Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sometimes it takes distance to bring fury.
The way my mother boils thinking back to what my father said to his children
     When we still were children
     And she hid behind a glass of wine and solemnity.
There's a quavering fire in her voice now when we talk about his **** fits
     replacing her quavering smallness from then.

When a lanky café singer
     who loved Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds
Stole my breath
     … and something small and soft and white from me in a Monterey
     Monterey parking lot
I cried
I hid
I scrubbed
But you had better believe
I burn.
It wasn't my fault his hands were warped and crusted with filth.
His touching me
     did NOT make me filthy.

When the curly haired beauty
     with his biting, crinkling, smiling eyes
     that flash above his mischief mouth
Poured all his sweetness onto me
     Just to have me shocked at the bruises
     Purple and green and sudden on the heels of his softness ,
I was lost and confused
     and blamed myself for his
     swaddle-****** blows
I found my brimstone, hours later
     Lapping at my lips after a cardboard confrontation
Just because you have a vulnerable heart
     doesn't mean you have to be a coward.

     Just look at me.
I'm trying not to think about him, but I know his eyes, his mouth, his energy is there in the back of my mind.
Like a finger scraping down my spine
Like ignoring the lyrics of a song when you can feel the bass reverberating in your stomach
It's that nervous tossing and turning exhaustion after a *** of black coffee has left you buzzing
I can pretend
But who's going to buy that when you can see the mosquitoes prickling and buzzing about my cerebellum?
Sometimes I miss the abusive men in my life.
It's like the difference between having a bouquet of flowers and a broken heart... Or just a broken heart.
I miss having a sweet-faced boy sing to me, even if he assaulted me.
I miss being told I'm beautiful by the farmer's son even if he forced blow jobs on me through tears.
I miss coffee and books in the park with the boy who made me search for him in a nightgown in a snowstorm.
I miss the sweet dreams because even if they were just dreams, all I have now is nightmares.
How gently the rains of your face fall upon me. How sweet the dew of each kiss. How nourishing your body. Your chest and torso, broken bread. Your scent coils and creeps from you and I, buried in your crevices, drink it in. The intimacy of kissing your curls and the delicacy of meeting your lips. They all fill me. Sustain me.
I swallowed a pebble in a garden today. It was hard and thick and the graininess of it scraped against my teeth. I ***** the stones back up, shiny with bile. Perhaps I'm just tired.

I retch on cue and he smiles
Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you!
Calling burns.
Sunset leaks from my lips at the touch of your name.
Orange sky fills my throat and belly and soft wisps of clouds puff beside my Cupid's bow.
You are the glow brimming along the edges of a dark world.
The precipice of peace and fire, tickling the jagged upcroppings on the horizon.
Melted sunshine, you overflow.
Liquid wax and flowers.
Passes between our lips.
You are treacherously beautiful
My tragic aubade.
Art might be beautiful as long as it's true.
I might hope I'm Sylvia Plath.
But at the end of the day I'm just an emotional wreck hoping my neurosis sounds like poems.
Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you!
Next page