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Batya Dec 2012
People ask me,
"Were you born here?"
And I want to say I was,
But this slight of my tongue,
This twist of speech betrays me.
A native loved one tells me,
When he sees the consternation
And despair plain on my face,
That it's only a lilt, not crippling, per se.
But how do I belong here
If I speak with the voice of there?
How do I pause the motion of this accursed pen
And set it scribbling instead from  right to left?
I laugh with them when they hear the way I say a word
And I try to say it the way that they do,
But my "ah"s are too drawn, my "l"s too conspicuous,
My "r"s are not deep enough, my "t"s are too reptilian,
Slippery like the tears I'd shed when they told me
I was writing my name wrong.
I knew no other place, and here I learned to hate,
But lately, for the past 5 years or so,
I've been ashamed of the thing that brands me-
אמריקאית, Amerika'it, American.
Batya Jan 2013
To a child, or a god- fearing man,
Responsibility is undue.
He has no life span,
And all wishes made-- come true.

A child learns the way
Of his father and his priest,
Then the man lives in decay--
That which feeds on fear to speak.

Thin air whispers in their ear-- prophecy;
For better, or maybe even for worse,
A king of men must bend his knee
Lest all bad fortune be a curse.

By the sight of a child, or a god- fearing man,
Black shadows lie in sharp relief.
By mine, though little do I understand,
Knowledge will forever trump belief.
Batya Jul 2012
Three shadows from a distant past,
Each  more solid than the last.
The first I knew for just one night,
His shadow longer than his mind.
The second, more substantial one,
Despite his heart, caused me to run.
The third and last of those above,
The one whom I am writing of,
Is more than just a fleeting dream.
They were three but it would seem
That one to me became more kin
Than those whose words I did not feel within.
Batya Dec 2012
Teach me all the history you like,
Tell me how the greats have all fallen.
Take me there-- to the battle sites,
Touch the pages when you hear them calling.

Rifle through the dusty, age- old tomes,
Read about heroes long forgotten;
Reach for naught but shelves of yellowed books,
Reel years back from the ones that you were caught in.

I shall speak just truths learned from the past,
I'll heed the sounds of silence echoed through the ages;
I'll sound a spring born anew at last,
And slice the sobbing, seared, scarred, sorry pages.

I shall listen when you whisper tales retold,
I shall learn from wasted voices, still unheard.
I shall love for as long as histories unfold
And live as long as the last pages are assured.
Batya Jul 2012
I cradle the cardboard cup in both hands
And bring it to my face. 
The warmth still lingering on my cheek,
I take a sip and swallow,
Ignoring how it scalds my tongue.
It burns a path through me
As I touch the cool metal of the kitchen counter,
And the caffeine courses through my veins
Never reaching my slumbering heart.
Batya Oct 2013
Shadows lie across the moon lit
Silver dust that shapes our dreams
And darkness moves like waterfalls,
Making nothing what it seems,

The sparkle in my eye like diamonds
Or light on water, black and white,
Beauty unveiled delicately,
I'm moved to flight, maybe I might.

This is a teardrop world
Shed from an eye that can behold
Beauty before it's born, imagination
Before it rustles gentle wings and they unfold.

A dome of sky is within reach,
Dark space and twinkling stars,
Horizons so close I cannot see them
Before the glassy planet shards.

This is the place behind my eyes,
My afterworld, my peace,
This is the place I've not yet shown you,
Perhaps I will, just in my dreams...
Batya Dec 2012
Words cut as sharp as knives,
Every dotted "i"
Stabs through the paper,
Right to the heart.
Batya Jul 2012
Minute by minute,
The long hand makes its way
Around the sun,
And I count the seconds 
Until I can get out of here.
Batya Aug 2013
Pain etched on a face
Clear, simple and dark as her days,
A mirror of sunshine
Breaks as a smile,
Breaks like a wave,
Breaks like the hope
That I imagine is her God.

Not the one inflicted on her body,
The one justifying
The bruises on her skin and heart,
The one in whose ghastly name
She conveniently suffers.

