Amy Barlow Liberatore… stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

Tag Archives: Bad Girls

Laundromat

Wasted the night before,
I’d screwed the chance
to do my dirty laundry.

Doobie ashes on the floor
Discretion cracked open,
my values in a quandary.

“Don’t do strangers,”
was always my creed,
but he’d been on my couch

‘cause he possessed dangers
highlighting my need…
Granite jaw, killer slouch.

Now, in desperation,
I’m at the Rinse ‘n’ Spin
‘til cleansed, my clothes are done.

Cheap soil eradication
but it won’t remove sin…
A revolution!  Fridays are fun!

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl, with thanks to Brenda; Wordle words are in bold. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Strangers were never in my romantic repertoire! Amy


Escape Can Be Forever

Authentic, unapologetic
Manic-depressive, chose Meth over meds
Yowling cat-scratch vocals

Wound-up top
Inviting us for a spin
Next to none, under your skin
Energetic, enigmatic
House-high beehive
Outrageous, bawdy “bad girl”
Undulating at the mic
Soul singer to the end
Everlasting, never built to last… Amy Winehouse

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

NOTE:  For ABC Wednesday, took longer to complete than I imagined, but wanted to get it right.  Amy Winehouse’s legacy is not just her incredible music.  She serves as a symbol of the confusion between addiction and mental illness.  It’s true that many times, as with my own mother, people who need other help self-medicate… the difference is, Amy was DIAGNOSED as manic-depressive (bipolar) and refused to take prescribed medicine or stick with therapists.

To say she was an addict and post “Just say no” on FaceBook does a great disservice to many people who might see themselves in Amy’s downward spiral and possibly seek medical help.  As a person living with manic depression and PTSD, I wanted this message to go out to as many folks as possible. 

Also posted at Poets United. RIP, Amy Winehouse, and peace to her family and fans, Amy Barlow Liberatore


My friend Leslie used to have stilettos she called her “rat-stabbin’ heels.”  The phrase stuck with me after 30 years!  This is fiction about some very good times in some very bad places, making terrible choices, and Riley if you are reading this, don’t listen to a word of it, because NONE of it is true.  But just in case it’s true and I don’t remember, I’m tagging under “Amy: The Lost Years”! For the new blog, dverse, as well as Poets United, both of which you MUST check out.   Amy

Rat-Stabbin’ Heels

Slip, trip, get a grip
Wait – fate, caught on the grate
in my rat-stabbing heels

Pub, club, feel the rub
Dance, prance, get some romance
in my rat-stabbin’ heels

Girls, pearls, out for whirls
Grind, blind, unrefined
in my rat-stabbin’ heels

Stairs, chairs, got no cares
Blues, booze, I’m the news
in my rat-stabbin’ heels

My fly: Martini, dry
Noise, boys, they’re my toys
in my rat-stabbin’ heels

(Next day, hell to pay
‘Scara ruined, all raccooned
Wha’happened to my heels?)

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil