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Brianna Duffin Feb 2018
Ask of me if I love thee
And surely I must tell thee I do
But ask of me if we shall wed
Alas, it is not to be
For thought of love in me for thee
Is not what God holds in the cards for us
I have promised my hand to another
He is wealthy and honorable
He is handsome and faithful
He is quite kind and sure to be the right husband for me
And yet ask me once more if I love thee
And you shall never receive a negative response.
Brianna Duffin Jan 2018
I walk through a hallway, complete dark.
I am only aware that I’m in a boxy maze.
I wander through the rooms, guided by a pulling spirit,
Room after room down long corridors
With no light but a flickering candle that rests at the end of the wall and moves as I do.
I am lost. I curse it all. I sink down.
Until finally there is a room unlike others,
Finally a window. Moonlight.
Grass, long and wavy like on my childhood estate. Doesn’t grow here.
A child standing in that grass.
The figure, just a small shadow built of wisps, rises to the window.
I back up. I am afraid of the child’s face.
The child does not care for my fear.
The figure steps toward me. I run. Can’t run.
The room is suddenly illuminated,
Like stage lights rising.
Her face pierces me at last;
And she opens her mouth,
“Remember me, mom?”
I wake with a screech. Blessedly I am alone in my darkness,
A dark cracked by the streetlight so close.
“Remember me?”
------------------------------------------------------------­------------------
It was just a child I tell myself,
Just a child. Nothing to fear. 
After I get back to sleep
All that comfort goes away
Because now I’m in a big open room
A party. My seventeenth birthday. 
I was a Halloween baby and tonight oozes the sweltering heat no one likes
If my mom was here she’d stroke my hair
And tell me I have nothing to worry about 
But my mom isn’t here
If my dad was here he’d squeeze my shoulder 
And tell me to simply approach the situation with logic and factual reason
But my dad isn’t here
I’m alone, in this big crowded room
Of people here for my seventeenth birthday 
And I’m the only one not smiling
I must be the only one who says the gray
It’s actually closer to black, like smoke
As if someone set the ****** place on fire
A dark spirit. An evil presence. 
It coats the ceiling
It fills the corners
It swallows the doors
What it lacks is the smell of smoke
Overwhelming odor. Salt. 
Emotions. Broken promises. Love, dissipated. Fear. Very much alive.
It was never to be.
But it was just a child.
----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------
Interlude
I’m still dreaming.
Still remembering.
----------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------
The Nightmare
The nightmare isn’t over yet;
The apartment isn’t empty.
There is a man in here with me
And he keeps touching me.
He forces me down to my knees,
He hurts me everyday now,
No more resting, he says.
I’ll never rest again.
The smoke is white this time
Infused with color like a crystal ball
It curls around itself
As it cowers in the corner,
The one with the couch.
That ****** couch.
Again- an odor. Salt.
I hate it here. Hate him.
Salt, stronger by the second.
Salt. It gets too heavy to bear.
The white smoke… moving
Swirls, swivels.
Turns out it has eyes
And unlike me, it isn’t afraid.
Stares me dead in the eye. Dead.
“Remember me, Mom?”
Screams. Salt. Swirling.
Brianna Duffin Jan 2018
I had a teacher once-
Actually, I had him for four years straight-
Who wasn’t quite like the others.
I hated testing with him.
He insisted it had to be individual,
So he could really know everything he had to know about us.
It’s only a few times every couple months
But still, it’s a nightmare no one is ready to endure
He’d take you into a teeny, tiny room
Lock the door. Lock the windows.
Pull all the shades down.
It’s very important you be alone, in a cocoon of privacy.
And you have to make music for him;
You never know what he’ll ask for
But once he asks you always have to do it,
Exactly how he likes it.
Even if how he likes it really isn’t right.
He calls you “darling”, “honey”, “dear”
But you know he doesn’t love you like he pretends to
Because it gives you chills, and not in a good way,
When he strokes your back or touches your shoulder or arm
He always has to be making eye contact with your chest
But that isn’t why none of the boys ever have to test.
All the girls get it though, have to wait in line for it
He stretches the process out so it takes weeks to burn through all the girls
I think he likes that none of them have a way of escaping;
I didn’t escape until right before I reached high school.
