Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2017 Star Gazer
Bailey
I was happier as a martyr than I ever will be while serving myself.
Though my empathetic nature may put me at unease at times,
it is the happiness deep down within the cool, dark soil of my soul that truly matters.
I've tried so hard to change this essential part of my being,
because others told me that it made me weak,
but I see now what they fail to.
When I put myself first, I feel sick to my stomach.
There is an itch that desires to be scraped, and it is not anything that treating myself has the claws to scratch.
No, when I put others first, that is when I feel bigger than myself.
I don't feel like one of seven billion.
I don't feel like a speck in the space.
By helping and staying constantly connected to those around me--enemies and friends--I am spread out farther than I would be,
sitting inside myself.
Say what you want about me.
That I am weak and gullible and forgiving and target-worthy.
But in the end, I am happiest when I help others.
And in the end, the universe will feel the smallest, quickest brush on its hand.
And that brush will be me.
Tell me, and I will listen.
Show me, and I will understand.
Take me in, and I will learn.
I used to look into her eyes and see
someone beautiful and intelligent and magnificent.
I'd look at her face, smooth pale skin
and red-gold hair, and see a spark within her.
She never thought her fire would go out,
being because she was such a fiery young girl.

But then she got older.

I used to look into her eyes and see
a flicker of the flame that used to be.
I looked into her face,
fierce and hard with years of emotional abuse
and I thought to myself that the fire was still there,
though it was just a flicker.

But then, one day, it went out.

I'm staring into her eyes now,
wondering who the hell she is;
Wondering what happened to the flame of a girl.
She is unrecognizable to me.
But I think.... I think somewhere
underneath this stone cold face..
I think this stranger....

**Is me.
I don't even know who I am anymore.
 Feb 2017 Star Gazer
S Olson
-- when I have the tenderness of a writhing dragon,
he will paint flowers across my throat

as though to remind me that fires are indelicate,
and that I writhe in a prison made of open space.
-- this man will not smother me with his skin
when we sleep.
-- this man will unhinge the door of my mouth,
and kiss out the bullets stuck under my tongue.
                                                                ­               ---
whatever thousandth day I awaken beside this man,
realizing I have become the flowers he painted
across my throat, by braving my throat,

I will, unchaining myself from the draconic worry,
bring him his coffee in bed, with a smile.
Next page