It’s Me, Not You 

I’m just going through the motions.

Void of any real emotion.

Suicide is a selfish notion that I entertain.

Hear you asking what’s the matter?

Saying how you miss my laughter.

I know the love you’re after I can’t give away.

Find myself saying words I hate like it’s me, not you.

I know I’ll miss you when it’s too late and it’ll be my loss.

Swear to you if I knew the reasons for the changes you are seeing

I’d gladly unload my heavy burdens at your feet.

Standing at the edge of nothing.

Feel my heart ripping open and I can’t stop the pain.

You will see I was haunting my life.

Untouchable, unlovable and always on the outside staring in.

Maybe tomorrow will be better and I can love you more than I ever have.

So you’ll know it was I that was sick and you can carry on when I’m gone.
Written for Yeah Write

He Loves Me Not


Photo by Donetta Sifford

he loves me not, he loves me
he loves me not, he loves me
guess the damn daisy lied
I could use his help now
but I won’t swallow stale pride he loves me not, he used to
he used to love me a lot
somewhere between angry words love was crushed and we both forgot
how our smiles came so easy
riding around in his turquoise Ford truck
radio playing Hank Junior’s ‘Major Moves’ and ‘Country Boy Can Survive’
his hand on my thigh, making me feel so alive
I loved the way he wanted me so much
I miss his long, lean back
tanned, tattooed, sexy
the way he shivered as my fingers traced words
like ‘I love you much, baby. you’re mine’
guaranteed to turn him on
his laughter haunts my dreams night after night
he’s leaving me, I keep falling behind
wake up crying cause it’s so real
there’s not a man alive that could make me feel
the way he did
I won’t find happiness like i had with him
love that powerful only comes once
no amount of daisies can make it right
he loves me, he loves me not and I’ll love him for the rest of my life

by: Donetta Sifford

I was sad to read Magpie Tales would be on a back burner for awhile. This is a photo I took in my hometown that I decided to play around with. If anyone finds any inspiration with the photo feel free to write a poem or short story to add to it’s beauty. Please share them in the comments section.
If there’s anyone out there that will miss Magpie Tales and wants to share a photo prompt link up each week, please leave a comment or email me:

He Loves Me Not

he loves me not, he loves me

guess that fucking daisy lied

I could use some help right now

but I cannot swallow stale pride

keep running in place while he leaves me behind

he has a smile on his face, I’ve got a war in my mind

walking around alone

trying to adapt to uncertainty

money is a hassle and pain is never free

I can’t connect with Nathanael West

even though I think I should

writing bad poetry that melts paint off walls, rotting any wood

I’m in some type of rut

a hell I can’t escape

my muses are m.i.a.

I’m overdue for a break

a breakdown

he loves me not, he used to love me

Autumn will kill these wild daisies





What’s the lessons of loss?

Reminder that tomorrow is not a promise whispered alluring in your ear.

Mortality touching your skin, clammy and cold.

Death etched in minds so you tell yourself not to take anyone or anything else for granted.

Then the darkness that consumes your soul quickly fades away in a warm Spring breeze.

Living settles in with your morning coffee as you yell at your children, cuss your partner for leaving the milk out.

What is eternal rest to the youthful?

Something that drags the departure of a loved one into dreams, spinning nightmares.

High school and college are demanding attention, dating, social activity.

You tell yourself you need that bucket list.

Paradise and Hell can wait until you’re old, after you change the world.

Time laughs as you lounge around, procrastinating, deciding you can make memories the next day.

Suddenly you realize you’re forty, you’re at a crossroad, and nothing in your world was the way you wanted it to be.

Don’t drown your memories in liquor or work.

Maybe the lesson for the living is to remember sorrows, don’t let your heart mourn in vain.

Or maybe there’s no hidden answer to your life, no rhyme or reason for anything.

Though you shouldn’t listen to my voice, after all, who am I to scream out advice as my wrist bleed in the public fountain of this world.

Written by: Donetta Sifford for Visdare  – 140 – Hesitation 













5 Things You Didn’t Know About Querying as a Debut Author

Since I’m beginning to work on a new novel, this post about debut novels was refreshing.

Carly Watters, Literary Agent Blog

I really enjoy talking about debuts.

Many debut authors are nervous about their credentials (do I have enough? do they mean anything?), their contacts (who do I have to know? what if I don’t “know” anyone?), and their book (what if it’s not good enough? what if it’s the best I’ve got?).

I think it’s time debut authors gained their confidence and started to tap into the excitement that agents feel for them.

Here are 5 Things You Didn’t Know About Querying as a Debut Author:

1. Agents look forward to your work. Any agent who is building a list is looking for work. Not all agents are building a list however, so save yourself the heartbreak and query agents who advertise that they’re looking for new talent.

2. Your credentials aren’t holding you back. No bylines? No problem. I never brush off writers who haven’t been published in literary journals or…

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