He is not the One, love,
Come with us,
We will carry you on our backs,
You will grow wings in time,
Your pain will heal.
Let me show you the One I know above,
I will show you that prayer is not a belt,
I will teach you to sing praises
Instead of agonies,
I will show you faith,
For I was allowed to stray
In order to discover
What is lost upon your captor.

Oh, how I longed to speak out,
To wear my immodest denim pants,
To sing with my seductive female voice,
To hug his little boy,
Oh, how I longed to throw in his face
That curse which he did make
By use of my Lord's name
In frightful vain,
And then I understood that if
A guest, one who could not be beat
Into compliance,
Do not dare to speak,
Then your rescue must be up to me.
For while strong and proud, poor lovely one,
You will not break your chains
And run away.
Batya Mar 2014
I'm not in love with him;
I'm in love with the idea of him.
But I still feel guilty when he texts.
Batya Mar 2017
The clock stopped

And was defibrillated by the breath
Of the materialized bundle of
Blue skin and slippery warmth and matted hair.

An eternity of pain that lasted hours
Turned to infinity of minutes of suctioning and flashing lights,
Then to days that felt like forever of hospital stays.

The timeless car ride home turned into
Equally long three hour lifetimes,
Each expiring with every hungry cry.

The rest of my life
Is punctuated by moments,
By such realizations as, that

This minuscule creature
Kicking staccato butterfly flutters
Now on the outside of my stomach
Traveled in a horseshoe pattern from the inside to get there;

That I've never felt like such a miracle
As when listening to tiny bellows
Pump air in and out, mechanically rhythmic,
Like a drummer at the band practice of life.
Batya Jan 2012
If I say no,
Please let it go-
It's personal.
Batya Feb 2016
Do we possess the power
To realize redemption
In the form of lists of traits and acts

("I will never"s)

Commanded by ourselves,
Expected by our elders,
Or will we

("How can I ever?"s)

Forever pass down flaws--
Habits, addictions,

Destined to repeat
Mistakes of generations?
Can we break
The chains
Of humanity,

So attached to our material face,
Those pieces of people that God created base?

Can we rise from the ashes of history
And genealogy,
And emerge in plumes of phoenix spirituality?

May we disregard our assumption
That our hearts were molded in order to harden

By hand of God, old age or beast?
May we achieve angelic simplicity
And simply be?
Batya Mar 2014
It's odd that in this age
Cheating is seen as
A necessity of success
And not an immorality.

I wish I could walk around
Every day, all the time,
With a cheat sheet in my back pocket
And key words scrawled on my palm.
Batya Mar 2014
Clutch, child,
Clutch with your diminishing strength,
Clutch with your breakable nails,
Clutch to your chest.

Clutch, child, hold it tight,
Before the nostalgia comes
And removes it from your sight.

Clutch the times, clutch the places,
Clutch Mother Gooses's wings,
Clutch Daddy knowing everything.

Clutch for dear life, your innocence,
Clutch all the things you've not yet given.

Clutch to your sweet heart
Whilst it's not yet tasted bitterness,
Clutch to your soul, dear,
Before it turns to heresy.

Clutch bright- eyed sincerity,
Clutch skinned knees and easy remedies,
And for the life of us, child, clutch me.
Batya Jun 2013
All who have felt pain know mercy,
Even the Devil burns in his own fire,
Merely averting from suffering a sympathetic eye.

All who have been victimized
Know well that pity is spared
Only for the lowest of the persecuted.

All who love their neighbors
Equally and as themselves
Seldom feel anything at all.

None have lived to understand
Anything, but the judgments passed
On other souls besides ourselves.

None have seen His face,
Prophesied into near- tangible form;
Describe it if you can.

Our Days of Judgment
Come and pass through ages,
This we know for certain.

We know that we feel and think
And teach what it is in our nature to discover,
For believed truths cannot be false.

We float as specks through time and space
And know nothing but our pains,
But preach these truths as they appear.

