i know that
most days
the cathedral of your body
with all its dips and curves
forgotten staircases
and ripped velvet covers
on the splintered pews
is hard to love

and there are days
where you wish that your
body would have manifested itself
as a palace
made of ivory and bone
with great empty halls
that would host nothing else
but your anguished cries
and empty stomach

but these things
are incapable of filling you up
because it is hard to sustain yourself
on bitterness and past scars alone

so i say to you
my friends
brothers and sisters
my lovers
and those living in the wastelands
of themselves

cast aside these
things for you are not a church
or a palace or a temple

no
you are something
much stronger and vast
grow yourself into a forest

turn all the sleepless nights
and breakdowns and hospital visits
and suicide attempts
and those traintracks of scars
into the great twisting trunks of trees

grow yourself as big and bold
as you need to be
protect yourself
wrap up all your sharp and soft
edges and corners
into the bark of mother nature

become a forest
because
through fire and drought and storm
and flood
the forest always comes back
even the charred remains of trees
stand strong

so
i say to you
with your dark circles
and long sleeves
and chest hidden behind a binder
with all your scars
and imperfections
be a forest
because
a forest is unstoppable
it always comes back
it always grows back

and so will you

Some might call it Karma
         And for some it could be Fate
          Or perhaps a Poison Apple
        that you didn't know you'd ate

             It could be I used Magic
           and I cast a few Dark Spells
          and perhaps a Poison Potion
          or a Demon Curse from Hell

          I might have asked a Genie
           in a bottle for his wishes
         or asked a nasty Witch to help
           with pretend Princess kisses

I could have summoned Moaning Ghouls
      who'll haunt you in your sleep
      or coaxed a Vampire from his lair
              to bite you really deep

           While all this could be true
              as Fairy Tales might seem
               but trust me when I say
            this nightmare's not a dream

              You're feeling really bad
              your life is such a mess
            I slaughtered you with ink
            that is laid upon your chest

             My words they still linger
         like the banshees in your head
           to haunt your every thought
         with the sweat that fills your bed

             Her names Poetic Justice
                her poison is my pen
          and you might be quite terrified
               while I am feeling Zen

           Of course you know that she
         is best when she's served cold
          to keep you all the company
            you need when you are old

        Now your life is crumbling down
         from wicked lies that past those lips

               It wasn't even a challenge
                      for these poetic
                        ....    fingertips

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved 2016

I've lost another dear friend,
Another kindred spirit,
To the culling of this worsening
****** epidemic.

No more new poems
Waiting in my inbox.
No more just checking in.
No more redemption.

Just another empty hole
Pierced through our lives
Taken by the tip
Of a needle.

I am a poet
and you should know it
Though do you?

Reading whispered lines
rehearsed by years and time
by my  Roma traveling mind..
unraveling our secret wishes
and sending hand blown kisses

Metaphors they seep my veins
and a poet who is this unchained

Makes you believe
in stories of their Poetry in Motion
And lovers foolish notions
a Gypsy Magic potion
fills your senses
with bloodstained, tearfilled wrinkled paper

Crumpled in a bin
Your heart ...
along with your heart
.....that I pretend to win

Read my words but don't believe
That I will stay
I'll always leave

you at the end
thank you my Poetic Friend

Your affection I do not feign
within my deep and darkest veins
I bleed this Poetry for you

My Gypsy heart will not be still
It seems to have it's own free will
And I am just a poet...living Magic in my words.

Cherie Nolan © 2016