“i am a god!”
he yelled
with shaking fists
and a beat-red face.
his knees scabbed
and his blood flowing freely
onto the cemented ground.

she stared down at him,
eyebrow quirked
and a hint of a smile.
sword pointed
and ready for battle.
“you may be a god,
but i am hades.
and i bow to no one.”

We'd both seen this coming for awhile now
Yet we'd managed to neglect it somehow.

Through the looking glass of tears and stained tiles
Through the cracked and shattered fake smiles.

Through washed blood from opened scars
When I found you emptied out in hometown bars.

Passed blurried eyes and foggy car windows
Into alcohol filled veins and tear soaked pillows.

Instead of you embracing me I cradled you
Passing down dreamless hallways inable to get through.

The war hasn't begun it's been going on for ages
You've set up your defences but I'm not in those stages.

I don't want to fight I want you better
But this letter, I won't regret her.

Please tell me you understand my pain and sorrow
Please get better, I'll see you tomorrow.

You're across the room.
With eyes that spread fire
throughout my body
and hands that devour
my eternal bliss
in a series of fingers,
clashing and tangling
like the jungle that once held
the most ferocious of beasts,
but is now corrupt with the
subjects he once ruled.

*and I don't know if I'm running to
or from you

Dear Marley,
Your name was Snowball to begin with and everyone thought you were a husky. You aren't-weren't.

Dear Marley,
You were suppose to reach the table, but instead were tiny with legs that carried you for miles. Those legs got me in trouble so many times.

Dear Marley,
You could jump up to my shoulder, and on the best days when you missed me you would make me catch you.

Dear Marley,
I knew you liked to run. You would run in circles around the couch mutltiple times and it never failed to make me laugh.

Dear Marley,
You were just like me. Sassy and argumentative, even for a pet. You wouldn't do what you were told but when you did on those special occasions you would whine, just like me.

Dear Marley,
I hope that you're running around every couch you see and chasing every squirrel that climbs a tree.

Dear Marley,
I hope God is taking care of you.

Dear Marley,
You were a good dog, and I'll always remember you.

RIP Marley

i am a flower.

i will grow in the sunlight
and bloom under the moon.

i will be plucked by fingers
too greedy to nourish me after.

but i am a flower
and i refuse to wilt in your vase.

there's a passion in my veins
burning through me like liquid fire.
I rise to the top
so close I can taste the sweet taste of stars,
but then the taste turns bitter,
acidic,
and I am second best.

A name is a name
to which someone is giving

for how they act
or how they look

for what they do
or what they say

But the name you have given
me is none of the above

for I did not act how you say
I do not look how you think

I did not do what you whispered
I did not say what you spread

I am not fake
and I am not a loner

Because to be fake
is to act like someone you are not

And to be a loner
I would have to want to be alone

But I do not know who I am
so I cannot act like someone else

And I cannot leave this ****** house
because of the scars etched across my skin where your words inflicted them

I am not what you say I am
I do not what you say I do
I just try to be the best possible me there is
Without knowing me at all

i will protect
my body as if
it were a blade of
grass in a
hurricane.

i will not bend to your winds.

do poems only flourish when they are rooted in the soil of emotions?
shall i water them with my tears?
do they sprout from the anger that weeds itself through my soul?
are they the seeds that i planted in my garden and only grow when the sky flashes and thunder sounds?
will you pluck them and use them as decoration for your dinner table?
do they bloom in the moonlight?
are they the trees that sway in the wind yet stand tall in the face of a hurricane?
are poems only full of emotion when we are?
or can i truly write whatever i want?

jesus ******* christ.
the days were numbered and i
forgot to start a tally of
lines carved into the cement walls.
these walls are the only thing
keeping me sane, my sanity
isn’t what it use to be but thank
god i’m not surrounded by
people infected with
ignorance.

rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.

and it’s okay, the family inside took their time,
made sure the door was shut and locked as they left,
never left their lamp on inside so someone came in,
said the skeleton of a home is worth rebuilding,
refurnishing.
matching the curtains with the drapes
and the sofas with the carpet.
the rug was a gift, they say.
for helping and fixing and replenishing
and making the home welcoming to guests.
guests that never received invitations,
never allowed in.
guests who are not guests,
guests who own that ******* house.
guests who own you.

rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.

follow the flame.
follow the footsteps.
find where it starts and let
no one forget it.
you’ve a duty to uphold,
and people to protect,
this was only the beginning
of the very end.


rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.


rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.

i wasn’t born to create
tear stains in my pillow at night.

i was born to draw
blood from bone

Some days my head is high
My chin is raised
My eyes are bright
And I sing self praise