So say I, simply,
As a dreamer,
For I'm but a mere creation,

I see my people weeping, and I don't claim
Superior knowledge, but it seems to me
That we are not just collateral damage.
On the terrorism in my country.
Batya Mar 2014
Don't chase the ghost
That walks these hallowed halls--
She seeks a change.

She embarks on a quest
To leave and start all over again.

My name is Batya,
Beth was a freshman's frustration.
Let me make my own introductions--
I'm graduating names.
Batya Oct 2012
Darling, love, sweet lullaby,
I don't know what it's like to die.
Will it take long? Will it hurt? 
Will I just turn into dirt?
Will I still remain your wife,
And reunite in afterlife? 

Dearest treasure, sweetie pie,
Will you promise not to cry?
Will you try with all your might
To stay strong when I see the light?
Will you please hold your head high,
And certainly from pain not shy?

Though ignorant, I do know this-
Escaping is a sheerest bliss,
Not well afforded in one's life
For pride does come before all strife.
Though not deserving,  I suppose
I'll merit an early repose.

Angel with those eyes so sweet,
Please pray it to be swift and neat.
With pen in hand and tears in eyes,
I write to you 'fore my demise-
If wait you must, then be content,
Live life full and then ascend.
Batya May 2013
I think
We dream
Our lives
We live them.
Batya Apr 2013
It will happen in a moment
But I expect it will feel like a century,
And his sense of time will obviously be innacurate
And he will know that and so
He will stop trusting all of his other senses
(His eyes did not see the doctor's expression
And the way he approached;
He did not feel the hugs of the surrounding people
That crashed down on him like waves;
And his ears did not hear the final blow,
The final breath.)
And he will go into denial.
I will be battling my own shock
And trying to pick up his pieces and grieving.
Only he knows me well enough to know if
I will deny his denial, but then again
Maybe the shock I feel at the words spilling
Like blood from my pen has prepared me.
Batya Apr 2019
You leave me
Shell- shocked,
Like the ground on the field of battle
Absorbing what remains.

You leave me
In a state
Not unlike
The flight
Of a ladybug-
So swift, leaving you
If she had been there at all.

You leave me
Mouth agape
At the treasure that had been right at my fingertips,
At the sweetness that my tongue could have tasted,
That I could have filled my nose with all of your molecules,
That I could have filled my arms with every part of you,
That your laugh could have warmed my soul for just a little bit longer.
Batya Dec 2014
I want to be on the back of a whale
Surrounded by beaches and palm trees,
The only danger is coconut hail,
The only confinement- a warm breeze.
And if the volcano way back there erupts,
I’ll become a balloon and I’ll float off like dust,
And if the whale goes under a bit,
I’ll hold my breath and go under with it.
Batya Jul 2012
Memories come to life
in movies cast by furniture,
while my nightlight plays the role
of a projector, breathing life into my walls.
I realize, with a sharp intake of breath,
that my foot is dangling off the edge of my bed 
and yank it back under the covers
that I sleep under, despite the temperature.
When you're little, you're scared of the monsters,
but growing up is knowing exactly who they are.
Everything is so much scarier in the dark.
Batya Sep 2014
The notes caressed.
They opened windows
when I saw no doors.
They beat with my heart
and ran down my face,
wet and stinging and salty.
And even when they were too much
I could stand them when they were loud,
when they were hammers on my soul,
when I couldn't bear them to be gentle.
The notes could laugh,
and if I could see them,
some would look like my smile.
And when panicked they'd all left,
I snatched yet more out of the air
and held them to my chest.
They were sobs that held me
when my body wracked apart,
they were all that was left to love of me.
But now the pain has grown
too sharp to bear within,
now I'm all ache and no song.
All lonely nights of strangers
and dreams of those familiar
with no self of which to speak.
Faces have taken their place,
some for whom I care,
others less.
Now, if I'd let them in,
they'd worm their way into my cracks
and weaken me till shattering.
Now, they all sound like mistakes
and people's voices and things
I wish someone would frighten away.
The notes didn't matter so
when a man could take their place
and I knew who he was.
And they weren't needed
before I knew something was missing
and had at least a name to whisper.
But now the notes just hurt.
Batya Nov 2013
Winged eyes
Flutter, take flight,
Little butterflies,
Shadow and light.

