Eliana

Eliana Dec 2013

1 . When I was born, life
cut the cord that connected me
to my mother. There's still a
tiny hole
in my stomach.

2. There's this faint, jagged line
between my eyebrows.
I have no idea
where it came from.

3. Three dark parallel lines
run down my ankle,
a reminder
of friendship
and barbed wire.

4. The skin on my hands, feet, forearms and shins
is decorated in tiny white flecks,
like a snowfall.
They mark me as a warrior.

5. The skin on my knuckles
is just a bit thicker, just a bit more silvery,
younger than the rest of my skin.
That marks me as an idiot.

6. Nine pale parallel lines
run across the inside of my forearm,
a reminder
of solitude
and razors.

7. There's a puckered, jagged line
on my hipbone.
I know exactly
where it came from.

8. When I was fourteen, death
cut the cord that connected me
to my friend. There's still a
gaping hole
in my stomach.

Showing 8 out of 1000 results

Eliana Dec 2013

Fracture

When I've found my stride
on a broken leg
I can walk upright
my teeth gritted into a grin
but if I lose it
(when I lose it)
that's when I fall
because I can't find it again
and my battered pride
refuses to limp.
When I fall
I don't dream
of the days before this
(those days of innocence
no longer belong
to this broken me).
When I fall
I dream
of walking
on my broken leg
and I grin.

When I find my stride
on a broken leg
it feels wrong
like I should be more broken
so I go break myself
some more.

Eliana Dec 2013

Combat Boots

I sit here, at the edge of my bed
Stooped over my feet for these long minutes
As I make butterfly knots of the laces
Pulling loops, in and out
Dust rises as the cords relearn their ductility
My tugging leaves friction burns on my hands

My combat boots have missed my feet
I wish the same could be said in reverse
But though I luxuriate in the sheer strength of them
Their weight does not lend my legs vitality
For they do not belong to me
My combat boots are yours

I rise and take my first step
The heavy sound makes me turn my head in search
Though I know I will not find you
As I find my stride, my feet swing easier
And I feel the impact against my ribs
Where once combat boots had broken them

I walk on, meeting soldiers on the way
I see their boots dragging them onward, downward
You are calling them to you
My feet pull me towards the chasm
And death, where you await me
Your smile a broken promise of forever

I yearn to break into a run
I know not which direction; escape or reunion
But still my boots weigh on my steps
And I cannot fly, for flying is escape
If I wanted to flee from you
I would not be wearing combat boots

Eliana Dec 2013

Snap

I am so tired.

Weariness
  aches in every *****,
  weighs on every limb,
  drags at every thought.

My face is haggard, drawn and gray.
My eyes are burning coals
  sunk deep into the dark pits of their sockets.
My muscles clench in terror,
    as I panic at sudden noises
    and unexpected physical contact
  but they burn with exhaustion
  and I beg them to stop
  before they tear themselves apart
  and me with them.
My movements alternate
  between sluggishness and flailing desperation.
My mind races with paranoia,
  strains to differentiate perceptions from its own creations,
  abandons both reason and reality.

But still I do not sleep,
  for the fear that preys upon me constantly in my waking hours
  runs rampant in the night,
And in my slumber
  I cannot clench my muscles to fight,
  I cannot run,
  I cannot even attempt to differentiate nightmare from reality.

Thus I flee my own consciousness,
  running from sagacity
  while still dragging my reason behind me.
It stretches,
  tighter and tighter,
  until it snaps,
And I go mad
  once again.

"Write drunk, edit sober."-Ernest Hemingway
I think I'm incapable of sobriety.

Eliana Dec 2013

A Woman Stands

A woman stands
Alone before the darkness.
Her battered feet
Will let her run no further.

She lifts her hands
Blood dancing down her arms, lest
Her wrath retreat
Allowing her the ******.

Eliana Dec 2013

Poetic Justice

I write of voices in my head
You think that is a metaphor
I say I live in constant dread
You see that as a point to score

I think the difference between art
And truth that I must try to bear
Is that one swells to hold my heart
The other, rigid, traps it there

Eliana Dec 2013

Vacillating

Leave me alone.
Stay.
Go away.
Come back.
You don't exist.
Please don't be dead.
Get out of my head.
Live here forever.
Stop making me remember.
Don't let me forget.
Quit chasing me.
Run with me into the sunset.
Let go of me.
Hold me in your arms.
Go back to oblivion, where you belong.
Take me with you.

Pain makes hypocrites of us all.