Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I knew she was like water, she'd probably wish to be compared to a sea but she was more like a lake. Still, calm, never moving without an outside force.

But still I loved her. Her calming waters soothed my wounds and her reflective surface forced me to see myself the way I am. But still she never moved. I could ripple her surface, make her waters splash upon new sides of her shores, but in doing so I watched in somber wonder as she washed the people in her shallows up upon her banks, sore and bruised down to their hearts, and neither would reach for the other, trapped in the curse of stillness.

She assured me she loved me, she assured me I'd always stay in the deepest depth of her heart. And yet slowly, what was once a depth so warm and vast, I found my toes grazing the bottom, and every time I did I tried to swim back, back to where the water was endless, bottomless, yet never could I stay there long. Other people were causing wakes, and fighting against them was becoming difficult, for I am not the strongest swimmer.

I began to wonder whether I was still welcome, for her silences were getting longer, her ripples I could cause we're so much smaller, and in my self doubt those wakes moved me ever closer to the shore, and with each step I could take full footed along the bottom I began to sob.

I tried curling myself into a ball in those shallows, tried to allow the water to cover my head and tell myself I still mattered. But the water here was so frigid, my lips began to turn blue and my lungs burned. I'd return to the surface and take long breaths and use them to scream silently.

From where I stood, the water only knee deep I saw the figure of a man at her center, and as he raised his arms my scream became caught in my throat, and as his arms slammed upon her surface I saw the wave come rushing toward me, the longer it moved the more it grew and I said silently to myself "this is the end."

In those surreal seconds I remembered the others, and was reminded of her stillness, and in those horrible moments I knew I was nothing anymore, just another piece of useless trash to be lying upon her shore.
I am a ******* goddess, and no one can convince me otherwise
I am beyond his comprehension, so to this day i will confuse his thoughts
I will rule his world, his heart, his mind, his soul
He will whisper desperate prayers while he runs his fingers through my hair
He will ask my forgiveness every time he dares breathe my air
He will sacrifice himself upon the altar of my porch for every sin
He will worship every glance, every touch of my porcelain skin

My word is law, and he will follow until the bitter end
Waging wars with anyone who dares break my peace
My silence is the unknown, that causes him to step hesitantly
That keeps his humanity in check, that reminds him he too is weak.

Like a true goddess I am not perfect
I am sweet as honey and soft spoken like a spring breeze
But I am bitter and ridden with madness and lust
My moods are the turbulent winds in a storm
I am stubborn and unrelenting, vengeful and flawed
I am forgiving and understanding and i listen to every plea
and know that i am not powerful enough to give everything he wants  

I am fickle and indecisive and it can destroy him
leave him broken and silently pleading as to why
I've abandoned him, i have ****** him  
and the only answer that i can give is that he’s put his faith
Into the wrong hands.
I had always wished that someone would devour me slowly
With my heart pulsing upon fine china
Sliced into daintily with only the finest silverware
As the throbbing red meat reaches your lips I wanted you to
Savor the way it melts on your tongue
And hum contently as you sip the wine of my blood

But to love is to succumb to the hunger
Of plush lips searching for flutters
Of butterfly’s wings to swallow them whole
To skim across tendered skin as porcelain gives way
To whiter bone teeth shattering the barrier of everything
That keeps the soul from becoming completely effete

And sometimes that means giving yourself away upon
The dusty remains of your confidence spilled across the floor
As fingers count every rib protruding from your waist
Or grasp at every rounded edge rested on your frame
And you will hiss as nails bury themselves in a sad attempt
To cling on to the only hope of connecting their mind with yours

And some days you will wonder why
And some day you will accept that answers don’t exist
His hands on my skin are warm and his touch is feather light
and he moves and I inhale his voice rumbles low murmurs in my ear
that sends waves of chills down the length of my spine.
because while he says he wants to treat me gently, that voice speaks
of promises that could take me over rough and hard and fast
if he were to only stop holding back.
And when I'm lost and at my limit and let out breathless pleas,
his entire demeanor changes and I'm able to glimpse at his eyes
molten and wild and wanting that makes me quake and tremble
because he will break me down, and he will still do it gently

