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Athena May 2022
There were not birds
or flies
or trees
or dirt
No people, nor comfort
or fear
or hurt
No love, no tears, no breaks or spills
no light
or dark
or homecooked meals
No hunger, or need
Desire, or ***
When the stars went out, I assure you:
There was Nothing Left.
Athena May 2022
There is a place where the flowers sing
-the trees sing
-the stones sing
but the olive tree does not sing
In the may we walk, by the well, then the spring
Drinking the water last April did bring
We walk down the path of the
Olive tree
and condemn ourselves to
There is a place where the flowers cry
-the trees cry
-the stones cry
but the olive tree does not cry
In the June we walk, by sun, then the sky
We walk down the path of the
Olive tree
and condemn ourselves to
Athena May 2022
Aghast, Agape, Aggrieved
The open mouth of the
Yawns at me (ME!)
Ice breath washes over my face
(It) smells like the sea
below where we know;
where creatures live
that do not
and never Grow
Athena Mar 2022
A shattered wing (of glass)
that never flew
and does not whisper to (or in) the wind
The ice-touched bird lent snow to branches
which wept songs that sang their sorrows
across the promised land
We drank the truths none dared to tell
(We didn't understand)
and dared to breathe the midnight waters
(the well was cold, our senses left)
Not night, but death;
our dying
Athena Mar 2022
We soften our No's
with Thank You's and apologies
We have to tell you we're important
to people like Mother and Father
before you see us as valuable
It's like being Someone's daughter
is more important than just being
But we're privileged, of course
We can have jobs like you
and isn't Free the Nip a thing, too?
'Feminism is outdated'
you say to all the women you claim
you never hated
You tell her to cover up
(she's just feeding her baby)
but you never think to look away
You use the bible as your excuse
but never want to pluck out your eye
or pay for your version of the truth
What's wrong with her?
Why is she so rude?
That's a funny question to ask
Let's not ask it twice
when so many women have bled
(and died, or worse)
for the simple act of being nice.
Athena Jan 2022
I want to bathe in the feeling
I get when I read
a paragraph of raw description -
emotions laid out on paper,
the smell of ink wafting around me.
The choked-up sensation
that swells and dips
like life is tangible and textured
and delicious.
The written rain that runs down my skin
is somehow more tantalizing than the reality
I face when I open the door and see
true storms
with lightning that lives, breathes, and breaks.
I want to drink down the words
on this page
and live on blackberry ink and
anonymous thoughts.
Athena Jan 2022
You and I were twisted, once
upon the inward swirling trunk
of an outward blooming tree
that held some rotted flowers
with mangled, slimy leaves
We felt the cool wind cutting -
and the eaves dripped acid down
(onto our waiting tongues)
The scalding sensation leaves a scintillating
taste on my tongue
You and I were tortured, once
upon the sunken ship of sorrows
we called a rose bush
(but it was a tree, wasn't it?)
When I pointed out this hole in our life,  
you said a thorn is a thorn
and it hurts all the same
You and I were traitors, once
twining two upon two in the untamed rows
that grew with an abandon we craved.
If it were a tree or a bush or a flower
with mangled, slimy leaves
I wouldn't know, and couldn't say -
I'd never dare.
You and I are twisted, still
with acid-coated tongues
and thorny thrills shooting up our spines
that chill in the wind as it blows
about the slimy, slithering leaves
we call our souls.
You gave me something wicked -
Now it's up to me to decide what to do with it.
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