I know that we have not been the same lately
I know that there are times when I look at you
I feel like I barely know this person anymore
What hurts me is that you probably feel the same too
And there's no other way than me struggling to keep us alive
While your heart's somewhere else

If you look in the corners
Of my heart
You'll find One
One was the first to plant
The small seed of love
In my young heart
From it flourished a red rose
He found it so beautiful
He decided to rip the petals off
Once he held them in his hands
He decided to go find another rose
One was the first
I wanted him to be the last
He was there in the past
He will be there in the future

Two
Was the second to arrive
He found the red rose
And saw that it was dry
His eyes were oceans
And he drowned the Rose in them
He was not satisfied with having
Only one Rose
He found someone else
To be his last
I opened the door for him to leave
So he wrote his name in the past

Three
Was the Christopher Columbus
Of the oceans of my heart
Three rediscovered the dying rose
And nurtured it
til the petals grew back
He wanted to erase the past
So he painted the petals white
And said it represented innocence
He adored the Rose
And admired its' beauty
He sang songs for it
Believing it would
Grow more beautiful
2 months too late
He realized it never would
He loved the idea of the Rose
Not the reality of caring for it
So he ripped it out from the roots
And wrecked it with his hands
He left empty handed
And left me empty hearted
Three was the third
I still dream about him
Being the last
I wish he wasn't
Stuck in the past

Four
Was a gardener
He knew his way around flowers
And had with him many dying roses
I should have known
He planted a rose bush
Fed it love poems and pretty songs
His voice was the only water
The roses would ever need
Once they had bloomed
He ripped them out
And went on his way
Onto some other heart
He was never truly mine
I had always been his
He won't be my last
He left too many scars
I put him in my past

When you left me, babe,
You must have thought it through--
Because you took your guns,
And all your bullets, too.

And so, deep down,
I guess I know you knew
That I'da shot myself,
and I'da shot you, too.

And you know?--Babydoll?
I'm *******, in a way,
Cuz we'd have stayed eternal--
Souls combined, and on the fray.

And it would have been
So much easier that way.
It would have been so easy
That ******* way.

“I love you”
“I loved you too”

“I’m here to stay”
“But you walked away”

“I accept, I bow”
“I’m sorry but I have to go”

“You can’t be going”
“I was tired of waiting”

“But I have come back”
“Sorry I have changed my track”

“You said you’d die without me”
“I did. When you left me“

“I need a chance. A last one. Take me back”
“We are in different worlds.
You, 10 feet above the ground
And me, 10 feet down”

“I’m sorry, I’m late”
“It’s right when they say, you can’t really fight fate”

I know I hurt you well
It may have been wrong

But I have no regrets
I planned it all along

I can hit you harder
Harder than a knife

I always get revenge
Remember me for life

if it were up to me
i would show up at your house
dressed as the love of your life.
i would drag you from your bed
rip your heart from your chest
and leave your lifeless body at the door
for your mother to find.

i would tear every good feeling
straight out of your stomach
and replace them with memories
of all the things that made you love me.

i would burn the remaining pieces
and scatter the ashes
along beaches we planned to get married
and cities we were supposed to live.

i would leave your mind
hollow and unattended
and force you to feel me forgetting you,

sort of like what you did to me.

If the eyes are the gateway
to the soul, then I have
seen hell fire, and the
lights of heaven.

He claims me to be an
angel but I don't think he
sees the murky water full
of my pollution in my entire
being.
Eyes looking like a sea during
a storm.
So how can he claim me to
be so calm.
I am a life raft being
crushed under my own chaotic
waves of temper.

My body feels as
if it lives on a slab. How
can you claim that I am
so alive.

I will not deny that I am
strong. To a degree.
I will not claim to be a
lamb asking for more people
to try and butcher me.
Only rabid beasts
feed because there is meat.

