It must never break-
It must never break-
Part of my mind is awake
trying to stop what is happening.
Silver and shiny,
bright and white,
I twirl it between my fingers.
Snap out of it-
Snap out of it-
Warming,
Burning,
Stinging,
Stop.
I feel darkness.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC
You cower in the corner
of the dimly lit room;
flinching, snarling,
like a wild animal.
"Poor thing," murmur the people
passing by the glass,
"Poor thing."
Their voices
hollow and empty,
robotic sympathy.
I come up to the glass,
stroke it fondly,
and begin to sing.
The ancient words
heavy and sticky,
like honey
on my lips.
You stir,
humanity and lucidity
showing in your
forest green eyes.
Your hand on mine
slips through glass,
and I grab it.
I drag you out
of your cage,
and you stretch your wings.
We smile
at one another,
then I take you home
with me.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
Boys like girls
Or are they boys?
Take no heed, take no heed;
Have another hurricane on me.
It's all the same
Down here
On Bourbon Street.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
I see the way you
look at me.
I smile and laugh
right in your face.
Taunt me with freedom,
will you?
You shall not
conquer me!
You have enslaved
my body.
You may never have
my soul.
You circle my cage,
like a hungry cat.
This canary sings to you,
challenges you.
**** me if you dare,
for our roles will change
in the next life!
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 8:50 PM UTC
A regal woman brushes her daughter’s hair –
waves of golden grain –
a child with eyes bright
like the sea.
A good child, ever so obedient,
she heeds her mother’s words,
though wishes for emancipation.
Womanhood come soon enough,
and the daughter breaks away
(lips pale pink).
With room to breathe
she grows, becoming brighter
and stronger with each triumph.
Swift as an eagle,
the young woman takes the world
by storm.
Others watch with
envious eyes,
smirking when
she becomes conflicted
and starts to
disfigure herself.
To their amazement,
she rises once again
(lips ruby red this time).
As years pass,
her wisdom grows,
and she becomes a woman.
Though rebellion and revolution
shall never be left behind,
peace comes twice over, for
a steep price
(now a dark, solemn crimson).
Determined to never fade
nor pass the torch,
she clings to youth and
obsess over beauty.
Now false and hollow,
she dabbles in the blood
spilt by martyrs and saints,
willing to paint herself red.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 8:47 PM UTC