Note from Richard Pruitt: I think one thing I wish I was able to do as a writer is write poetry. Other than a couple of slam poems I did in high school, I knew that poetry was not for me. However, that doesn’t mean that there are plenty of great poets in the world. I have learned in the past few weeks that a few of those poets are on the staff of this here Magazine. I would like to take this time to debut WORD VOMIT. This article is going to dedicated to the world of poetry. And our first couple of poems come from writer Peony Ann. I hope you will keep coming back to check out which writer has delivered some Word Vomit via stanza.


The blood flows from her womb,

As do the tears from her eyes,

The child of his she longed for, had briefly come to life

But only to be taken from her, along with the light in her eyes

This time the pain is far too great,far too great to hide

Physical and emotional aching,

In ways she’s never felt


In desperation she reaches for her lover,

Its father, and co creator,

For she was certain this she child was made in love

He has turned and fled, never to return

The sparkle in his eyes for her,

Like their unborn child is dead


She looks at him crying,

Rivers only a mother can cry

He looks down at her coldly,and simply  says Goodbye

So she turns to the heavens on her knees,

Crying “why god,oh  why?”

The heavens remain in silence,

She dies a little more inside


Vulnerable and cold,

In the open she lies,

Scared like a child who’s had a fright

Life and love sucked out of her,

Now a lifeless soul,that used to shine so bright



The children are your saving grace

the sole reason he stays near

just because he’s there with you,

doesn’t mean he’s not wishing he were here


He speaks to me of his love for them

born of his flesh and blood

How he hates this charade he plays with you,

that he wishes I’d have been their mom


The children are your saving grace,

your only desperate pawn

He swears he no longer loves you

if not for them, he’d been long gone


Instead he plays this exhausting game,

moves as if it’s a game of chess

trying to calm the little ones,

to put their precious minds at rest


The children are your saving grace

thank your maternal bond

your time with him grows shorter,

his love for you long gone

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About the author

Peony Ann

I am a mostly misunderstood child of the corn, born and raised in rural Illinois turned self-proclaimed writer with random, yet passionate opinions and views. It seems that I am self-taught because I was a stoner slack ass in high school who thought it’d be better to fuck around and see what kind of trouble I could make rather than to concentrate on a formal education. Who uses algebra in a corn field anyway?

My mission in life is to be me, be happy, and FTW if they don’t like it. I used to know what I really wanted in life. Since I was 5 years old, all I wanted was to be married to the same woman my entire life, be a doctor, a writer, to have a litter all my own, and to be the “token ‘hot’ Asian” in most settings. I just wasn’t sure how I felt about being a boy, because girls were just so much prettier. Now, as I approach my dirty 30, I have accomplished only one of those things successfully because, well, I’m Asian and we breed like rabbits, resulting in my litter of 5.

I aim to please, entertain and boggle with “WTF?!” moments. I even throw around a little poetry. Some will find me apPAULing, others hilarious, and some would maybe even call me a messed up kind of special. Those are the ones nearest and dearest to me who paid for all of those bibs, large crayons, and the occasional straight jacket to provide my short bus driver with for her own protection. Oh, and the ones who supported me through the transformational surgeries from Paul to Peony. I just wanted to be a delicate fucking flower, is that so wrong? P.S. I love my new tits!