I am a hummingbird

with one hundred pounds wings

And I sing, oh i sing!

Much like a caged bird

Within my own ribs

my own bones!

Oh, a bitter taste

in the depths of my throat

With a key

Held to my thin wrists

It fits, oh it fits!

As I paint the walls red

I hum that old Johnny Cash Song

Stuck in my head

Like a splinter

Like litter

Baby, I don’t feel a thing

Nothing past the sting

I am a hummingbird

With one hundred pound wings

My heart breaks, oh it breaks!

With any slow in pace

It begs for the fast lane

Begs for something more

Than this tune and this taste

—See my scars?

Beauty marks

Like the stars!

Upon the sky

The World’s flesh

Burned and seared

And waiting to die!

But aren’t we all

just marked by dying things?

We are all born

Of dying things!

From Adam to the stars

The sky’s scars

Or his beauty mark

Born with death

In the folds of our flesh

Born with shame

In the folds of our brains

But with this key

I open the door

A red door, red door!

As red as my knees

As they kiss the floor

And beg

Oh my Lord, set me free

just set me free!

I am a hummingbird

With one hundred pound wings

My heart breaks for speed, I know

But living in the fast lane

Will only make you slow

© Jenna Allie 4/21/2011

I am a murderer.
Clenching my fists,
I made a bed
And killed myself in it.
Sheets that once held goodnight kisses
And rosy morning cheeks
Fell victim to restless legs,
Twisted in agony.

I am a hunter.
Following my own track marks,
I shot myself down.
I kissed each vein
With the tongue of a syringe
And purged its belly
Until a brown river
Emptied into my blood.

I am a dying woman.
Hanging my heavy head
Over  crumpled green towel,
I collapsed on a carpet covered in clothes
That were hastily stripped off and tossed aside.
I knelt amongst the tattered tees
And the grass stained denim
That reeked of slow defeat.

I am a prisoner.
Pulling my curly hair
Taut in tired fists,
I freed every bit from my scalp.
Running blades across my skull,
I nicked my tender skin
Like dancing through a rose garden
Until there was nothing left but raw flesh.

I am a thief.
Staring at a stranger’s reflection,
I saw body bags beneath her eyes
And lids that closed like coffins.
A ghostly girl,
A stolen soul,
A blank mask,
A hood of bone.

©Jenna Allie

That night
is stuck in my skin
like the drunk tattoo
a hangover wakes up to.
The more time that passes,
the more it sinks in.

The night I denied being a woman
was the night you insisted on being a man.
I laid beneath your body,
a sleeping child
with limp limbs
and a body no longer mine.
That night, I wished I was no body
but I was less than that
I was your body.

The silence rested between us
like a gun
aimed at your gut.
Every bit of strength I had in my tongue
formed only one weak word,
No.
The word tore through me like a bullet,
leaving shrapnel in my lungs.
I waited for you to collapse
into the three am darkness,
to fall to the floor
a defeated man.

But your hips moved
as if my lips had not,
and you pinned me to the floor boards
like those butterflies I killed
in biology class.
I know how sick I felt
when I plucked their frail bodies
from the noxious mason jars
and pinned them to some cardboard
like cheap decorations
that never lived at all.
I wonder if you felt sick too.

I know your hands
have the potential to hold
but I only felt them
in purple palm prints
bruised across my skin.

I know that night
the ***** blinded you
but I thought
maybe you would read my tears like braille
and feel fear move beneath your fingers,
my fear, my hideous fear.
But you didn’t,
you wouldn’t feel it.

That morning you awoke
with a convenient case of amnesia
and you didn’t,
you wouldn’t remember
but I can’t,
I won’t forget
and I hate you for that.

I hate the way you feel in my flesh.
I hate the way you look in my head
I hate the way I look now too.

Time has passed since that,
this has set in
and the only thing I hate more
than waking up to you that morning
is me
for letting you in.

©Jenna Allie

I have heard your Name

all of my life,

sometimes through open palms,

sometimes through clenched fists.

I listened

until my prayers sounded

more like fear than worship,

I listened

until when I bowed my head

it looked as if I was flinching,

is this what You wanted for Your children?

And so I grew,

my tongue becoming a sponge

wringing out praises

that washed my face

but never cleansed my sins

because they were only words

and I have since learned

that You hear me in a language

my tongue was never fit to speak.

I was a fool

who believed You were her Psalms

sung over yesterday’s blasphemy,

who believed You were his Sunday’s best

covering last weeks adultery,

a fool who believed a Rosary

was nothing more than an accessory.

And so I grew, and gradually we stopped speaking

I filled the the silence with anything I could reach for

I filled my bed with different men

and knelt before them

for too many years

convincing  myself they were searching for my soul

with their hands on my skin

but by morning those twisted sheets

only filled me with knots.

I filled my arms with junk

until my veins were swollen.

I followed my track marks

thinking they were leading me to heaven.

I was a hunter

whose hunger never stopped

until the day I shot myself down and

I sunk beneath my body.

I thought it was luck

that woke me up,

and I wondered where the hell You had been

where was my white light, my angel, my saving Grace?

And so I grew, seeing my angel came

through the body of a man

who pounded on my chest

and breathed his life into me

until my lungs opened like the gates of Heaven

and he said I let out a noise that sounded like a demon

but I started to have the feeling it was Mercy.

And so I grew, walking down a different Road

crying how there were too many cracks on this path

never realizing it was Your bones

that I felt breaking beneath me

and when my feet were dragging

that was just me fighting to walk on my own

when You refused to stop carrying me.

And so I grew, not knowing Your Name

but crying out for You

in language not fit for this world.