Mini kaleidoscope,
Can't focus on both;
Prisms, reflections,
Creatures making connections.

Liquid emotion,
Lie detection,
Deceit and love,
Model hearts.

In each-- black holes, perhaps,
Vacuum the world;
Others' merely wander through  it
Under a cover of night.
Batya Apr 2013
My heart is a dam,
Yours is the mill that churns it-
Water and blood flow.
Batya Apr 2014
Time is the lemon juice
             To the salt that
                   Life pours on
                         The wounds
                                       It made.
Batya Jun 2012
We're always balancing on some ledge.
The moment we find a balance,
And catch a breath,
We turn around and, gasping,
Find ourselves on the edge
Of another dark precipice.

Certain ledges threatening my sense of security presently:
1. My bewildering love life.
2. Certain dictators with power over me.
3. The boring, seemingly never- ending summer stretching ahead of me.
4. Fear of conveying false emotions.
5. A unhealthy sleeping pattern.
6. A sense of obesity, coupled with a justified concern regarding different eating disorders.
7. A need and refusal of nicotine.
8. An overwhelming and rapidly reclining sense of loneliness.

Don't speak of ledges.
They're all around you,
Waiting for you to mistake a shadow for a solid step.
Proceed with caution,
For if you don't,
You'll soon wish that you hadn't advanced at all,
But merely remained in the safe tedium
Of the middle of that floor of holes.
Batya Mar 2016
For the aching hearts left wordless with no voice,
For the early morning hours, dark, promising to break,
For the flowers left unwatered, but not faded all the way,
For the young and hopeful, for those innocent in faith,
For the ageless, be they pages, names or graves,
For the smell of wet earth on any undiscovered shore,
For the babes born today and their grandchildren tomorrow,
For those capable of leading and those content to follow,
For the memories of the faces and the footsteps and the battles and the joy.
Batya Apr 2014
My heart is made of glass,
From grains of sand
Collected with care.
When it came time for it to flower,
It was raised carefully
To a lover's lips
And blown and blossomed.
My heart is now shaped,
It is molded
And will set in time,
But in order for it to be my own
I had to tell him goodbye.

My heart is oh, so fragile,
One touch and it could burst.
It seems that two days
Before I'm of legal age
I'm more frail than I was at first.
For while a rare touch
Would have shattered me then,
It will keep me whole today.

We're in the sun, now.
You have a finger on my pulse
So that I don't bleed out.
If you knew  how crystalline I am
I wonder if you'd let me drop.
You wrote the words to my heart,
The ones that were written on the sand,
You held the glass blower's hand,
You will be the one to set me,
And I trust you with all of my glass heart.
Batya Jun 2013
This soul you gave
Has lost its way.
It doesn't know who made
It anymore.

Hashem, this soul
Instead of purified
Is petrified,
And heavy and full.

This soul in me's got
A little identity crisis,
With matter and anger tugging war
With rightness.

Perhaps this soul
Is mean, unfaithful.
Created divine, it still can't find
The innocence to make it grateful.

This soul needs help to find it's way,
Restorer of essence to body from sleep,
Return essence to that godly piece,
Allow your presence within me to keep.
Batya Jun 2016
By whom, if not the dead?
In origin, to haunt--
To rise from the grave;

Adapted-- often thought of
Memories, things unrequited.
A soul tortured by objects
Is one who never-- even-- lived.

Haunted-- by whom
If not those left
Burnt, unburied,
Dead by theft?

