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girl-diffusedPoems
I. All I can say is that it is a hum Reverberant, droning, consistent Quiet thrumming along the surface Stirs me awake and then it fills me with Ichor and I sip, sip, and sip (until I'm drunk). All I can say is that it is a hum, Quiet droning, a hushed whisper, Loud screaming inside the head, A piercing headache, sometimes a discordant wail. II. You sit on the porcelain lip of the tub Hooded eyes lowered, your fingertips Pressed together like the steeple of a church I think: Yes, this is what Renaissance painters modeled angels after. Your skin is like a rose-tinged alabaster, your cheeks Suffused with blood. The painter took a measured time with you. "Do you honestly think you'll be okay on your own?" You ask. Silence, she greets you. III. Hasn't my mother violently Ejected me from the nest I'm only a few months old, a nestling Wings awkward and clumsy Beak agape for masticated food (I'm not ******* ready yet) Ejects me Her beak threatens to pierce my shell This is dejà vu. I've conversed before Different room, different domain, Different speaker, a sicker listener I'm as sick, sick as **** now Mind, she hums, crescendo Crescendo high like a choral piece Orchestral, and this is resplendent Everything is gleaming Your face encased in a soft glow Halo of light Your face, cherubic, His face, Romanesque, was sculpted like a Bronze Age statue. "Your mother didn't give you the right set of tools. My mother at least gave me–" he falters. IV. I remember calling the ex 28 times in the span of 2 hours. The policeman, he counted. Thrashing on the floor, weeping like Persephone must've in Hades, like a fallen Mortal reborn as a minor goddess Stripped me, he did though, of my wings Avian feathers streaked with years-old blood My tears, why yes, they're bleeding rivulets. My shit-brown eyes alight on the bleach Yes, sweet death "Stop calling me. I'm ******* another ***** right now," the ex says. V. Memory is so faded, Plays like a scratched and worn cassette tape Mind is a-humming, humming, my mind is Orchestral choir, church choir, Pentecostal Now, I eat ichor, ravenous, now I am Closer to God and she is a woman,   Draped in funeral attire She weeps, soundless, a Seer "I don't know," I say. "The med isn't working," you reply Cherubic face shifts and morphs Melts into soft glow light, One with the halo, is the halo Nothing makes sense, everything else does too. My mind races, cassette tapes Whirs, skips, images flash, I weep Weep like Sisyphus Eyes spilling rivers of penny-tinged Crimson, sanguine ichor One day he'll taste it and hate me, Loathe me, the jade-eyed serpent Poison-fanged I'll clutch his scales until my fingers are Cut, welts, mottled bruises, fading scars I will be punished, am punished The illness, the eternal Boulder on the eternal hill, it rolls and rolls, my mouth agape I await my cyclic fate ordained by the Higher God VI. How many men have I lured into the chamber? Drunk on sweet wine or mead? Petrified into osseous Their gazes failing to avert from my Penetrative stare? He was an errant General, beautiful but stupid, his mind a one way road, his temper unpredictable and flighty Oh, how I loved the duality of him We philosophized Theorized on the Gods Laughed at their follies Wondered at the mysteries of the universe, Her deep annals Oh, how I loved the physicality of him Tight, corded muscle, his back like a Wound spring, Bronze hand Grasping a silver sword Hark! His rounded shield is lifted, my hideous reflection stares back at me My eyes, widened, the cup of manna Clatters, soundly in the chamber Reverberates Bounces off my throne of skulls How many men have I–? VII. "Can you honestly say that you can take care of yourself?" You ask from the place atop the lip of the porcelain tub. Your hands, a steeple, a church spire Perhaps, you are a lesser God, perhaps we are all falling Lucifers, wingless, blinded by vengefulness and betrayal Perhaps, he too is–? "Am I an infant to you?" I ask. The headache splits The pain demands, claws at the side of my skull, dances across my nerves, liquid iron on my tongue Because when did I? Oh, Sisyphus you weep! You, who slaughtered so many! Oh, Medusa, you wept, you beautiful serpentine harlot, you ***** you– The choir is a strong crescendo, Ascending, ascending, ascending Lowers like a thrumting and heavy bellow Deep, rich, and full, timbre "Everyone, all your life has said you were crazy, but I don't think you are, I–" VIII. The tapes skip, voices garbled, muffled, Indiscernible and distorted Mind shrieks, lower now, quieter now, Barely audible, a fading whisper, your halo Recedes, soft glow dims Your hands separate, the steeple, no, the Spire collapses. Held breath hitches, Serpentine tendrils become wisps of hair, Cloudlike We are lesser gods, not quite mortal, not quite divine The itch demands to be felt, protests And I, I scream endless into a dark chasm My voice, it does not call back to me It does not– "I don't know."