Other days my head is low
My chin is tucked
My eyes are sad
I'm out of luck

My soul is joyful
I feel no fear
I can't stop smiling
I'm happy I'm here

I go outside
I grin at the sun
I smell the roses
It's good to be someone

But then I'm down
And everything crashes
A tear slowly slides
The pain comes in flashes

It hurts to breathe
Yet I cry and cry
Sometimes I wish
That I could just die

But then I remember
I was made for something
And I lift my head
And walk with a spring

I move on to the good days
I pass the hurt
Because even the best days
Outshine the worst

i am a misunderstanding
    i am misinterpreted
i am the second to the first
    and then i am cast away
singing the melody of a song
    that is never heard

i am the one they turn to
    when no one is there
or when everyone leaves
    and then I am the one
being left though you know
    what loneliness feels like

i am held to a standard
    and talked to with love
but my friends are only
    the lonely lilacs
sitting on the side of the road
    waiting to be picked up
only to be hung upside down

i am everything you ever
    wanted and nothing all at
the same time and when
    you are through with me
you will wonder why I left

          but you left me first

waiting waiting waiting
at your front door
call me sweetheart
i’ve heard it before

wondering wondering wondering
if you’ll answer or not
but a blank stare
was all that i got

hoping hoping hoping
this was just a bad day
“i just don’t feel well”
is all you would say

knowing knowing knowing
that this is the end
your eyes are saying everything
that you could not send

but i’m done waiting
and i’m done wondering
and i’m done hoping
because i know

that nothing i could do
and nothing i could say
would stop you from leaving
when you didn’t want to stay

as the rain pelted my face i felt an odd sensation of satisfaction.

the water had cleansed my body like it was the holy water used at morning mass.

the catholics’ silence could be heard as i bathed in God’s tears.

the deafening echo of a wordless cathedral spinning into chaos.

as peace consumes me and
my body is laid to rest

i realize why God had flooded the earth the first time.

there is an insistent pressure on
my back as i take
one step,
then two,
then three.
then for as long as i can
remember it is my thighs that
give away, it is not the
breathless touch of a hesitant
lover but it is the teeth
marks from left over
bottle caps at the foot of the
bed in my room.
then it is my toes,
they flex and dance
and sometimes they whisper
on the blinding white
tiles on my bathroom floor

it is 4am
and i am awake.

and she stood with
shaking knees
and held out her
bloodied hands

they were quivering
with pain
and her cheeks were
tear stained

but she felt her
shattered heart
beat to life
once more

and she knew she would
endure it
as long as he got
to live

i didn’t want to write this.

not when you’re no longer laying next to me.
the warmth from your skin no longer seeping into mine.

i didn’t want to write this.
not without your hand intertwined with mine.
fingers wrapped so delicately around each other.

i didn’t want to write this.
not because it doesn’t hurt anymore.
i’m reminded of you every single day.

i really didn’t want to write this.
but i did.

because it still hurts that i wasn’t good enough for you.
it kills me that it seemed easy for you to leave so suddenly.
it pains me that you probably never looked back once.

but that pain is still there.
i promise you that.

so i guess i wrote this to remind you.
(or remind myself of you)
i wrote this to remind you that even 3 months, numerous attempts to say your name without the bitter aftertaste, and several poems later, it’s still hard to pretend that i was never close with you.

laying next to you.
my body warmth seeping into yours.  
fingers wrapped delicately.

you feel that?
it’s the pain,
still there.

I can't breathe.
The air is extricated from
my lungs by their
vacant, judgemental
stares and their obscene
words litter my skin
like the paint
that splattered my pink flesh
as I tried to paint you
a picture of what
this feels like.

No amount of water
could cleanse the feeling
of the tense atmosphere that
clouds my vision
as if I were a wingless airplane
flying on a foggy night, but
I'm not a flight you want
to take home tonight.

And I know you see
my straightened back
as another entity proceeds
2 feet too close into my
personalaized hell.

Turn away.
Pretend you don't see anything.

For acknowledging my
social anxiety doesn't
relieve me.

It causes me to be
more anxious than before.

If diamonds are one in a million,
then you must be the one
who hides the eyes of hurt
and tears of sorrow.

If crystals are used for beauty,
then you must be the one
who injects it into your veins
to stop the pain of tomorrow.

If pearls were to be a necklace,
then yours must look like
charred rope that wraps around
your neck in the middle of the night.

When all of the guilt,
And all of the shame,

When all of the hurt,
And all of the pain,

Undulates through your body
like the harshest of oceans
in the middle of a hurricane.

