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Jan 2017
Do not confuse my kindness for honesty.
Do not mistake this sweet spun fiction as anything more than a balm for the hurt.
Darling, I am lying through my teeth.
I am naught but a dark and terrible thing,
opened wide for the world to witness all my horrors.
Not unlike a mausoleum.
not a mausoleum.
I am not filled with death.
I am not filled with anything.
Sorrow created me.
I grew up from a bed of grief and hemlock.
I razed myself through the inferno.
I stood,
the world cracked and popped
as my body trembled with resistance.
I am the goddess of wrath;
Of war;
Of chaos;
Of furious broken hearts.
Who is it that comes to me like dawn on the horizon?
All blinding light and shivering roses;
All you;
All you.
Gaze upon me.
My hands are warm but my heart is shaking.
I haven't been seen in centuries.
There is not much of me to know,
but if you touch me I shall bloom.
If you touch me I shall grow into you-
Like violets;
Like violence.
A sudden stifling,
paralyzing sort of anguish sweeps in.
I don't want to be beautiful.
I want to be alive.
Will you place flowers at my feet instead?
Heather for my loniless,
Larkspur for my fickleness-
treat this body as a memorial.
Put me in a gown and set me on a pyre.
Oh, and I should burn for this,
but I beat on.
Wings against the sun,
I beat on.
Memories like woven gossamer,
like damp ink and rain.
Only the dust will remember us.
You may dismiss me now.
I will stare on with rapt attention.
Blindingly still, you shine.
And I did know you;
And I was close to you.
But there is nothing more to me than this:
The break.
I shift,
My bones hiss and pop.
I am a house settling.
I am a home burning .
I beat on.
Catherine H
Written by
Catherine H  Texas
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