Melissa Ingoldsby
Stories (1296)
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Deadwood
Tryin’ to sort out the muck in my brain. I got too much to do, too little help, too little time. My brother tells me to tear down the half dead tree. He yells and yells, but I got other things to do. Keeping up with your half dead mother who is waiting for the pear tree to die before she does, just says softly and painfully something I cannot possibly say out loud. We tried to make our fortune going to California but we ain’t found nothing but dried up land and half dead things.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 years ago in Poets
I write for people who are like me
I write characters and stories that are hard to write (for me). It’s exhausting to write happy people. It’s exhausting to write people fighting their way out of depression. It’s hard to move out of bed sometimes and open my eyes—-but I do it because that’s what thriving through pain is—-moving step by step each day to get by. To do each task and care for your family. I find it difficult to do anything sometimes, but I take deep breaths, and I do it. I try to do it well—-or least finish it to completion. This worldwide pandemic and the way everything feels slow and terrifying and unending—-it is hard to feel safe. But, with my friends and family, I can. Writing is my safeguard to keep me grounded as well.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 years ago in Confessions