They say my sweet blood
attracts mosquitos.
My rotten flesh attracts
maggots.
My short dress attracts the
monster.
Feeding on flesh they
strip away from my bones
with their teeth.

The cobra of my nightmares
loved to toy with me. I was
not a meal. I was play time.
He loved to watch me squirm.

He locked me away in a box
of secrets, of bruises, and
stolen virginities.
You can't lie down with the
enemy without getting *****.
I am still drawn to the
smell of his poison. I once
mistook it for home.
I got choked up on his
fumes of arrogance.
The *******
intended to **** me.
But he only freed
who I was meant
to be, a bit too soon.

I crumbled. I
wasn't in ruins for
long though. Like a much
needed bridge, I was
rebuilt quickly. Only to
extend my usage time.
Though, unlike the engineers
I learned.
  I used stronger materials.
  Dark methods no one would
  attempt to undo to get a
  snip of my wool.
  I became a goat instead.
A symbol of the unholy.
I thought it was
fitting, seeing how you
injected me with that
exact same thing.

You didn't feed it to
me, make me drink it,
or force it upon me.
you only planted it.
I watered it.
I watered
the being I was
to the point of
drowning.

You injected it like
a serum to fix my
paralyzed state.
Like a ******
addict absorbs their
dope in hopes they
actually see god this
time.

Unlike his brother,
I don't need opiates
to feel at home.
In jesus's arms.
All I have to do is
look in his eyes.

They're still bright.
Still...
I had a friend, when my
eyes were lightning.
He told me to burn
bright.
But you see,
I'm not very good at
listening.

I've used up that flame
to build my body, ground-up
with day dreams I was a phoenix.
I am vibrations
lost on the
decibel scale.
Screams stuck in
ears of the dead.
The tortured only
enduring what they
fought for.
We all knew what was
at risk
choosing this life.
I'm always gambling
my freedom.
Funny how we throw away
things we only lusted
after.
Especially when they get
boring, decayed in place.
Now what's really
tedious is when lost
dreams rot in your
brain like inoperable
cavities.

by Patricia Smith*

Poseidon was easier than most.
He calls himself a god,
but he fell beneath my fingers
with more shaking than any mortal.
He wept when my robe fell from my shoulders.

I made him bend his back for me,
listened to his screams break like waves.
We defiled that temple the way it should be defiled,
screaming and bucking our way from corner to corner.
The ***** goddess probably got a real kick out of that.
I’m sure I’ll be hearing from her.

She’ll give me nightmares for a week or so;
that I can handle.
Or she’ll turn the water in my well into blood;
I’ll scream when I see it,
and that will be that.
Maybe my first child
will be born with the head of a fish.
I’m not even sure it was worth it,
Poseidon pounding away at me, a madman,
losing his immortal mind
because of the way my copper skin swells in moonlight.

Now my arms smoke and itch.
Hard scales cover my wrists like armour.
C’mon Athena, he was only another lay,
and not a particularly good one at that,
even though he can spit steam from his fingers.
Won’t touch him again. Promise.
And we didn’t mean to drop to our knees
in your temple,
but our bodies were so hot and misaligned.
It’s not every day a gal gets to sample a god,
you know that. Why are you being so rough on me?

I feel my eyes twisting,
the lids crusting over and boiling,
the pupils glowing red with heat.
Athena, woman to woman,
could you have resisted him?
Would you have been able to wait
for the proper place, the right moment,
to jump those immortal bones?

Now my feet are tangled with hair,
my ears are gone. My back is curving
and my lips have grown numb.
My garden boy just shattered at my feet.

******, Athena,
take away my father’s gold.
Send me away to live with lepers.
Give me a pimple or two.
But my face. To have men never again
be able to gaze at my face,
growing stupid in anticipation
of that first touch,
how can any woman live like that?
How will I be able
to watch their warm bodies turn to rock
when their only sin was desiring me?

All they want is to see me sweat.
They only want to touch my face
and run their fingers through my . . .

my hair

is it moving?