But I still call myself one of the luckier ones
Because most of his girls still haven’t escaped testing.
The tests will be extra long today. “We’re halfway to goodbye”, he’ll say.
“A lot to do today,” he’ll tell them. “You can’t escape this, line on up.”
He controls what you wear and how you stand,
He guides your arms, so they only go where he wants them to.
That tiny room is a prison, and I’m so lucky I escaped.
But the story will not end as long as I’m alive.
It was a few months after I set myself free.
I was walking down the street, feeling much happier than my 14 years.
And it felt like the world was pretty and fine.
Until I walked past a group of boys who thought I was pretty and fine.
They swooped in, catcalls aplenty;
I ignored them. Outrage.
They grabbed me.
And by time I was alone again, boys nowhere to be seen,
It felt like nothing was fine,
And everyone was a predator
And it forced me to dwell on the facts
That I don’t feel brave or strong anymore and…
That I don’t know where the old me ran off to and…
And…
That I’m not fine anymore.
Brianna Duffin Jan 2018
Cross my heart and fully hope to die,
Everything about me is a lie.
We can teach one another how to soar high,
But everything you know about me is a lie.
Cross my heart… The real truth…
All I ever wanted was somebody to love me
All I ever prayed for was my guardian all free
I don’t need or even want any of this stuff
I don’t need to do or say crazy things
Cross my heart… The real truth…
God’s honest truth, I confess I am not like you;
I’m selfish enough to ice out emotions that last
And sometimes I get wrapped up in loathing
My legs are busted up, scratched, and bruised from furniture
I’ve never experienced any of the magical or adventurous movie things
Cross my heart… The real truth…
I’m only cold because it’s the only way I know
I only act because it hurts way too much to think
I get wild all the time because I’ve got nothing to lose
I look ragged because the world doesn’t let me not be
Cross my heart… The real truth…
On God’s name, I swear it
I am not the person you think I am,
I’m a rock in that person’s shadow
And soon to be a rock in your show
Cross my heart… The real truth…
I cross my heart and hope to die,
These words are more of the real me
Than I have ever let you actually see
I cross my heart and swear on God’s name:
This is the truth, and it will **** me.
This poem is part of a collection. Read it in full here:
https://medium.com/@briannarduffin/the-end-of-all-the-endings-59796ac67ff7
Brianna Duffin Jan 2018
Too Complicated
I’m not supposed to be grieving
My Baby wasn’t supposed to die
How did this happen
How did I wind up counting dead roses
How did I wind up being reminded of proper funeral decorous
I can’t explain what’s going on
Something happened when that boy came along
That boy who started dating my firstborn son…
What has that boy done?
I’m not supposed to be burying my Baby,
Shouldn’t be standing by a pile of dirt with no one to clutch my hand
I shouldn’t have ice in my heart over my pride and joy as I hold his jersey
How did anything ever go wrong for us
How did a present, devoted, loving mother and a smart, strong, sweet boy end up here
How could God let us find ourselves in a cemetery we have no way out of
I can’t reconcile this horrible day with real life
Something went terribly wrong
When that boy came along
I’m not supposed to find myself sobbing, weeping, and doing nothing else
It was all so nice a week ago, throwing big parties
I shouldn’t be making a speech about my son in front of everyone
He supposed to be grounded for when his music rattled the room and broke my nice dishes
But he’s not home, he’s supposed to be with me but he’s not
How did that boy who’d been so polite to me bounce into our lives and end everything good
Everything was wonderful like a Hallmark card
Until that cursed boy came to tear it apart
How? Why?
Why, why, why?
This poem now appears in a poetry collection on Medium.. See it in full here: https://medium.com/@briannarduffin/the-end-of-all-the-endings-59796ac67ff7
Brianna Duffin Jan 2018
I like them a little bit older
The ones who can get a bit bolder
I like them a little more mature
The ones who really know when they’re sure
I like them a little bit stronger
The ones who tend to last much longer
I like them a little more fiery
The ones who can fill up my diary
I like them little bit braver
The ones who chase a bold flavor
I like them just a little more ready
The ones who are almost ready for me.
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