He is not mine,
He is not mine and I feel safe in the ambiguity
I feel safe because there are no lies of love where it does not linger
He comes back because he likes to, he wants to and I could
never ask for more

A desperate jealousy consumes my soul when he looks at her
When he speaks to her with that voice she doesn't know I notice
And I cover my ears when she replies in a similar tone
And I must bite my tongue and clench my fists to stop myself
From wrapping my hands around his eyes, from calling out his name,
To focus his vision back on me, to not whisper the words
    I am here
Because she has everything, her beauty, her grace, her talent, her love 
    And all I have ever had is what you have given me
Please don't let her have you too
She would collect fireflies in mason jars that smelled of moonshine and take them to her room. She’d tape black construction paper in layers on her windows and pull down the shades to watch them glow and fade in an intricate rhythm of heart beats, of long forgotten conversation, of whispers and of secrets, dancing and pulsing together in an ancient SOS. And I’d watch as green eyes became molten emeralds in a warm yellow glow, and tell her if she didn't set them free, they’d slowly stop shining; one by one, the pulsing would slow, tiny legs would quiver and falter, before falling lifeless to the bottom. And she’d look at me, her honey hair in ringlets from the summer’s humidity, and she’d trace a painted fingernail down the edge of the glowing glass and merely whisper, “I know, but its better this way. They should have someone watching their beauty carefully to every detail, right until the end.”  

We’d sit outside on rainy days under the cover of my porch, and set me in her lap as she braided my hair and asked me if I believed in angels. She’d rest her chin on my shoulder and stare off in wonder, while I listened to the tinkling rain drops fall upon our teacups from the day before. She’d start murmuring how silly they are, looking down on us from above, gossiping like old women about the choices we make as their pure white feathers yellow with age, like dusty wedding dresses locked in old heavy chests in the attic. “Nothing is beautiful forever, and they’re ridiculous to look down on us, look,” she whispered against the skin of my neck “even they have to walk upon the ground when it rains.”

I sat in front of the redwood vanity, playing with the limited make up supplies I possessed, painting my lips with pink lip gloss as she painted my fingernails with the same color she used, and she asked me if I’d ever thought of kissing boys.  Her giggles floated through the air like wind chimes, soft and sparkling with the smallest breeze when my cheeks began to burn and fluster.  And those perfect peach wedges curled around ivory teeth and eventually found their place, full and soft against my forehead, and as those glittering irises met my own she said very softly, “Be careful when kissing boys, girls are soft and easily bruise, and boys like to play rough.” I asked her what she meant and she merely smiled and told me that one day she’d tell me, but for now she wanted me to lay in the sunlight with her and find the fairies in the dust motes.

And when summer heat turned to winter snow we found ourselves in a magical land made of delicate crystal. She held my hand in hers to keep it warm as we trudged through the snow, laughing and making our own lyrics to Christmas songs because none of it mattered anyway. She pulled me to the forest where we hid behind a holly bush, making miniature snow men and giving them names. I was so focused on making them perfect, that I was startled when red tipped fingers brushed my face and tucked my hair behind my ears. “You look cold, but you turn the prettiest shade of pink.” She smiled and I couldn't help but smile back, she placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me into her coat that smelled of peppermint and warmth. We stood there for moments, watching snow spiral down from the sky above us, sprinkling our hair with glistening flakes. She asked me if I was cold, and before I could reply I felt her lips press against mine, still soft and warm despite the cold, and giggled when my face became inflamed. “No, I suppose you’re very warm.”