Six million constant ghosts,
In addition to those
Left on speed dial on my phone,

Those placed on this earth, the
Who were cut down wearing green,

And the one whose deathbed
I attended--
Batya Apr 2014
The meteor is coming
Closer and closer,
The skies are humming;
You feel the earthquake
That will take down your house,
The ground is rumbling;
The stampede is ahead,
And you will be trampled,
Run fast, little girl, you're seeing red;
The barrel is pointed at your head,
The trigger is cocked
The finger tightens, you hear the shot;
It slides into your open blue vein,
It makes love with your blood,
You feel your life drain away;
You're in a two- person spaceship alone,
But somehow that meteor is out for your blood,
And you, silly girl, will get crushed.
Batya Jun 2013
I'd never thought in terms of luck
Until what was given to my peer
Was taken hastily from me.
I prayed for its return,
Upon which, once more, I proved unworthy,
For something better did escape me once again.
I freely sin, perhaps I'm shameless;
Alone in my willing, human ways.
I wish for darkness, with which to sweeten
The taste of the bitterness I bleed instead of grace.
Redemption's the word, but it's a roller coaster,
So to echo words of chosen ghosts
When perfection eludes me and I must beg for something more,
With my prayers answered, but my fingertips still beneath the stars--
True, he struck the rock,
And water gushed out,
Streams flowed abundantly,
But can he also give us bread?
?"מזמור ע"ח: "הן הכה צור ויזובו מים ונחלים ישטופו, הגם לחם יוכל תת

Psalm 78: "True, he struck the rock, and water gushed out, streams flowed abundantly, but can he also give us bread?"
Batya Jun 2017
Hardened men, softened
By a lash, by a glance

Dirtied, uncovered
Soft of heart, sharp of eye

Themselves betrayed
By the stab of a gaze

Calcified, petrified
Of letting the softness away.
Batya Oct 2012
The exile was not the punishment.
The return home was.
Batya Dec 2012
Pounding heart, diseased but strong;
She sees his hands and knows that they're where hers belong.
Under attack, she must get back
The things she felt before the virus killed her song.
Unraveling knots disturb her sleep;
A red haze on her young face as she gets to her feet.
She won't let go, through the vertigo
She clutches love and things almost too beautiful to keep.
I know her hands, I've heard her voice
When she called me back to her a hundred years ago.
I love her still and even will
Feel for her what she can't take and hide things she can't know.
She made mistakes, she lost her taste,
And now that she's finally hungry they take her food away.
In love , misused and bruised by hate,
A list of martyred lovers too long for her to say.
A veil of tears, a mask of fears,
Those who know her know she's not difficult to please.
She is shy, and if you ask her why,
She'll cry you tears enough to fill the seven seas.
She was ill and still is frail,
But when you've got eternity it's difficult to fail.
She survived, and she's alive,
With each past life she's gotten harder to unrail.
Batya Jul 2017
The howls, they

Filled the stale


Raked the oxygen

tanks, Scraped

the metal rails,

Whistled past our ears

as if they'd traveled back

from our futures

Shrieking simpler times.
Batya Sep 2016
convey, contain, explain the pain,
the unbearable straining 'gainst tons over weight,
like inevitable cracking 'fore porcelain breaks--
to slash 'cross the page like so many small veins,
to set ink a'flowing like filth in the rain,
to put words to paper (less likely to fade
than those meaningless noises that most people make)?

How lonesome, the cold sound, the poetry scratching
the sad, angry nib makes when blanks come a'bounding,
to conquer attempts made at filling the space
(the more full the margins the less full my brain),
the keening, the whining, erasing the phrase
created in lieu of composing my face,
Denied, stamped and branded, made nothing the matter,
               no meaning, validity-- like me, ever after.
Batya Apr 2015
Grief pools in me like hunger,
And I have an appetite but I can't eat.

Today's horoscope warned me too late,
Sundown on Saturday,

Of the rip tides inside of me,
Of the waves that have lured me out to sea-
Whispering little temptations,
A mother's warmth,
Another's safe embrace.

So I said yes.

Fool was I not to have known,
For my destiny is spelled as brightly
As the sun in the light of the stars
And my blindness is my own shortcoming-

I am a broken vessel to be cast aside,
Worth enough to recycle for the next
To profess grand things and make promises.

I am a thing,
A force like a tsunami,
In whose face men cannot
But break vows not yet made.

Loud in love
To compensate
For the silence
That has taken hold
In all my inner chambers.

And to write
Becomes a last resort,
That I quit once when a man quit me,
But that is naturally my only solace.

