Adena M'lynn's Voice

  My friends and I once made pilgrimages to midnight movies. We claimed Highland Park Village in Dallas as our place, like our church. then chased the madness to Los Angeles,  to New York City’s screaming sidewalks,  and across the ocean to London’s Ritz Cinema at Leicester Square, where lips kissed the screen. Special times. Remembering that season with laughter. I laced myself into Lil Nell, tap-danced my heart out— fishnets laddered, glitter in my teeth belting lines I had no business keeping quiet, without a singing voice, mind you. And sure, some theaters tried to ban it—but you can’t ban sequins, you can’t outlaw toast, and you sure as hell can’t silence a crowd that knows all the callbacks louder than the film itself. And now— the poem…     “Midnight Mass (in Fishnets)” 😉 by Adena M’lynn Ladies and gentlemen— creatures of the night, misfits, rebels, corset saints and garter-belt prophets— welcome to the church of  Science Fiction/Double Feature! Thi...

by Adena M’lynn Life is nothing more than strings of moments threaded like popcorn on a Christmas tree— fragile, uneven, handmade. Some pieces are sweet, coated in sugar like laughter shared under July stars. Others are burnt, bitter— words we wish we hadn’t said but still string up anyway. We pass each other like hands threading the next kernel, not knowing if we’re adding to something beautiful or just trying to keep the thread from breaking. People come and go— but like ornaments packed away each year, some return with new cracks, different colors, the same name. And still, the garland grows. Changing, but never really changing. Memory is sticky like sap— you can’t touch someone without carrying a piece of them with you. Love is the space between the knots, grief is the popcorn that falls off unnoticed, and forgiveness is tying the thread again even when your fingers shake. We hang each year like it’s the last, hoping the lights still work, knowing some bulbs have burned out, but tr...