Taffeta watches the pigs atop the tables Glass eyes and stitches where they're enabled Guts pumping crimson liquid Sewing 'em up, she's addicted Family and friends recommend she withdraw She responded with a twinkle in her eye and a dropped jaw Scissors and string, that's all she'll need Besides a corpse, of course, and a bit of stuffing Lilac eyes affixed on a tattered pillow Enjoying watching a weeping Willow Her poor Porky pet has met his end But everyone knows you can depend Before your sweet pet starts to smell On Taffeta's Taxidermy to stuff 'em well
Inspired by a randomly generated word prompt, which brought my mind to a song by Teddy Hyde, Terry's Taxidermy.
And as I stood Clothed in my shame The monster I'd created Was me Was mine And The most difficult part Was turning to the mirror Looking into my eyes And realizing There was no Jekyll There was no Hyde There was just me
There are so many things I would change/cannibalize from this poem (and I will eventually), but this is the first poem I have recorded that I wrote about the refusal of the Jekyll/Hyde stereotype.
-------"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."--------
I fear you Hyde hiding in plain sight Jekyll murdered by his creation His ambition Gone the way of the monster Victor's supposed victory
The Jekyll and Hyde/monster archetype shows up a decent amount in some earlier poems of mine, but I don't agree with it anymore. I think it is easier to believe in some kind of hidden, dualistic, "evil" that forces my hand in situations. I simply don't feel like this anymore.
I'm sorry for living like Jekyll and Hyde One life at church and another outside I'm sorry for not loving and trusting you like I should I'm sorry for the times when I've caused pain and not good I'm sorry for when I choose wrong over right I'm sorry when I choose darkness over light I'm sorry Lord for the things I've done I'm sorry Lord that I hurt your son
Today I am gonna visit my buried memories. Not in a graveyard, no... Mine are concealed deeper, So deep that I have to get ***** I admit, it frightens me. Dig, dive, fly, swim. There is my lost elder companion. Reminders of my past.
Kept in a safe made out of hard wood. rough pine
'searching in a dusty pocket' But I need a key. Maybe I lost it. Sigh of relief streams out of my lungs. Maybe next time.
I buried my shadow in a concrete grave He came back to haunt me I could not deal with the dark of night But all of my light hid in the gloom so my shadow re-entered the room All the things I buried with him began to show The blackest of times So with him I entered a truce That I would acknowledge him But I said to him I'd never let him wholly loose...