You gave me a copy of your final art exam piece,
It's still stuck right there, you know,
On the wall beside my bed.
A scene of nature.
A gentle stream.
There's a mountain in the background, with a castle on top.
And me, in the foreground,
Oh, how lovely of you.
I remember, you took my photo in front of that big green tree.
In the woods by my house.
I wore only shorts and a vest, despite the cold weather.
(I remember the goosebumps.)
I couldn't wear much, you didn't want my clothing to be too visible;
You wanted to transform my body, into the trunk of a tree.
As if, I wore
only bark and moss.
Oh, but why, oh why?
When people saw my bare arms and shoulders, you told me that
they asked you, whether I was naked when you took it.
I remember, when you told me what they'd said,
I've never liked my face in that picture.
What is my eyebrow even doing?
And I've never quite been sure about the shape of my cheeks.
In fact, if anything,
I've only ever really liked my hand.
My wrist, quite thin,
and somehow my hand has a delicate look about it;
The fingers curved at the ends,
The cold had made them pink and soft.
Oh but, why, oh why, Darling?
Why of all things,
Did you have to make me a tree trunk?
Strong and sturdy.
With the moss,
And that other tree, the one that clung to me,
Twisting, growing around me.
There's nothing I can do now,
but stand here and watch you evolve.
Oh, you told me to get help baby, but what if I didn't want it?
To me, there's only ever been one solution.
But, you made me the tree trunk,
It's what you did.
And now you need me,
Now you grow from me.
Now you cling to me.
No, I cannot stir now.
For, I am a tree trunk, (I need to be strong and sturdy)
And now I know, only too well, that if ever I were to fall,
I would be bringing you down with me.
Searching through his bloodied clothes.
Searching for what is left.
With the rage, I cut into his chest.
I want his heart, for safety and comfort.
I rip it out and cradle it
I want it for others but I shall never reveal them now.
I love very bit of this heart.
You say I am a beast?
Look at you, I know you have done sins.
I am a dark being.
I love the screams and
I just don't know what happened to that little girl you had once seen.
Now crying and imbalanced.
I have made a doll.
It has the heart that I cradled.
It looks just like him.
He talks to me.
Calls me "Little Dove"
At night 'he' comes alive and kisses me with those sharp teeth.
Killing me with his poisoned kiss.
That wretched smile drives me insane.
His a demon, bursting out if my chest.
Putting his bloody doll like hand on my pale white cheek.
I am paralyzed in time.
I love him ever so.
He says to me that me can make me a world of blood.
He makes me dream of haunted things.
Wounds, stitches, knives and more lovely,
I am happy that he can make my world come true.
I love that I am crazy, because he makes me feel better.
I love you, demon of my dreams.
He has left me.
Without no warning,
just left me in this tattered white dress stained with our blood.
He said he will come back.
He never returned.
I still hear he voice at night yearning for his kiss.
Wanting to feel his warm body against mine.
Feeling his doll-ish hand caressing my body.
I awoken to a ear wrenching noise.
I found his dying on the ground
He said he loved this dark and damned side of me,
and to let go of this love that we had.
I went to the window and started sobbing.
Harder and harder.
No tears slid down my face.
I saw what he was dying for.
He had made me my world of hurt.
I love you Abaddon.
Thank you for loving me.
I miss you
Like a clock misses the time
Like a lion misses its voice
Like a heart misses a best friend...
I would have taken a bullet for you
Instead you are the one behind the trigger
A smile on your face when you pull your finger back
Shoving hatred into my heart.
All of a sudden you hate me
I will never understand why
I wish you would have told me
I am trying to forget you
I want all love I have for you to fade away
I miss missing you
Sometimes before it gets better the darkness gets bigger...
My whole life is darkness right now
When will it get better?
Like the turning sheets
of a monthly calender,
life has layers after layers.
How would he know that ,
just a callow youth on sea shore
playing with smooth pebbles,
that was when he saw her first.
She was the woman who
taught him, whole cities lay merged
within a woman, like wave after wave,
she was a mystery like life itself.
There is no way to decipher.
They first met
in the city of light,
Diwali lamps were lit
in all courtyards,
It was an immortal moment
in his life, he realized,
leading him gently to the light
which evaded him though he assiduously sought,
she parted without a word
Did she belong to someone else?
The city of sorrow,
yet again brought them face to face
Ridden with angst of existence
he stumbled, was about to fall, then
he could experience her iron will
more than a woman, she stood, like a pillar of strength,
she took his weary head in both hands, pressed to her breast,
pulled out the crown of thorns, their paths
diverged again, inexplicably complex, was their relationship.
In the city of guilt,
an unexpected meeting again,
they were surprised. Here, they were on their own.
They wanted to take their lives in their hands,
in spite of the currents that pulled them to different directions.
But he knew all the while that her self, was divided between
three cities within in her.They co-existed, Light.Guilt.Sorrow
will their love survive? Not all loves are intended to live long,
a parrot in his tree of loneliness always whispered.He pretended he didn't hear,
A game of dice, almost was their lives, mysterious forces did bet on their love,
Having traveled through fire and water, she was beyond pleasure and pain,
Kali with a fiery nose stud, female power that overcomes all pain,
she became, that shattered his dreams for them.
