Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
2.7.20//

I once had a dream that every cruel
Act done unto me
Resulted in the loss of a tooth.
Fragments of bone,
The consistency of chalk and unmitigated rage
Liquified by blood and pooled in my mouth
Shards in hand,
I presented them to you
In hopes I could still be deemed as wanted.
Your ever loving hand ripped away at my flesh;
What I would give for you to walk around in my skin.
And yet it remained discarded, my body did not belong to me for 1460 days;
Robbed of my sense of self.

As I reflect, I have come to the conclusion I no longer want to be the reason you leave the light on.

This is not the love
I allowed to breathe life into every beginning
The one I gave purpose, such as;
The magic behind the intertwining vines that scaled the porch beams
Why snow fell on Christmas morning

At the end of it all, I used to fixate on the thought that love was dead
But I never allowed it to narrate my ending.

So here is what I’ll leave you with;
The ring was not quite my taste,
It still turned my finger green the day you went away.
12.29.19 //
You’ll never understand why I stand so close to exits
Or why my notebook contains hastily etched dates
Of all unattended birthday parties
Quietly fashioning a noose out of wrapping paper
And drunkenly recalling memories of our ex lover(s) assembling a book case
We cease to know which way is up
Forward
But my mind will forever fumble its way backwards
Weaving in and out, much like a serpent
And constrict until I’ve lost my breath
11.29.2019 //

I once found the body of a lifeless man
Discarded on the side of the freeway
It was the Fourth of July
With the other commuters eyes’ glued to the west,
Harmonious laughter and cheerful gasps
Filling any void of silence,
The chaotic combination of chemicals
Illuminated and rattled the never ending desert sky
Mimicking the synapses of my brain that should have taken place
All the while, I remained slumped over in the passenger seat
Head cocked slightly to the right
Confused as to why more blood
Hadn’t left the victim
And why the hypothetical perpetrator(s)
Left their **** face down
Maybe it was due to the fact that looking
Death in the eyes
Giving it a face
Is seemingly impossible for most
Terrifying in a way that destroys
Any hope of peace when daydreaming
Or drifting off to sleep
The funny thing is, when you’re selected in the lottery of chemical imbalances;
You lace up your boots,
Cross the threshold,
Venture out into your day to day life,
And the idea of Death forever looms over you.
When you’ve had your feet planted
At the edge of the Missouri River
One swift movement of the current away
From Here and There
You begin to grow apathetic to the thought of passing on.

And there’s something comforting in embracing the end, whenever that time may come.
Brielle Bishop Apr 2019
4.16.19 //

You are blacksmith of sorts
Repairing any manner of crises  
With an iron tongue
And hands of steel
Toiling in isolation
Won’t you let me in?
Barricaded doors
I can still hear your voice
Although the silence echoes so clearly
Fists pounding
Screaming profanities
How is it I can possess this cruel of a heart
When all I long for is to have a deeper understanding of yours?
Face cradled in upturned palms
I wander
I wonder
While in solitude you emerge
Wielding several knives
Sacrificing yourself
To liberate me from this internal prison
Careful not to detach the bond between
You and I
The instinctive force of you
As a man
Your fighting spirit is known by all
There is no surrender
Enduring every blow
Emotions remains concealed

Knives are strewn across our home
Never hidden
Speaking to me
“You’re always prepared
To be on the defense”
“Cut deep and use your tongue the way it’s intended.
To hurt as those who have wounded you.”
I’m certain the clash between us
Is caused by the devils that never leave me
Who possess their own weapons
And I am uncertain who will win this battle.


I’m frightened.
Please just let me in.
Brielle Bishop Mar 2019
3.18.19 //
There’s something to be said
About a man folding clothes
Of the woman he loves
Only to end another meeting
At another terminal
Another heavy heart
He thought had long
Become untethered
Just one more George Strait ballad
Before this embrace
Becomes foreign once more
1334.8 miles away

“I love you just as much as the first day. This is far too familiar.”

I’m sorry you have to watch me walk away.
Brielle Bishop Jan 2019
1.30.19 //

The other morning I passed a woman
Walking her dog while on an errand run
I paused for a moment
Watching the strides, past the man sleeping
On what was supposed to be a vibrant, green bench
But instead remained chipped and faded
Coated with trash of yesterday’s passerby’s
I watched this woman trudge
Over leaves, purposely avoiding the
Cracks in the sidewalk
Her companion trotting five steps in front of her
She kept a watchful eye, looking upon him fondly
But remaining cautious and untrusting of those around
My mind reeled:
Where are you headed and where do you reside at night?
Are you in love? Haunted by the ghosts of your past lovers?
Where does your grief lie? And does it swallow you whole? Are you content or was waking from your bed near impossible this morning?

I often ask myself the same questions, but it’s less intrusive and more forgiving when looking at the scenario through the eyes of another.
Brielle Bishop Jan 2019
1.16.19 //

I put a halt to the nail biting
If that even makes a difference anymore
I would
Gnash my teeth
Spit out pieces left of me
In order to speak in tongues
Allow you to use context clues
To decipher what I really mean
Or where I’m residing
Are you worried?

Nowadays I just tap
Tap
Tap
Tap
Tap
At what’s left of my enamel
This may still disrupt or amplify
Normal communication
Between neurons
Maybe it teases the
Amygdala and prefrontal cortex
Whom have been directly affected
For years
There’s a certain pleasure
Tearing away at pieces of yourself
But I do what I can to break the cycle
Remove the trail of cuticles
As if to cleanse the soil beneath me

The trouble with habits
Are you carry them through life
They become a part of your daily routine
And once missing
You’re left to fumble around
Searching for a nonexistent match
A door ****
A path you created out of fragments of yourself
Answers
As to why you’re so alone in the dark
Who will save you
How you’ll make it out
Where is everything you’ve grown accustomed to?
“It’s about time to try a little harder don’t you think?”
Next page