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Mar 2017 · 351
Foundations
Dacy Maly Mar 2017
She didn’t know much about building houses
She had dreamt about it
And done some observing
But she had no idea about the logistics
The nitty gritties
And so when she made the decision
To build a house
She looked at the blueprints
She had drawn up
And she felt elated
She began to pour the cement
Somewhat carelessly
With inexperience and excitement
She had never built a house before
So when she began to see the cracks forming
She didn’t know what to do
She had to ignore the smaller ones
Pretend they weren’t there
So she could fix the larger
More insidious cracks
Day and night she poured cement
Into the crevices
Pouring with it her love and care
For the house
Willing it to hold
Sometimes it looked smooth for a little while
And she gained hope
But inevitably, it always cracked again
The crevices getting wider and deeper
But still she poured
She had never built a house before
She thought that every foundation
Cracked and cracked
Before it became beautiful
She thought this was part of the process
So she tried to build a house
On top of the cracked foundation
But this just caused the cracks to deepen
And the smaller cracks
Became impossible to ignore
And so
When the fragile, broken house
Finally crumbled
Her devastation
Led to regret
That she ignored the small cracks
And poured so much of herself
Into the big ones
But she learned
That starting over
Is not the same
As giving up
Dacy Maly Feb 2017
his eyes
were black holes
I was
a scientist
spending
my days
figuring out
what mysteries
lay on
the other side

his body
was was a map
I was
a cartographer
tracing
my fingers
across his skin
I tried
to find
the direction
we should
go

his hands
were novels
I was
a bookworm
reading
between
the lines
willing myself
to remember
each
tantalizing
part

his mind
was a garden
I was
a peaceful visitor
careful
never to intrude
because
picked flowers
are only beautiful
until
they die

my heart
was a thin glass vase
you were
a bull
in a
China shop
Jul 2016 · 328
changing form
Dacy Maly Jul 2016
she woke up that morning
and the layers has started to peel back again
she picked at them
exasperated and exhausted
she thought she was done transforming for now
she had just grown accustomed to this new self

she was tired from growing
looking around at the molted skin scattered around
the toxic, previously inescapable thoughts
freshly wrung from her mind
the remnants of self love rekindled
carefully tended into a warm, healthy fire again
the memories finally sorted
returned gently to their rightful place in her mind
placed gingerly in their box to accumulate dust
before she would return to them again someday
air them out with a disconnected nostalgia
that can only come with time

and that was when she felt it in her bones
a premonition
an understanding that this was reality
that change would be constant from now on

she had to ground herself in the knowledge
that it would be okay
to relieve the anxiety
of remaining in emotional purgatory
to quell the fear
that she would never feel normal again

so now
when the answers evaded her
and the newfound familiarity that she clung to
melted away with the peeling layers
she took a deep breath
and patiently kept searching
Dec 2015 · 579
Woman
Dacy Maly Dec 2015
I am woman
I radiate
I am strength and depth
I am flawed
I grow
I exist
I am an enigma wrapped in secrets
I am undiscovered
I am discoverable
I want
I need
I am matter
I am protons and neutrons
I am love
I am dust
I am mortal
I hope
I breathe
I am
Dec 2015 · 889
Stolen Paradise
Dacy Maly Dec 2015
I tried to store it away
and it lost its luster
It cannot exist hidden away
It does not thrive in memory
It must be free and wild and pure
to be paradise
Nov 2015 · 313
sorrow
Dacy Maly Nov 2015
let the sadness take over
breathe it in
let is spread to the tips of your fingers
and toes
feel it fill the spaces
between every cell
every atom of your body
you are okay
you will be okay
let the sadness run its course
then let it go
Nov 2015 · 520
Dread
Dacy Maly Nov 2015
Hanging condescendingly above the door
She stared at the stern cuckoo clock
The minute hand silently creeping
Urging the hour hand to its destination
The second hand an evil judge
Its ticking a constant reminder
Of time’s inevitable march forward
And the journey that lay ahead of her
She wasn’t sure which one she hated more
She knew that when the small figurines
Emerged from their dark hiding place
To waltz their waltz
As they did every hour of every day
She would have to leave
And she didn’t know when she would return
And so as much as she hated the clock
It’s jolly song a mockery of her decision
She knew that ultimately leaving was her choice
And that she would miss the **** cuckoo clock
Hanging condescendingly above the door
Nov 2015 · 372
Untitled
Dacy Maly Nov 2015
they say when you turn 22
there are all new cells in your body
the ones from birth, all of them
have been replaced
you adapt and are made new

maybe that’s why this part
of my life has been so chaotic
out of control and confused
unsure whether it yearns for the past
lives for the present
or anxiously, excitedly
awaits the future
because the last baby cells are dying
and their time is up
and the rest of me doesn’t know
if it’s ready for that
quite yet
Nov 2015 · 797
Darkness
Dacy Maly Nov 2015
The darkness crept into her parted lips one night
A midnight intruder
Uninvited and unnoticed
The darkness spread its tar-black fingers
Through her veins and capillaries
It filled her lungs with soot
It was the heaviness behind her eyes
And the steel bar across her chest
Finally, the darkness slithered into her mind
And by the time she realized it was there
She could no longer remember
How to let the light in
Nov 2015 · 390
Words
Dacy Maly Nov 2015
I cannot just say what i want to say
the words are trapped in the back
of my throat
too afraid to crawl out
and reveal the intentions of their creator
and so they pile up
in the graveyard of the unspoken
the brilliant thought in class
the honest answer
the bold I love you
they rot inside me
like a sticky, poisonous bile
they come back to life at midnight
to consume me
behind the darkness
of my exhausted eyelids
a pack of muted zombies
that only wanted to be heard

— The End —