He was thankful, to be awakened by her,
the light she lit, burned bright, within.
Now or never.He crossed the river.
Deliverance comes from an inner source,
otherwise all will end as an idiot's tale
Her flame lighted his wick, liberated him.
Fire spitting dragons one can tame,
but in the duel with demons of life,
it could be a blood letting end,
call it play of chance or what ever
they are the easy game here
He packed his backpack and
started to move eastwards,
Westward bound was she, invariably,
her heart had still a song left for him,
the void was filled, the pain was stilled
with anesthetics of mind.
Just for one last time they went to the beach,
watching the sunset was their good bye to each other.
They never met again.
We argued over that Marc Bolan record
That I knew wasn’t mine anyway
We argued over that Marc Bolan record
It’s my demented way of passing the day
I love to see the lines on your forehead appear
They run so incredibly deep
I love to see the lines on your forehead, my dear
When you’ve got the bit between your teeth
So when I hear ride a white swan
I can’t help but think of your face
Fighting your corner for T.Rex
That cosmic dancer in outer space
I see timber, I see my Dad.
The wrinkled grain grin
sits lost on his face,
he’s selling his timeless record collection:
the finest midlife crisis since records began.
Lined bits of paper with a pen and plan,
bass players and guitarists are all being sold,
including the front man,
microphone, monitor and stand.
Under the slim light, what’s
going to be sold is exposed
ready for a thorough cleaning
of the black gold moulds.
None of us are allowed near, we have been told,
this is a strict operation and it’s under control,
he starts spouting tiny liner note quotes
none of us understand, we need a translator- grab your coats.
We returned to a mess of a man:
he did not go through with his midlife crisis plan.
His extra 3000 children in their sleeves
can sleep safe tonight knowing that everything will be all right.
the cold wind
lashing out at my face
makes me remember that whether I like it or not
My feet are long
Long enough to be considered big
Both my big toenails are ingrown
and none of my shoes fit right
On my right leg I have 38 scars
Some of them are so faint
They are almost gone
38 and even though I put every single of them there
not a single one
is my fault
On my left leg I have no scars at all
A blank slate
Marred only by a small
it wasn’t meant to be a literary device
My belly is a minefield of pimples and hair and scars and scars and scars
the beautiful thing sticks out farther than my face
it’s large enough to be considered fat
and none of my shirts fit right
Sometimes I feel bad for my breasts
Always squished under the same two bras
if i flip them around that means they’re not dirty anymore
My fingers are bony and thin
People recoil when they see them
They don’t bend the right way
And it hurts to hold a pencil
Maybe they’re ingrown too
My arms are
only one scar worth mentioning
and only worth mentioning
because it was the first one i put on myself
My neck is sensitive
and always sore
it sends a shooting pain down my spine
and i cradle it and ask
My face is bright
even if my eyes are dull
big and dull and blue with long lashes
too fucking feminine
i try not to make a 39th
its not my fault
i am beautiful
but beauty belongs to women
I don't believe in God.
I believe in dark skinned girls
That scream Leviticus at the two
Teenagers on my second bus home.
I believe in my mother heaving
Her woes while my father
Tells me to change the channel and
Stop being so bad at life, as though
Theres a syllabus I never studied which
Teaches you that the expensive apples
Are the sweetest and the 60c ones
Will leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
I believe that you can be bad at math
But good at physics because you know
That a stone thrown from x will weigh c
And therefore get to y within k amount
Y being you and c being me, naturally.
I believe that chewing on foil is bad
For your mouth but is a stress reliever
For all the times that your work has
Been ripped up and then thrown
Back at your face, as if symbolising
Your entire eduction.
I believe that there is a light at the
End of this tunnel but you've got to
Hold my hand while we feel the walls
For a switch.
A sadness in my heart tonight
must be told, then dim that light.
To never see its face again,
and feel the pain that eats within.
A tragedy befell, you see,
and stormy nights still torture me.
She fell and died while in my keep,
and now it haunts my every sleep.
Her face so blank and eyes opaque,
my heart fell hard, and then to ache.
No turning back what time hath wrought,
my constant conscience battles fought.
A fear of storms was Mollie's fate,
the night was dark, the hour late.
As thunder rumbled in her chest,
and her heart pounded in her breast.
To run and hide, but never from
the storm that was about to come.
She climbed atop a place to see,
what made this horror, what could it be.
But leashes length, a noose had made.
Fell to her death, no more afraid.
I found her hanging from the chair,
part of my soul still hanging there.
For simple errors can take a life,
trip up the stairs, slip of the knife.
I put the wrong leash on that night,
it strangled her, I took her life.
Forgive me my fellow poets for this unintentionally dark poem. The tragedy happened a year ago and I am still trying to find some closure. Mollie was a little mixed dog that I was fostering for a local shelter. She was kind and playful, but deathly afraid of storms