Maryann I

Maryann I Mar 4

They told us tears were trouble,
a crack in the mask,
a plea for attention,
a sign we weren’t strong enough—
so we swallowed storms whole,
let the thunder shake inside our chests,
never daring to let it pour.

They taught girls that crying was dramatic,
a script rewritten to seem small,
a fault in the fabric of being “too much.”
They told boys it made them weak,
that strength was silence,
that pain should be caged behind quiet eyes.

But tears are not weakness.
They are rivers that carry the weight,
a language of the soul
when words fail to hold what aches.
They do not make you less,
only more—
more human, more real, more free.

So cry if you need to.
Let it fall like rain on thirsty ground,
and know—
I will never see you any differently.

#emotions #expression #vulnerability #comfort #strength #courage

Maryann I Mar 3

Love Me

You hear it, soft at first,
A whisper in the night,
A fluttering breath on your ear,
A wish that won’t take flight.
Love me,
Love  me.

The pulse quickens,
The shadows grow longer,
Each moment stretching
Like time has forgotten itself.
Love   me,
Love    me,
Love     me.

It clings like the air,
A taste on your tongue,
Unspoken, yet loud enough to drown.
The silence thickens—
Can you hear it?
Love      me,
Love       me,
Love        me,
Love         me.

It’s all that exists now,
A cage you can’t escape,
The need spirals deeper,
Faster, tighter,
Love          me.
Love           me.
Love          me.
Love         me,
Love        me.

The walls close in,
The words no longer hold weight,
Just a chant,
A prayer,
A broken record.
Love       me.
Love       me.
Love     me.
Love    me.
Love   me.
Love  me.

Love me?

This poem was originally an experiment in shape poetry, but I decided to take a different approach. Instead, I focused on spacing and repetition to create a gradual descent into obsession, evoking a spiraling effect. Inspired by the hypnotic structure of Angel by Massive Attack,” this piece builds intensity until it collapses into a final, lingering question.

(I’m still not sure if I like it… tell me what you think!)

#repetition #desperation #hypnotic #unraveling #desire

Maryann I Mar 3

Click, Click

Click your heels, darling—
red as fresh-spilled secrets,
lacquered in the longing
of a girl caught between worlds.

The shoes gleam under studio lights,
a crimson promise, a whispered lie.
Tread lightly—the yellow bricks burn,
hot as stage-lamp sunbursts.

Magic is a contract signed in dust—
not fairy dust, but the kind that coats lungs,
turns breath to wheezing lullabies,
fills dreams with silver-flecked scars.

The witch shrieks, fire swallows her whole—
the flames don’t wait for cut.
She vanishes, but the burns stay,
seeping beneath the green of her skin.

The Tin Man rattles, hollow but breathing,
lungs stiff with powdered metal.
His tears are made of oil now,
his smile a polished afterthought.

Toto limps off set, paw trembling—
no curtain call for the crushed.
The monkeys drop like fallen stars,
wires snapping mid-flight.

And Judy—oh, Judy—
her laughter is stitched together,
a patchwork of amphetamines and exhaustion,
eyes wide as if searching for Kansas
but only finding the next scene.

Still, the shoes sparkle.
Still, they tell you to click.
Because every girl wants to go home—
even when home is a fairytale
built on broken bones.

Click, click—
but the magic is only real if you believe.

This poem was inspired by the tragedies underlying The Wizard of Oz—because there is a very hidden suffering beneath that magic. From disastrous injuries on set to the exploitation of Judy Garland, the film’s glamour was built on real-life suffering. The red heels transform into a haunting symbol — not only of escape, but of the price of illusion.

#tragedy #illusion #distortion #suffering #magic #dreams