I came into this world holy,
screaming, close to dying, dead,
don’t think i’m afraid
to leave it the same way
in decades to centuries
they’ll paint me gazing,
serpent around my waist and neck
secretly an artist's carnal sin
my skin is dry and blemished now
but i’m no less celestial
my hands bleed because i pick at them;
I’ve bloodied oceans before.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
still, i wish flowers grew from my veins
and curled around my wrists like vines - no snakes
i’ve spent so long in my room that i don’t
feel like i’m natural anymore
it’s been months since i first wrote about you
and days since i mentioned you to him
i know where i stand now, it’s on glass
i bet you wished flowers sprouted from the red
i’m not the same soul i was at eleven
sinister motives wire their way through
my nerves, my senses, the blossom in my hair
at least i think you’re learning of love
rapunzel in the tower, you’re acres away
through controlling thorns and misjudgement
i’ll find you with your hair down and gasp
because until now, you weren’t one for metaphors.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Adonis across the room,
light, laughter, and hushed hair
unassuming, softly spoke
let me be your Aphrodite
and your Persephone
when you dip into other worlds at night,
your girlfriend made of gold
too fragile to closely touch
I’ll take all thirds of the year
we don’t need a king; of gods or Solomon
you can’t wash me from your lungs
Adonis, incapable of being alone.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Did he want me or the thread around my fingers?
abandoned, and I let it twist around my throat,
born again from the ashes and sand
a goddess, alone
Does this vine wreathed god want me
or is he driven manic with lust when he sees
the way I tear the flesh of survival between my teeth,
akin to the myths of him?
I can taste wine on the roof of my mouth
and religious ecstasy in my lungs,
but I can feel turns and terrors of my own in my bones
and a beast encased in my ribs.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
Iphigenia, with your sloping eyes
and tripping, lively, lovely name,
blushing bride turned lamb for slaughter,
murdered on your wedding day
Iphigenia, the favoured priestess
devout and born from strength,
but it was not enough to stop the stumble
that would signify your untimely death
Iphigenia, star-crossed with a goddess
and double-crossed by a father
to be wedded to the best of the Greeks,
but the huntress demanded slaughter
Iphigenia, can you forgive me?
you were only a girl, still tied down by youth,
slain on an altar, to be another victim of war
and I didn’t stop the hands that grasped you.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
your hands pulled me apart at the seams
unpicked each stitch with a touch so soft
until I shook and my breath came out in ice
then you ripped what was left to ****** shreds,
your eyes undressed each disguise of mine
replaced my duplicity with biblical truths
I have one apology sent weeks (years) ago
and an inability to feel at peace or to sew
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC