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Eileen Black Jan 27
Do you not see
Anything
Lovely about yourself after all this time i have been trying to
Love you? after all the words i’ve said or ways i’ve shown?
After
So many looks and smiles and hugs and compliments and confessions and talks and night drive? you don’t see?



I love you.
(The number of words in each line coincides with the numerical value of the capital letter.)
Eileen Black Jan 27
A Heart Can Hurt (Triolet)

A heart can hurt and still not break,
but a breaking heart will hurt.
Although a hurting smile may be fake,
a heart can hurt and still not break.
And for a while the heart may ache,
but the pain will soon divert.
A heart can hurt and still not break,
but a breaking heart will hurt.
Eileen Black Jan 27
Estelle (Sestina)

I look out at the universe tonight,
High into a lonely dark sky;
Yet a single star stays shining bright,
Burning with an eternal flame.
An entire night sky, one twinkle of light;
I think she deserves a name.

Worthy of a star, is there such a name?
Not one I will find tonight.
I watch her glow until morning light
Till the sun takes over a blue sky.
Yet nothing could put out her flame;
She lives in my soul, eternally bright.

There is no other that can burn so bright.
I wish she could know my name.
In my amazement, jealousy burns like a flame.
She alone rules the sky tonight.
Will I ever rule a sky?
She seems to laugh, that twinkle of light.

Grant me this wish; be my guiding light.
Lead me to the passion to make my life bright,
A love that’s as deep as your endless sky.
That the world knows my name,
My only wish tonight;
Cast all other dreams to unending flame.

I will light a match and fan my dream’s flame,
Heart filled with hope till morning light,
The smile on her face I can feel tonight.
Oh dear star that shines down so bright,
Will you ever know my name?
Still she is silent in her moonlit sky.

How many wishes shall I place in the sky?
Will you silence me with a ball of flame?
Grant my wish: the world to know my name.
Please hear my words or I will have no light.
I can see you still shining bright.
My wishes are yours to answer tonight.

Estelle shall be the name of my twinkle of light,
Her flame burning always so bright.
I send one wish to the sky before I sleep tonight.
Eileen Black Jan 2
A Bird in a Cage (Villanelle)

I am a bird in a gilded cage
where I cannot spread my wings,
a scared girl wanting to rule the stage.

Like a world renowned sage
unable to say anything,
I am a bird in a gilded cage.

Like a storybook missing a page,
a fictional kingdom without a king,
a scared girl wanting to rule the stage.

A longing nothing can assuage
but to win the fight and hear the cheers ring,
I am a bird in a gilded cage.

Maybe one day at a different age,
a hope to which I constantly cling,
a scared girl wanting to rule the stage.

A war in my soul ever waged,
with fear as the victor, I refuse to sing.
I am a bird in a gilded cage,
a scared girl wanting to rule the stage.
Eileen Black Jan 2
A Warning

A delicate dance of red and blue,
A spark, a flicker, a flame,
The heated lick of a yellow hue,
This blaze no man can tame.

As tempting as the warmth may be,
And welcoming its light,
One should be cautious if he should see
A burning flicker of white.

Though we can never deny the beauty
Of this symbol of desire,
It still remains my fervent duty
To warn you of this thing called fire.
Eileen Black Dec 2018
Nightmares

A sick feeling in my stomach but a smile on my face
A memory I ignore but can’t erase
A heavy weight on my heart but too much fear
I’m holding back something I’m dying to say.
I’m losing my mind thinking what it will take
For someone to hear.

A fearful confession...it only took five years,
But of course, they believe him when he fakes some tears.
He tells them “she wanted it” and “it was consensual.”
They believe him, and my life suddenly sheers.
I nod to make them happy, but let me be clear:
It was not mutual.

Seven years old to twelve, my nightly fears were perpetual.
Who cares whose story is truthful and factual
When he sheds a tear and puts on a good show?
It seems I’m the one in the wrong, as usual.
What a fool to think my story would be equal.
It’s still a low blow.

Five years later, I still have stains on my pillow
From makeup and tears ‘cause I couldn’t say no.
Well, I did say no, but he wouldn’t listen.
Will it still hurt in five more? Who knows.
But it’s still a piece of myself I let go,
A piece I’m missin’.

It feels like something wrong with me needs fixin’.
But as long as they’re happy, I’ll keep pretendin’
That I’m okay, that I was lying. I apologize.
I hear stories about all of these women
Who are taken and sold and ***** and beaten,
And they survive.

Compared to that, this is nothing, so I’ll deny
The truth, or at least let them believe the lies.
I’ll make them happy; that’s what smiling masks are for.
If anyone asks, I’ll simply minimize
How bad it was. Who needs to know how many times
I was on the floor,

Curled up, crying, because I felt like a *****?
It will just be one more thing for me to ignore.
What more could you expect from such a fool, a clown?
I don’t want to be a disappointment anymore.
I want to go back to the little girl I was before,
The one on the playground

Who felt like a princess and wore a silver crown.
But every word I try to speak gets drowned
By my own mind and the thoughts I won’t share.
I’m fine, but the pain is always in the background.
Still, I get hit up to get felt up then shot down.
How is that fair?

If a guy likes my body and what I wear
But not me, am I supposed to not care?
Whatever happened to my shining knight?
Am I supposed to feel honored if guys stare?
I want to scream, but I just can’t find the air.
Guess that’s why I write.

Sometimes the pain and shame get too much despite
Being told countless times it will be alright.
But you will never understand what it feels like when
the monster from nightmares comes to haunt you night after night,
Except you’re not asleep and this nightmare is real life
Not ‘til you listen.
Eileen Black Dec 2018
Storyteller’s Duty (Cinquain)

What is the value of silver and gold?
Is it enough to buy beauty?
What happens when beauty grows old?
Does her story remain untold?
Isn't telling the storyteller’s duty?
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