0
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 11:18 AM UTC
medusa
I. All I can say is that it is a hum Reverberant, droning, consistent Quiet thrumming along the surface Stirs me awake and then it fills me with Ichor and I sip, sip, and sip (until I'm drunk). All I can say is that it is a hum, Quiet droning, a hushed whisper, Loud screaming inside the head, A piercing headache, sometimes a discordant wail. II. You sit on the porcelain lip of the tub Hooded eyes lowered, your fingertips Pressed together like the steeple of a church I think: Yes, this is what Renaissance painters modeled angels after. Your skin is like a rose-tinged alabaster, your cheeks Suffused with blood. The painter took a measured time with you. "Do you honestly think you'll be okay on your own?" You ask. Silence, she greets you. III. Hasn't my mother violently Ejected me from the nest I'm only a few months old, a nestling Wings awkward and clumsy Beak agape for masticated food (I'm not ******* ready yet) Ejects me Her beak threatens to pierce my shell This is dejà vu. I've conversed before Different room, different domain, Different speaker, a sicker listener I'm as sick, sick as **** now Mind, she hums, crescendo Crescendo high like a choral piece Orchestral, and this is resplendent Everything is gleaming Your face encased in a soft glow Halo of light Your face, cherubic, His face, Romanesque, was sculpted like a Bronze Age statue. "Your mother didn't give you the right set of tools. My mother at least gave me–" he falters. IV. I remember calling the ex 28 times in the span of 2 hours. The policeman, he counted. Thrashing on the floor, weeping like Persephone must've in Hades, like a fallen Mortal reborn as a minor goddess Stripped me, he did though, of my wings Avian feathers streaked with years-old blood My tears, why yes, they're bleeding rivulets. My shit-brown eyes alight on the bleach Yes, sweet death "Stop calling me. I'm ******* another ***** right now," the ex says. V. Memory is so faded, Plays like a scratched and worn cassette tape Mind is a-humming, humming, my mind is Orchestral choir, church choir, Pentecostal Now, I eat ichor, ravenous, now I am Closer to God and she is a woman,   Draped in funeral attire She weeps, soundless, a Seer "I don't know," I say. "The med isn't working," you reply Cherubic face shifts and morphs Melts into soft glow light, One with the halo, is the halo Nothing makes sense, everything else does too. My mind races, cassette tapes Whirs, skips, images flash, I weep Weep like Sisyphus Eyes spilling rivers of penny-tinged Crimson, sanguine ichor One day he'll taste it and hate me, Loathe me, the jade-eyed serpent Poison-fanged I'll clutch his scales until my fingers are Cut, welts, mottled bruises, fading scars I will be punished, am punished The illness, the eternal Boulder on the eternal hill, it rolls and rolls, my mouth agape I await my cyclic fate ordained by the Higher God VI. How many men have I lured into the chamber? Drunk on sweet wine or mead? Petrified into osseous Their gazes failing to avert from my Penetrative stare? He was an errant General, beautiful but stupid, his mind a one way road, his temper unpredictable and flighty Oh, how I loved the duality of him We philosophized Theorized on the Gods Laughed at their follies Wondered at the mysteries of the universe, Her deep annals Oh, how I loved the physicality of him Tight, corded muscle, his back like a Wound spring, Bronze hand Grasping a silver sword Hark! His rounded shield is lifted, my hideous reflection stares back at me My eyes, widened, the cup of manna Clatters, soundly in the chamber Reverberates Bounces off my throne of skulls How many men have I–? VII. "Can you honestly say that you can take care of yourself?" You ask from the place atop the lip of the porcelain tub. Your hands, a steeple, a church spire Perhaps, you are a lesser God, perhaps we are all falling Lucifers, wingless, blinded by vengefulness and betrayal Perhaps, he too is–? "Am I an infant to you?" I ask. The headache splits The pain demands, claws at the side of my skull, dances across my nerves, liquid iron on my tongue Because when did I? Oh, Sisyphus you weep! You, who slaughtered so many! Oh, Medusa, you wept, you beautiful serpentine harlot, you ***** you– The choir is a strong crescendo, Ascending, ascending, ascending Lowers like a thrumting and heavy bellow Deep, rich, and full, timbre "Everyone, all your life has said you were crazy, but I don't think you are, I–" VIII. The tapes skip, voices garbled, muffled, Indiscernible and distorted Mind shrieks, lower now, quieter now, Barely audible, a fading whisper, your halo Recedes, soft glow dims Your hands separate, the steeple, no, the Spire collapses. Held breath hitches, Serpentine tendrils become wisps of hair, Cloudlike We are lesser gods, not quite mortal, not quite divine The itch demands to be felt, protests And I, I scream endless into a dark chasm My voice, it does not call back to me It does not– "I don't know."
A/n: It's been awhile. Hello. This is the unedited version of "medusa." This is the result of me reading T.S. Eliot and talking to my dear friend about older contemporary poets. This is the result of dream and haze filled nights and stressful but languid mornings. Enjoy.
#free#form#poetry#prose#contemporary#abstract#visual#experimental#mental#health
girl-diffused
Written by
girl-diffused
29/F/Earth
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 11:18 AM UTC
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