Tag: Huntington

Are We Not Exhausted?

Monday is the worst day. Monday is marriage counseling day. Monday, my husband and I go into another world. It feels decades removed from where we live today. The smell is musty like a morgue for dead marriages. Maybe some has survived, but I can’t get a comforting sense there’s been a lot of success in the room with opposing…

Cotton Candy, Funnel Cakes, And Kismet

There is a refusal inside of me to burden you with the world tonight. There are enough words being shouted about the day and age we’re suddenly forced to live in. Instead, I will burden you with my tiny glimmer of hope. Dammit, it’s not been stripped of me yet. I won’t let any man seize the days my heart…

I Wasn’t Worth Saving.

In my younger days when I did something wrong, my mama would say: “You look at me when I’m talking to you.” I didn’t want to hold my head up to look at her. ¬†I felt Shame. Guilt. Fear. Discomfort. She didn’t strike me. She scolded me, which at times felt worse than being hit. I’d disappointed her. Because she’d…

We Are… On Original Bunker Punks Today.

I’ve waited a long time to write my third and final installment to my Appalachian series. The hesitation in writing it was because I wanted to see where a city, my home, would go. I’m still not exactly sure the answer to that question. There is no definitive answer. A town, like many other communities, is struggling with heroin. But…

What Have We Done?

As I walk through a new decade as a parent, I miss the simplicity in my youth. I see storefronts empty. Neighbors moved away, and a sadness is ever-present by how much the world is changed. Many things I want to show or experience with my son I can’t because those places don’t exist anymore. I see the SuperCenter who…

An Appalachian Saga on The Good Men Project Today!

¬†Appearing today on The Good Men Project is my second installment in a series of three pieces I have come to call my “Appalachian Tales.” These three articles originated from a post I wrote titled, “Hickory. Dickory. Dock. Time to Write.” I was frustrated from working and living in a community where each day I would see addiction. Ten years…

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