The Quill of Samantha Grace Newcastle

sorrow

  • Why, How, Who

    I was asked today how do I write, how long have I written, and why. It’s a gift, a blessing, a curse, a tool to look deep within and view the core. Hyper Empathy, affective empathy, discernment,etc, they each play a role. Writing isn’t just an act for me; it’s a release, a necessity. Every… Read more

  • I hate worms

    One worm gets in an apple, not long after the worm dies and never gets to eat the entire applehowever if that apple gets tossed into a barrel with other apples the whole lot will be spoiled all the loss because of one wormthe Bible says gossip is murder character assassination so gossip is wrong… Read more

  • I am the cup

    you’ve never been thereyou’ve never held each memoryI wear my scars like scratches, scuffs, and swirling spoons striking my body ,faded edges, chipped rim you don’t see the way I gather pieces of myself from the floor, as a reminderof the ones who slipped through my hands like tiny grains of sand loneliness is a… Read more

  • webbed dust

    dust collects on the edges of memories living room walls grayed with outlines of what was,photographs hang in webbed silence each face frozen in a laugh that no longer resounds Their love as a vase cracked, yet still holding water,the stems of our shared days with petals dry, dead on the floor, they dropped only… Read more

  • easily astray

    I sit on the bed old memories playing like kids at recess yet, they are threadbare and unraveling, past voices and scenes of life weigh heavy as I search for the love they had In my mind, I see clearly my mother’s hands,calloused and soft,cradling the weight of my childhood,her laughter like sweet songs of… Read more

  • ROI

    In the sanctuary’s stillness hymns flow gracefully ,each note a question:what does it mean to believe when the heart is a closed door, and silence fills the spaces? Memories are fractured, like a child’s drawing of a house with sunshine in the corner with the sky gray which holds no promise as I write the… Read more

  • Attending my funeral

    My tears fall like a dropped coin,tinkling, and twirling to rest; a reminder of absence,the sounds of what was, and what will never be I sit with my grief, no longer my parents deaths, but new demons to face wrapped in heavy webbing Outside, friends lives continue, their new family arrivals or other joy and… Read more

  • terminal myoclonus

    Christmas is upon me yet again:ten years have passed,the calendars pages turn month by month ,but I remain as a mere “X”  with no lateral motion each shadow a story with my permanent companions pain, anger,loss ; these are true friendsI carry the weightof a thousand whispers daily and hundreds of thousands of emotions firing… Read more

  • moratorium Schrödinger

    Today is another day where I am Schrödinger’s cat sitting in the box along with uncertainty, which stems from the weight of possibility that I am both alive and dead simultaneously Hourly I am pinned between the what if, and the never was,a silent empty chair across from me the uninvited guest,the taste of stale… Read more

  • Christmas: more than you see

    In the colored lights glowing in December,the the scent of pine in wreaths and trees here I sit sifting through boxes of memories Shining, sparkling ornaments like ghosts,hanging heavy and each a fragment of laughter,a whisper now muffled,lost between carols and the weight of absence I remember the way they used to smile,how their laughter… Read more