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 Dec 2018 Michael King
Ally Ann
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't
 Nov 2018 Michael King
Ciel Noir
A dragon deep inside, it's true
I know you are a dragon too
And when we do what dragons do
I feel that savage part of you

All woven up in twisted seam
Waiting in darkness deep, unseen
So civilized, that's how we seem
But we are dragons when we dream
They say you can't fall anymore than Rock Bottom
But I've painfully crashed a thousand times, and
melted into the Earth's Core; filling the cracks
With liquefied remains of what I became...a failure.

My broken pieces caught in alluring lies
and tangled Bed Sheets

Rock Bottom is every bed
A boy has invited me in
Because I could not accept
God's knock on my chest.

Rock Bottom is every cigarette
I've shakenly put between my lips
Because I could not let
God's words fill me.

Rock Bottom is each step away
from my Body
Because my soul-my remains
Are left alone above someone's covers.

My soul is locked away in a room
I can never return to.
It's been captured in his bed.
So I fill myself with broken glass
hoping the reflection of what once was
shines through.

I drown myself in self-deprecation
Praying that a form of baptism
Will return my soul to me...

But it wont.
Not until I open my chest,
Not until I fill my lungs
with scripture.

My soul was captured
Because God told me
Who the Devil was...
Charismatic, body like a snake, and
Eyes filled with love...maybe lust?

But the thought of happiness captivated me
And comfort was found in his arms...
I ignored God- calling him a fool.

Now, I must heal and find my soul
Because I didn't listen the first time.

I open my chest
My lips spill with alcohol soaked apologizes
And He still holds me,
Cares for me,
He has not Forsaken me...
like I had Forsaken myself.
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
 May 2018 Michael King
Stephanie
Dont open my eyes
Dont move a muscle
Pretend to sleep
Hope with all my might
Just leave me alone
I dont want to be touched
I dont want to be for your profit
I am just a good little girl
I am not your slave
I am not your toy
I want more
I want my freedom
I can't take this pain inside
Are you done yet
The blood on the sheets
The blood on my legs
Remind me what a good little girl I was for you
I hate you
I hate myself more
I want to be strong
I want escape
I want to tell
I never will
These secrets
This pain
This fear
I will carry to my grave
Like a good little girl
Based on my experience in childhood prostitution
 Apr 2018 Michael King
SoVi
friends conversing around us with lifelines
their phones hiding their discomfort and anxiety
tapping your shoulder, beaming up at you so friendly
the whole time your talking i drone out your voice with music.



© Sofia Villagrana 2018
Part of Conflicted Conversations collection.
 Apr 2018 Michael King
Ann Beaver
If I could love
the limping
ugly
afraid
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns

If I could let
the transparent
clawing
screaming
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement

If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see

Then.
Then, I could be free.
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