Like the vortex of a tornado
that swallows houses and families,
that destroys the earth's being.

You will see me.
And I will smile.
Because no matter how hurt I am,
I will always forgive you.

Even if you don't say sorry.

Fire Isn't Always Physical.
it's the day when i first saw you
it's my cheeks when you first talked to me
it's my skin when you run your fingers across it
it's my heart when you say you love me
it's my entire being as you hold me

Fire Isn't Always Present.
it's the day when you said you didn't need me
it's my cheeks as my tears stream down them recklessly
it's my skin as your words tear it apart violently
it's my heart when you refuse to look back
it's my entire being as you walk away

Fire Isn't Always Precious.
it's the day i see you with another
it's my cheeks when they beat red with anger
it's my skin when the image of you and her shreds it to pieces
it's my heart when it shatters and breaks in two
it's my entire being as i never get over you

Fire Isn't Always Petty.
it's the day that i stop thinking of you
it's my cheeks when they're no longer wet with sadness
it's my skin when it no longer yearns for your touch like it did
it's my heart when it stops crying for you to come back
it's my entire being as i finally get over you

dear mother, this is my letter to you.

i would like to start this letter off by saying that i didn’t know who to address it to.
“mother” is a term that i hold dearly,
a term many use simply and with abandon.
thoughtlessly throwing the term around,
bestowing the title upon their friends’ mothers,
like they’re their second family.

for years the term has encumbered me,
chained me to a wall where the shackles have rusted into my wrists.
my arms have gone limp from pulling at them from either trying to get away or trying to get back to you.

my mother.

but lately,
i’ve found that mother is a term of endearment.
a complete bond of trust and love that i’m suppose to feel but haven’t for years.
and lately,

mother,

it’s because you haven’t been a mother.
and maybe...
maybe that sounds dramatic and cold and cruel and just downright unfair.

because you gave birth to me right?

because your idea of love is different but it’s still love, faith and ******* you can’t do this to your sisters do you know what my mother did to me you can take it
but i can’t mother.

mom.

i can’t take it mom.
you’ve taken so much from me.

you’ve stolen my health.

my ability to trust.

my ability to love.

you’ve stolen the compassion from my bones and you’ve robbed me of my childhood and i never got to recklessly throw myself into something that doesn’t matter because it doesn’t matter and i never got to live,

mama

i never got to live.

you’ve already given me guilt,
guilt that i already had.
guilt upon guilt upon guilt upon guilt

and you never stopped to think that this hurts me too?

not even once?

you think i slide through life, laughing because i have another mother who was better than you?
the funny thing is,

mama

is that she is better than you.

and it hurts me even more that she’s better than you.

because you gave birth to me.

you gave me life.

the breath in my lungs.

the heart in my chest and the brain in my head.

yet she’s the one that made it beat and she’s the one that gave me thought and she’s the one that breathes for me when i can’t.
because janda,

janda,

you should’ve done that for me.

not her.

you should’ve done that.

but you didn’t.

so i’m letting you go,
because you didn’t fight to stay.
you didn’t fight to change.
because i’m just like everyone else.

because how can you be my mother when you never treated me like your daughter.

i love you.
and i’ll always love you,
but i can’t love you like this.
not anymore.

sincerely, faith marino.

i stood outside in the rain
and felt the water collide with my face wondering if i was the only one
who had felt like this or if it was
just the cold from my wet clothes
slowly creeping in

was the feeling my empty chest
which carried the echoed thumps
of my heart or was it just the chilling
of my bones from landing in one
too many puddles

i read poetry until the dawn broke the sky
and like the sun waking up
i kissed the darkness goodbye
and welcomed the blue bird’s song
greeting the warm rays of a new day

but like the day it was only temporary
and i felt the cool pull from the moon’s glow
tugging me back into my empty bed
writing poetry until the light from the morning
shown brighter than my phone screen

sadness only settles into my skin
after i am done tearing at it with guilty teeth
remembering what it felt like to sink into
that special spot at the
junction point of your shoulders

i spend countless hours biting my nails
to short stubs because i don’t want
to remember them tracing
the freckles on your back as if i
were painting constellations on your flesh

i look at photos in my phone
only deleting them when the substance in
my lungs is strong enough to subdue
the aching in my chest as i remember
the happiness and the love that we held

i make hot tea once it hits 4
with the salted tears that fall down
my cheeks because i can’t get up
without falling to my knees in a silent
prayer that you’ll come back to me

and when the sun comes back up
and awakes the restless city
i welcome it with open arms in hopes
that today will actually be a new day
and that it’ll end when it leaves