Curse the poets blood. No matter how much I cut myself, I cannot bleed it away. Curse the poets skin. I cannot tear it off, it holds everything in. Curse the poets feet. The more I try to run away, the more they dig in, rooted to the words that ground my life. Curse the poets tears. They provide no comfort. They blur my vision, wet my pages and smudge my ink. Curse the poets mind. At times I dream of throwing it all away. But I cannot differentiate between reality and figments of creativity.
There is a curse in every name. Shoot me in the back of the head and I’ll be dead, But my name shall carry on In the depth of my killer If he was a friend Or in the wallet that he stole from the corpse Now lying dead on the floor.
"But the curse", I explained "Is neither in the ****** nor in the theft, Nor is it retribution for a life shamelessly taken. It’s in the neatly shaped boxes In which the mind must be bent To fit the guilty and the innocent alike And each and all of their names."
I was molded by his own hand sculpted to perfection and eager to please who else other than my husband for without Adam, there is no Eve
at least, that was before he slithered into our perfect life pounding our perfect garden into the ground with his slick feet conniving and a brute, he convinced me to take a bite and share my fruit with man for what is mine is his my knowledge is his
I am his
together we ate snacking and licking our fingers with glee wiping the secretions of the fruit of mankind against the tree we tore it from
until our Paradise's pastures declined the wildflowers overtrodded with weeds the singing waterfall vanished only to be replaced by an evil, magmatic spout
and our tree, our once bountiful, glorious, fruitful tree decayed from the inside out
Adam's burning glare rotted my fruit and my seeds until they and I dropped to the burning embers on the ground like nicks off of a pebble that was thrown too hard or like hairs from the back of a matted mother cat that has spent far too many heatless winters hunting for a different life, for any life
with no more than a curse from Him, I became the failed experiment of humanity tossed into God's own graveyard left to rot with my stolen seed
put it on me like a curse be a good man, my first tend to my needs like a nurse my tears are aquamarine my heart is rose gold my eyes are jade stones don't think that I don't know how the lotus unfolds