on, never being in the present moment, our constant need to escape reality, and the very nature of the world we are currently living in.

My Old Friend

It has been a while old friend.  I am sorry I have ignored you for so long. I am sorry I have turned away so many times. Time is a fleeting, slippery thing, a silk rope from which I hang. I did not steal it from the laziness of morning, from the pause of afternoon, nor from the quietness of night. Leaving you blank, the anthology of my heart.

Time gives me words to encapsulate joy, suffering, and madness. Moments and memories not in a line but stacked on a spindle. I have irresponsibly set aside the empty plane of your pages and allowed these stories to be buried under tedium and bustle. Sleep walking through inspiration and distractions like pennies on the ground consuming my attention.

It is all at once and not at all. Marching continuously and standing still. Always, right now and never again. Gradually melting wax beneath a brilliant fire and a collapsing house of cards. It cannot be held. It is hard to place. It holds history hostage. I have wasted it, and in doing so I disregarded my feeble and helpless muses caught in the wake of its passage.

My old friend. Summer Teel 12/27/2017

It has been a long time since I have put pen to paper. I think about it daily but have been neglecting my creative inspirations. They nag at my brain, trying to get out but my apathy is a stronger force. Eventually they start to fade away, then happen less often. I was afraid that I’d lose that I’d lose them completely. I finally broke the cycle and that is what I saw fit to write about. I chose to let that experience be the inspiration.

Good Times

I can remember good times too

Comforting music filled memories

Sipp’en, pick’en the night through

Sweet songs offering us delivery


Lively carousing debate and discussion

We regaled forgotten solutions to evil

Laughter and jibes without interruption

I was embraced by these loving people


Blazing, crackling bonfire circles grew

Reminiscing and retelling old stories

Years past together, the time, it flew

We often celebrated shared histories


Friends, family and wonderful food

Smiles with arms embraced warmly

It changed my heart, lifted my mood

A congregation surrounding me softly


I can feel them now, those good times

They benevolently speak to my soul

The madness would lift sometimes

Joy filling the cracks, making me whole


Good Times, Summer Teel 10/11/2017


I sometimes describe the times before I was diagnosed and treated for bipolar as horrible and sad. I want to give that period of my life a voice and let people know there is a way out. It wasn’t always that way though. We have always had music, laughter, friends and family in our lives. There were countless nights on the porch, sitting around tables of food, and watching bonfires blaze that were nothing but joy. There are still friends that stuck with us no matter what and waited for us to heal. Friends we love to this very day. My family was and is amazing. They never judged me, only embraced me at my lowest times. Today we celebrate the healthier me together. Without these people I would have never gotten to where I am today.

Ghost Girl

She wears sadness like an accessory. Cloaked with a dagger by her side. Never having danced in the rain, never having opened her iron gate. Silently still, wondering why she even came. She would rather be home, in her miserable fortress. These faces are useless. She hates them simply for breathing. The noise assaults her body, the mix of perfumes crawls up her nose and hammers her brain.

Behind the armor of attitude is something soft, defenseless. Insides that are terrified. Discovery would be excruciating. Absolute danger. Her trust has been amputated in the war of life and misconnection. Her skin scared, lined by her search for temporary euphoria, relief on the outside from the hurt inside. Saving the rest of what is left of her for no one.

It’s past time to leave. The angry waif disappears without having been noticed, an apparition dissolving. She makes her way home sober and annoyed, having no need for them anyway. Baring down on her is the slightest of itches. A whisper of a need for eye contact. For someone to have noticed her ignoring them.  A brief and unsuccessful attempt to see past her wounds, both metaphorical and real. Someone that might attempt to peel back the layers of suffering.

She walks away growing heavy under the weight of her self-imposed tomb. While she safely, achingly wears sadness like an accessory.


Ghost Girl, Summer Teel 9/29/2017

Everyone who is hiding and angry is hurt. Bullies are hurting, loners, outsiders all of them, injured. The further they are pushed away the more pain they suffer. I know this from first hand as I was bullied and became angry. I never cut but I definitely self-harmed through drugs, alcohol, promiscuity, and starvation. Love is the only thing that healed me. Continuous, non-judgmental, real love. (Thank you Erich) Someone found me and I felt safe. Be kind to everyone no matter what.