Sticks and stones
Is what they say
looking down as they throw
A cliche for strength in her face
Words they can't even begin to understand
No matter how hard they try
A pointless attempt
Until they've felt the sting of words lash like a belt when they hit
Their every defense
Causing doubt to the extent
Where they look in the mirror and the voices
Others opinions becoming the definition of what their worth is
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
Oblivious to the fact she stares at a razor blade
While inside her mind all the names
Contemplating death of a being
with no realized purpose
Heartlessly their hate holds her captive
Sentencing her to a fate of silence
For whenever she opens her mouth to speak
Automatically she considers the negative feedback she'll receive
And quickly stops herself before the words fall out
At least someone has self control
The sea of insecurities she has to dive into everyday
To those who avoid her like the plague
Quick with the stones they cast
That the flaws they antagonize her for are of her choosing
So she's been branded
Hot and searing
What it feels like to be judged
As they create opinions regarding her existence
But a lack of acceptance is to blame
She prays for anything
Any way to escape
The constant ache, the ever present pain
Desiring to be invisible just for a day
In the end it's just a wish
she goes off like a bomb in her school
One last cut, her last breath,
She blew up like a fuse
At all of those who ever judged her
Tormented her everyday
But when the report was filed and neatly put away
It was her who was held at fault
Never once was it taken into account
The triggers that were pulled by her murderers mouths
Sticks and stones
That's all they said
In one last guilt ridden breath
As they notice her blood left on their hands
Denying her perfection
Allowing her to believe death was worth it
To escape the hell in which she lived
Literature lulled the longing; left some life.
Eliot spoke of hollow men that could be mutilated but whole. Tempting!
Auden lamented that despite the wish to turn back time we cannot stop clocks,
Volatile as we are: love does not last forever.
Every word etched upon the page made me realise I was not
Miss Havisham; but in my pusillanimous dress I kept close
Every touch and promise, and the deepest secret nobody knew.
Heaney enticed me with warm thick slobber; yellow in the sunshine, but
Eyes not mine own met me in mirrors and I felt sad that
Reality is not a poem, or a piece of prose and despite looking deeper
Each desire reflected back at me were ones I dare not meet in dreams.
Tennyson's Lady of Shallot weaved its magic but not enough for you to keep an
Old wife. I lost my glow, although even now, my lights still twinkle on dark nights in
Dickens' London. Red lights in dark doorways telling tales of a wronged
Rebecca, Jane or Moll all with different dimensions and
Each with her own story to tell, like me,
Although none of it really matters in the end does it?
Maybe now it is time to yield.
I am from unconditional happiness
frantically spinning in amusement park rides,
lemonade and ice cubes in wine glasses,
attractive titanium-blonde mystery solving in River Heights
and Morgan le Fay’s adventures.
I am from sweaty and sticky humidity
countless of mosquito bites criss crossing my spindly legs
bloody scabs and sucking up tears
a fierce loyalty to the tomboy mentality.
I am from an irrational love of horses
and an irrational fear of bikes
I am from belting the Beatles with my father
and crooning Troy and Gabriella’s duets with my friends
I am from awkwardly fitting clothes
awkwardly chosen outfits
an oblivious confidence,
ignorant to the importance of identity.
I am from first crushes and first mistakes
disastrous smokey eyes
and sex ed from Yahoo Answers
I am from learning and adapting to apathy
which I found to be much more acceptable.
I am suppressed passion and expressed passion
I am obnoxious laughter intermingled with uncontrollable tears
I am a disgruntled hipster living in fear of the word/world
I am a unique fearless monster
I am pretending to hate and attempting to love
I am trying to prove my worth
I am a great wave of emotions, a flurry of ideas and intense thoughts
I am a tinted car window
I am conditional happiness
I am lost and cannot be found
‘twas blind but now I see
Ashes on the ground
what was lost would never be found.
Thick, dark smoke
swam in and out of our guts,
the searing pain at the sight of it ingrained in our hearts.
The buildings were razed to the ground.
Early hours of yester years
christmas period, he recalled
at the stroke of the mid-night exactly
the disturbing sounds came.
Voices and chatter was at its loudest,
he curiously stepped out of his apartment.
His sight was greeted with smoke,
his nose awoke fully the rest of his half-asleep senses.
Fire, he saw.
Walking people on fire
stood still and stared
unable to run forward and help.
His ears vibrated at the sounds of approaching foot-steps.
He could see people pouring buckets after another
on people and the buildings.
Soon, the police
and the fire men came.
The fires vexed.
The screams we heard from those inside the buildings ceased, those who worked late into the night.
Hose after hose
Ladder after ladder
till the second hour
when it flamed out.
It grew higher and higher,
darker and thicker
till the third hour
when the white smoke prevailed.
Yellow stripes made by the police contained the curious crowd.
Ambulances struggled to revive the fainting people.
Some where in the crowd the man stood.
He keep his head down
a tear trickled down face.
He had seen fires kissing flesh
and properties transforming to ash.
He witnessed live death
and fires blazing bright.
He saw what he saw.
The World Trade Center was gone.
May God grant you all the fortitude to bear the loss.
September 11, 2001
Even if you cannot shape your life as you want it,
at least try this
as much as you can; do not debase it
in excessive contact with the world,
in the excessive movements and talk.
Do not debase it by taking it,
dragging it often and exposing it
to the daily folly
of relationships and associations,
until it becomes burdensome as an alien life.
Trust is dead and gone
Buried like the corpse of the girl next door
Headless body holding no secrets
The smile that thrills me is the smile that kills me
With the eyes haunting my waking, my sleep
Such beauty held in the petri dish
To kiss the headless corpse of trust
To taste the bitter burn of lust
I die inside with every thrust
The knife in my back, the gun to my front
oh oh my love
I was crushed by your velvet glove
Swallowed whole by the tombs in your marrow
6 feet under with insatiable hunger
I tend to wonder..
Where do you ghostly things go in your lifelong slumber?
The unknown holds the needle that contains the anesthesia
23 doses and the mystery lingers
Father turned my soul into a succubus
Dropped me from the precipice
Grew wings on my way down
Now I haunt your home town
Sinking in spacetime
Wine and jazzy bass lines
Resonate from the street
Into ya feet
Until you CANNOT accept defeat
My weapon of choice is a voice that haunts the spirit in whispers
Leaking through the vents in your house
You're chest is a ghost town.