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madeline may Apr 2013
i was told once that
playing with fire was
dangerous
because someone always got
burned.

all i know is my body
is charred beyond
recognition
which begs the question - who lit the
flames?
madeline may Apr 2013
people like to talk
about ways they
want to meet their
demise.

there's this recurring theme
of herocism, bravery
dying in battle, sacrifice for one
another.

some even joke about it
make it sound like something
comical, funny, like some kind of
movie.

the media plays up death
to be something to be cherished,
something to give your life a final
meaning.

dying for love, for loss,
for country, for state,
for freedom, for slavery, for
glory.

they romanticize the word
until it begins to sound like
some sick kind of gift instead of a
curse.

still, they all recognize
that they would rather breathe
than find themselves 6 feet
under.

but what happens when
you realize that, maybe,
death isn't so
beautiful?

does death lose all its honor,
its glory, its divine salvation
when it's delivered by your own
hand?
madeline may Apr 2013
i'm fine with being alone
just tired of feeling
lonely.
madeline may Apr 2013
have you ever thought about
the similarities between
united
and
untied?

read one and
mistaken it for
the other?

felt like one
but found out
you were
the other?
madeline may Apr 2013
your father died a long time ago
before your mother married him
before you were born
and i watched when your mother
pried his cold, dead hands
off of her arm
hoping it would let you and her be
free.

the stench of alcohol still clings to your clothes
and you scrub it out of your sheets
with tide and clorox
with soaps and dryers
and the love of your mother
as you struggle once again
to let you and her be
free.

you do what you can to protect your mother
from the dangers of our world
because she's been through enough
but sometimes you forget
that you need protection, too
and you find yourself scared, trapped
wishing you and her could be
free.

but people aren't just born broken
it's what people do, what people think
what people drink
that breaks the person, who breaks you
and sometimes it's so easy to hate the man
broken by the desire for his brand of whiskey
when it's been years since you've tasted your own brand of
freedom.
sometimes i write poetry about other people.
madeline may Apr 2013
the sermon today was
                                                  a story.
you've probably heard it.
a preacher and a butcher.
the preacher mistook the
                                                  butcher
for a poor excuse for a
                                                  shepard.
but the story's
                                                  irrelevant.
what's relevant is what
a woman told me
after --
that it is so easy for
christians to be led
                                                  astray.
from shepard to
butcher
and not even know the
                                                  difference.

and
i thought
this happens to everyday people
too.
how long until your
                                                  loving guidance,
                                                  gentle prodding
                    turns into
                                                  angry demanding,
                                                  violent shoving?

how long until your
                                                  love
                              becomes
                                                  forced?

how long until you
                              become
                                             a
                                                  butcher?
madeline may Apr 2013
i played my recital piece
for a man and his daughter
and the man told me
"there's hope in that piece"
and it got me thinking
that maybe
just maybe
if i can find the hope in my music
i can find
hope
         in
             me
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