I was born to die,
My faith was built to lose its way,
And I fall in love time and again

For though I am "impure"

I am innocent

And the world has not wholly succeeded,
Though it tries with every car crash
And with every war
And with every child like myself
Used and tossed away,
With every ultimatum made
To make  a woman stay-

To make the innocent in me fade.

So it sends another demon
More believable than the last,
More deceptively good, truly,

And perhaps this one has.
Batya Jul 2014
I’m an island
On another planet,
I’m so far away I could die.
The earthquake that made me
Comes back around to shake me up
And now and again
I crumble away a little
And the fish nibble at my toes.
I’m an island,
I’m surrounded, swallowed up
By deep blue melancholy,
I have a little melody
That I whisper through my palm trees
When the wind comes whistling ‘round.
I’m an island
And I’m beautiful
For white sands and a volcano,
I’m so beautiful you’d cry
If you could see me,
You’d try to free me
But I’m stuck to the ocean ground.
I’m an island,
I write myself a novel,
Because I’ve got no one else but Word,
And my four peach- colored walls
Become the horizons that I’m dreaming of
And my floor becomes lagoons
That beckon me to drown.
I’m an island
Because I cry,
My tears are my existence,
I’m my own wife and my own husband,
And I am childless and bloodless and I’ll always be around.

He is a rowboat
Of weathered wood,
Made of love and aged by making love
To the elements that define him,
And his wisdom and his readiness
To cross the Seven Seas.
He is a rowboat,
His billowed sails prepare for passion,
His oars anticipate his return home
With two in tow.
He is a rowboat,
The only one who can
And wants to reach his island in distress,
He carries himself
On wings of wind,
He’ll carry us both
When it becomes apparent that I can’t swim,
He’ll row and row and row his boat
To land ashore on the pain within
And he’ll love me all the way to his mainland.
Batya Jul 2014
"I will be what I will be,
I will do what I will do,
And no one is going to stop me.

My children will ****
Or be killed,
They will sin in my name.

I will tear down my temple,
Like a *******
I will crumble these creatures
All made in my image.

Babes will brandish automatic weapons,
Innocents ruled by tyranny,
And I, all- powerful, omniscient as I am
Sit on my throne, laughing.

Or maybe I'm sleeping?
I'm not quite sure.
Perhaps I'm lost in my own Eden?

These prayers-- mere amusements,
Unless I've deafened in old age,
These sacrifices keep alive
The spirit of the good old days.

Men divide
Against each other and themselves,
Some still won't utter my true name,
Some wisely have quit caring.

Who are the heretics,
Who are the prophets of truth?
Allah, God and Hashem,
Is it my name I see above?"

Are any of them you?
Batya Jan 2014
If you're in His image,
Then I am too,
And I am not a lesser man
(Or maybe I am).

I doubt His image has a head
To tonsure or to cover as seen fit;
It is, in fact, invisible,
Seen only in faces as reflected.

If I'm in His image, I imagine
Material immodesty is nonexistent--
For if not applicable to you in sight of Him,
I doubt His view of me is very different.

If I'm not in His image, then neither are you,
And every blessing you make is a blessing to rue.
The word is holy, if not your definition of manly;
And if I can't fulfill your obligation you never will, surely.

If I'm in His image,
Then beg my forgiveness.
If I'm in His image,
Then mind your own business.
And if I'm not,
Then neither are you.
."וַיִּבְרָא אֱלֹהִים... בְּצַלְמוֹ בְּצֶלֶם אֱלֹהִים... זָכָר וּנְקֵבָה בָּרָא אֹתָם"
Batya Aug 2014
It hurts to put him first,
No matter the cost for you,
And to put yourself second
When you know he puts you there, too.

It hurts to come second,
Because he's your natural Number One,
But he's got a family who loves him-
And he's where you end up when you run.

It hurts because you'll never tell him that
Sometimes at night you flashback to crying alone,
In a room that doesn't feel like home,
And gluing yourself back together by morning.

It hurts because you're afraid
That what happened before will happen again,
That you'll need to be for someone else
What you yourself are still missing.