She rested her head on my shoulder as I combed my fingers through her hair, her teardrops warm and wet against my skin as she held me close. She babbled about her family and hiccup about the girls from school who called her names, she choked over how she missed me and whispered how pretty I was with another mason jar in her hands that smelled of apple pie. Her fingers found their way to my hand and drew pretty pictures that only I understood as she listened to the steady sound of my breathing.  She said she wished she could stay here forever in our world of lace and fairies and fireflies as she stared at the prettiest crystal I’d ever seen wrapped so delicately around her finger. And this time I pressed my lips to her forehead and smoothed her hair from her face and told her how this time we should let the fireflies go, because staying trapped in the jar only makes them die.  She sniffled and asked me what difference it made if they were all going to die anyway.  I pulled her left hand to my lips and kissed her finger, just below the vice grip that squeezed her heart, “Because at least they’ll die knowing they were free.”
“Why are you so evil?”

The words hung in the air, a condemning bell tone across the dark room.

Shock.  It’s the only way to describe how the limbs seize up and remain frozen in their place, how all of a sudden the blood feels colder as it circulates through the veins, carrying the virus phrase along with its stream.
Why are you so evil?

It was nothing, a mere teasing among siblings, a red rubber ball that had been promised back as long as it no longer held any interest, it couldn't have been possessed for more than a minute before the whining began, and it wasn't going to be long until it was returned, but was it really worthy of such a question?
  Why are you so evil?

No, certainly not.

However those blue irises still bore the same intensity, a mouth, nearly a thin line that hung open in an odd mix between an ugly scowl and gritted teeth. Dyed thinning blonde hair pulled back in a greasy pony tail hid no wrinkles that caved their way into the corners of those eyes, or upon the center of the brow, and yet within these creases it’s still echoing;
Why are you so evil?

How dare you.

What do you know of evil? Alone and frightened, left to face the monsters with nothing but bare tiny fingers that linger in the darkness at the furthest edge of the room.  Startled and panicked, while being a passenger and taken on a ride to who knows where with every question answered with nothing but blank stares and confused expressions, as if speaking Gaelic to the deaf and blind.  Exhausted and irritated, because it’s ridiculous to be expected to care for this mess of a child when a stool must still be used to reach the faucet.  And even still;
Why are you so evil?

Laughter. It’s the only sound to drown out that god forsaken question ringing in the air, and yet the repulsive thing still echoes in the depth of the so called ****** soul. It’s the only thing that keeps your sight away from the fact that the tremors have nothing to do with the raspy sound leaving the lungs.
Anguish. It’s the only thing flooding the system now. Because how many times has that question been asked after every mistake? After every lie? After every argument that pride refuses to allow proper apologies into the picture?  

Of course, that must be it. Everything makes sense. Every let down, every heart ache, every instance of life’s cruelties have become clearer than the tears flooding behind the eyes.

And still, the question still remains;

*Why am I so evil?
She sings from her wrist
And watches in marvel as the lyrics flow from her
Pulsing to her own personal beat
And with each opening, she harmonizes
Creating a chorus of voices
To drown out the ones in her head

It’s beautiful, artistic, natural
It’s filled with emotion that she bottles
And she lets it bubble forth
In red notes on soft, fleshy paper
Her thoughts finally able to find a release
Through something sharp and physical

Because her own voice is broken
Hidden, under a mountain of lies
And drowned under a sea of promises long forgotten
Devoured by a nightmare of regrets
And threatened by mistrust
She sew her mouth shut

And she covers her hands over her ears,
Stubbornly, as I try my hardest
To let my own melody slip in
Intermingle, and rearrange
to something softer, calmer
to sooth those painful voices screaming from her skin

I try to sing louder, she has to hear
It has to reach her, it must
Through late nights and dawnless mornings
Through adrenaline filled marathons home
And patient rantings to burst through the stitches
I want to quell the tempest of her mind

But my voice is growing raspy
Each song burning my throat raw
To where I can only manage a whisper
And once again I can’t be heard
And her ensemble crescendos full force
A fortissimo against my pianissimo

And I can only beg for those hands
To become weary and slip from their vice grip,
From her determination to not listen
To hear my quiet humming, because that’s all I can do
And hope that happiness will take her by the hand
And have her dancing to my quiet tune.
Next page