That’s what you wanted
Just accepted silence
Just desired crying
Just no more defience
So why the fuck do you want my voice
The ironic song bird wedged down my throat
You just want to hear your name screamed out
I’d say fuck you but you’d take it the wrong way
That or it won’t even reach past my new blue gloss
You want me to speak up now? Well you’ll get it, yet don’t blame me if my voice goes hoarse. My eyes bleed tears of forgiveness when looking disgusting and captivating as I screech like a banshee . With snot dribbling down my chin. With split ends visible in my wooden mane. With eyes turned muddy the unplanned forecast for blood thirst and depression
Like how about I talk about those long nights at McDonald, or when you sung lullabies that implanted insomnia, or the icy touch of your frostbitten hands looking for warmth and all you found was me. How about those whispered words of , “ I really like you.” Cuz four words are worth so much more than three. Each held more meaning than the last as if they were your last breath as you plunged inside me with dagger-claws. Yet I loved it, dammit I loved it! I loved being your barbie doll.
But were they even true
Were all the nights we stared at one another with clamped together hands just the darkness in your coal eyes wanting my spark. My bite. Was it just so you could see if I could be yours. Only yours. I left so many scars on you and you to me, and you told me you loved them. Your fingers would trace my stories I engraved upon your temple. But none were proof enough of how you fucked my mind up with yourself. Made me worshiped like a false goddess undeserving of your praise and love and soul and eyes and goddammit I’m back your your dead fucking eyes even when you blinked to show you lived.
You knew I never loved anyone before you. Never held hands before you. Never had any lips besides your cracked ones trying to imitate a desert to trick others of nothingness that you’d whisper only to me. Never told a man nor woman that they were my first of everything before you. I was a tiger lily and you a weed. And you took it all away you fucking hypocrite!
You knew before I could even say wait. And I loved you for it, I still fuckning love you for it cuz I am a moron. My heart never beats when you aren’t around. I never needed to speak, you were the source of my puppeteer voice I used when other’s worried about something.
Yet now you want me to tell you lies. Tell you who hurt me
Tell you who used me
Tell you who fucking broke me down to a sniveling, worthless pile of ash
But instead of telling what was reality I played within your almond flavored fantasies and blamed everyone but you. For no, never you.You, you, you, you, you. Rigamortus won’t stop my hands from grabbing your shirt as I slowly sank to the ninth level of hell.
BECAUSE IT WAS YOU GOD FUCKING DAMMIT MAN
YOU DID THIS TO ME
I WAS AN AURORA SUNSHINE YET YOU SUCKED ME DRY
TILL ALL THAT WAS LEFT WERE MONOTONE CLOUDS
YOU'RE THE ONE THAT SHOVED YOUR HAND INSIDE ME
AND REPLACED ORGANS WITH STUFFING
YOU DID IT
YOU DID IT
YOU DID IT
YOU DID IT
You're the reason
I slit my throat
Tied up my vocal cords.
Sewn shut my lips
It's no surprise I was thrown away
Like a broken doll
It's funny you see?
When you're choking you should see the irony
Ain't I the one that needs to hush up
War isn't that fusillade you hear in the distance
betwixt the government troops and the resistance
it's the civilians getting tattered in the crossfire
it isn't the wham of bombardment from airstrikes
by blaring Jet fighters across a shower of black in the sky
it isn't the badonkadonk of a Rocket launcher or Black Mamba
but natives being swept like Safari ants in chunky numbers
War isn't those mines planted in hitherto playing field
but the ignorant innocent children in search for a distraction killed
War isn't the televised scorched homes and gardens with corns
but the consequent drought, scarcity and "famined" and feeble as thorns
War isn't those vehicles and motors torched
it's the blameless owner who in tears the absurdity watched
War isn't that cacophony of politicians on stuffed tables
their speeches filled with hypocritical vocabulary are but fables
speak to the maimed and dead whose voices are never heard
it's those who want the anarchy to end, it's they that are tired
War isn't the nations battling or the parties in contention
it's those set, torn and cast apart...the ones we seldom mention
the parents and siblings forced to say goodbye
while their Breadwinner falls victim to conscription
despondent and despairing as they look on and cry
knowing their brother and Son's like those taken before bound to die
or those refugees wanting to return to their cradle
but having no home and nothing to return to but rubble
those forced to stay in the first world midst racist chants and hate
jeered by the "civilised" like they chose their skin-color and fate
War isn't the famous voices we hear and talk about on the media
but the Virgin girls abducted, gagged, raped and mutilated
War isn't the beautiful monster tanks wrecking
but the historical landmarks and fashioned roads
reduced to nothing, the lives within squashed under their loads
War isn't the glamorous documentary films censored and unreal
but the muffled deadbeat voices from heartbreaks that never heal
It's seeing one's whole life sublime in one moment of savagery
compelling the orphaned and widowed into manacles of sex slavery
for with the loss of their husbands and parents, neighbours, Uncles
comes the tight grasp of inhumane chains and anchors
in those places they are forced to seek refuge
places where they are treated worse when they attempt to refuse
War isn't just being apart from your people by a million a mile
War's learning to wear a weighted mask of a smile
while the heart, Soul, Mind and one's entirety's in Tears
War's knowing all one's "perspirational" toils were but wasted years
fearing to tell one's story because among the presented ears
one can no longer tell one that truly listens from one that just hears
whatever's in speech be it poetry or Documentary isn't War
War isn't words, war isn't testimonies, there's more
destruction to War than the eyes, heart can handle
not ever can War fit in the descriptions of words we bundle
War's something humanity never deserve
so unfair for we make war when most can hardly make love.