It hurts to come second,
And he never knew
How hard he'd have to try just
To keep from hurting you.

It hurts, and you'll probably never tell him
Because that's just not who you are,
And also because somewhere you know that
Who you're with is not the one who let you fall.

It hurts anyway.
It hurts coming second.
Write yourself some poetry,
Maybe learn a lesson:

Remember to be self- sufficient,
Because you're fragile and you're breakable;
And that that's your problem, not his,
And that as long as YOU have a choice-- choose him.

Remember that it's not so simple
When his Number Ones don't know you exist,
But what can you do, you feel like this
Because it hurts to come second.
Batya Jun 2012
Mountain air as sweet as wine,
Stone layers forested in pine;
These are another's words, not mine,
And it is she that they indeed define.

She basks in a light that's all her own,
From newly paved streets to ones of cobblestone;
From her blackest of nights to glorious days,
Halos of holiness blanket her mazes.

For those who love her, she does treasures unveil,
And if you will hear it, she'll tell you her tale:
How she fought for her children, tooth and nail,
So that she could newcomers hail.

You'll hear it in her winds' faint sighs,
Her buses' roar, her peddlers' cries:
How long she's suffered through the false claims and lies
Of the ones afraid to see her rise.
Batya Mar 2014
Je suis votre reine,
et vous savez que je t'aime.
C'est la raison pour laquelle je vous poignarde
avec des mots  meurtrières dans une belle langue.
Je suis une reine,
J'aime vous montrer le royaume- qui est votre frère.
Parfois, je le partage,
et parfois j'aime régner avec une poigne de fer
et le ramener sur votre cou.
Je suis une reine,
aussi ridicule que Antoinnete.
Je suis une reine
qui est menacée par sa princesse.
Batya Aug 2014
If I died tomorrow,
Who'd be sorrowed?

My regular audience, long
Accustomed eulogizers- of
Love soured, years passed, and
Companions lost along the way.

I'd be another sadness,
Another Facebook status,
None would search for COD,
They'd merely state my TOD.

None would hunt my words,
The only treasure trove I strove to leave behind,
None would know or care
That I'd taken my own life

If not directly, then by depressing
Into a state of deep, smothering,
Numbing, tragic blackness.

If I died tomorrow,
My mother would sob.
When asked if I could have committed suicide,
She'd roll her eyes, and never nod.

My father would be broken.
He'd interrupt his grief by joking.

My brother would not believe that I was gone,
He'd interrupt them and insist that they were wrong.

My sweetheart, oh, the only one upon whom thinking of
I very nearly did not embrace the void instead of love-
For ever would you say farewell.
Torn from me in this world and the next,
For love does not survive this life in the way that we believe,
Or so you say, but I digress,
For if I thought that true,
These words would not just be a morbid woman's
Morbid wonderings of other lives and others' lives
After her depart did her part from you.
Batya Dec 2014
I swing from the monkey bars,
From arm to arm, from mind to heart;
Touch base and then let go,
Lose grip and then regain my hold.

Fall down, scrape my knee,
I’m alive because I bleed,
Swinging high scarily, for
I’ll go flying as soon as I let go.

Secrets in the sand,
Things that should be covered, and
Castles blow away,
I can make nothing that stays.

Sometimes on the seesaw
You can’t get off the ground,
But be careful before you start
Throwing your weight around.

Sometimes you have a friend,
Sometimes you play alone,
And the older you are the harder it is
To find your way back home
Batya Mar 2013
I.                I am a lizard
    I tread the earth like lightning
           Grass sways above me
II.             I belong to Earth
       My beady eyes are small seeds
                My tail is a blade

III.       My cousins shed skin
           I am content in the grass
                   I am the lizard
Batya May 2015
Every day that brings peace,
Is the sand on an oil- soaked street,
The resolution to a skidding horror scene.
Collective breathing quickens with the high alert and we begin to speak-

Grant this reporter freedom of the press,
Send her daughter to therapy, the boom put her in distress,
She’ll cover talks that result in trepidation
And count her contacts in anticipation.
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