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Dec 2022 · 75
28 years
Rebecca Jones Dec 2022
The questions are repeated and our hands held out frantically.
Catching the words but waiting to be handcuffed.
I try to catch their words.
Eye contact is weak and the sirens start, shrapnel falling around my body.
This noise is making our ears bleed. I collapse, begging for rest.
Buried in this shipwreck,
I don't see my escape route or a breathing device.
I've been laid to rest.
Held hostage in a tomb, I thought this was normal.
A lack of chemicals and too much flesh,
All of those 28 years,
Throwing grenades into mirrors.
I often reflect on that girl,
But how would they have known,
It was always the boys.
So there I forrage,
Still laid in my tomb.
I can't keep focus and the nights are creeping in.

A new life with this tiny spirit,
Mindset is shifted.
New soul you changed the perspective,
Foraging reveals a crack of light,
My hands and brain are numb.
The water feels light,
Salty optimism fills the air.
"Its true" he says while he files through the ripples,
He confirms my suspicions.
The reflection is clear, I hold the explosives but i don't make the call.
"Its okay" she's says, "you can take off your mask now."
I look down at my little spirit,
Taking in all those 28 years,
"You're perfect" he says.
"Put those weapons down,
Your war is over."
Aug 2020 · 52
The Farmer
Rebecca Jones Aug 2020
I see the rainbow I said,
how far away it is I am unsure.
Locked in that room is a constant twilight.

Many souls come and go, laid out infront of my own, very little conversation.
One by one they pass through, like ships in the night.
Faces i will only see once in my life.

She holds her own, her intentions i am unsure.
Her absence gives me relief.
Hands tied behind our backs.
We kneel, always forgiving.

The flock still runs for the hills.
We cower as we cry.
Water she said, I need water.
Broken hands.
Crippled feet.
Close your mouth, she said.
This little flock will never speak.
Jan 2019 · 84
Greenhouse
Rebecca Jones Jan 2019
With each day of this week,
With each week of this month,
I have grown.
Now strongly rooted.
For I did not know this strength.
I could say I shouldn’t have to know this strength.

With each month of this year, I shall bloom.
More beautiful than ever.
Through all those wildfires and all those storms, I learned to hold my own.

“I did this for you” she said, I step back.
I inspect her branches.
She’s burnt.

“Never doubt me again”
It’s aggressive.
Her tears I cannot catch.
Her anger I cannot grasp.
She’s not coming back from this takedown.
No rebirth.

I shake off my guilt, I’m leaving this greenhouse.
Jan 2019 · 582
Wildfire
Rebecca Jones Jan 2019
Stay calm they say,
For they don’t know how to weather a force of nature.
The rise is the heat, it's tropical.
The heat is a daze and the fire spreads.
This midsummer tsunami took me.
It’s rainy season, the monsoon.
It’s lingering under my skin.
I can not control what the weather will bring.
Snowflakes fall.
Forces are weakened, breaths become short.
What is left is not easy to see.
The blizzard.
For I don’t know how to weather my storm either.
So stay calm I say, the rain will wash the blaze away.

— The End —