If she hit you,
you would marvel
at your bruises.
The disgust that
has clinched my heart
since the first day you
ever said her name again,
would pull so tightly
I'd be in just as much
danger of dying
as you are.
You would run your
the rim of your blackened eye,
you would say,
"It's so beautiful,
how did she know that
purple is my favorite color?"
You would show it to the world,
proud, happy, relieved, that
you can finally put down
your razor blade, because
this time, she loves you enough
to carve her name into your skin
so that you don't have to.
Cherry blood is always good, because it's dark and it means no artery was hit. You're still alive. You're living. That's why I sometimes don't understand the big fuss my principal made when I took off the sweatband on my wrist. Or maybe it was the vice principal. Either way, the school counselor was called in, and so were my parents. Looks of shock. Confusion. Why? They all asked. But I had no reasonable answer. I was young and innocent -- a feeling I'd love to regain, but at the time, I wanted the opposite. Maybe I did it for the excitement; the thrill. Some said I was just "a troubled child"; it will pass. Others said I was "disturbed" or "depressed". But these are just words. I know what I was. I wanted the attention; I wanted to get caught, until it actually happened. After my mom paid a psychiatrist $350 three different times, I told her I was okay; I stopped doing it; Please don't make me go back. And she never made me go back. And I never did it again.
Angel sits on her bed talking to her boyfriend, they’ve dated for two months and he says that’s enough.
“Ang think about me, think about us, do it for us”.
Angela is hesitant but her gaze remains fixed at the ceiling lamp, a moth in a trance
Keeps bumping into it making audible clinks
Angela opens her mouth slightly, hesitantly
“Where are you, Baby, I’ll come to you right now.”
“You’re gonna do it?”
“I’m ready, yes. I trust you and Love You with my heart Baby.”
“That’s what I wanna hear, I’ll leave the door unlocked. You are the Best.”
The call ends and the screen on her phone goes dim
It was a breezy evening, Angela decided to dress appropriately
One arm through the sleeve, then the other, then one leg through the pant, then the other
Shoes, socks, watch
Lock the door, hop on the bike, which she learned to ride
At nine years old, the crux of her life, a little later than most
She learned to go fast at ten, to catch up
A left at 11th, and straight down three blocks to Baby’s place
Illuminating the whole street at 12:00
The door was unlocked like he said and she entered like she said
“I’m here, are you ready?” “Yes, please go ahead.”
Angela had never done this before but she loved her Baby so much
So, she started with her hands by making a slight incision at the webbing between her thumb and pointer
All it took was a slight tug to peel off an inch of her skin, and then more, and then more and then more
Until her whole left hand was exposed to the elements, to Baby’s great delight
She nodded with a slight smile on her face, and began to scrape off the rest of her arm
Muscles and tendons revealed themselves, twitching slightly as if surprised by their own existence
“Get it all off! Stop teasing! I love you, I want more!”
Baby laughed and Angela made sure to laugh louder as she tore away to reveal her deltoid and her pectorals across her chest
Next her stomach went, then her crotch, her skin making hollow thuds on the floor whenever they fell
She wasn’t very neat but after all, this was her first time.
The frenzy of the moment left Ang breathless, so this is True Love she thought, blood and mirth
Baby held her all night long and traced his fingers across each strand of tissue, not afraid
Angela could feel every individual filament in her left arm tense and flex and squelch to supply her livelihood, their livelihood
And she smiled for herself, the greatest sacrifice she could give, and all for Baby
tearing herself apart made her feel complete!
Her identity shall remain anonymous /
coz' it is the only way her demons come out from hiding in order to play /
they dance in the darkness and sing in the silence /
they begin capture her /
slowly and discretely /
they cut her up through her notions and they begin to baptize her thoughts/
then they begin to swim towards her emotions /
she weeps with pain /
blood flows from her wrists and her heart begins to cry / her blood flows as the rivers flow into the oceans \
as each drop falls she begins to loose herself minutely / someone once asked ' why so profound '
she replied why not ?
Once upon a time,
You tossed my emotions in the shredder.
I paid you back in flesh.
Nervous, I grasped the knife.
Pressing it against me,
Right before the puncture.
I freeze. My arm feeling the sting.
I gather myself. Deep breath.
Serated blades saw away,
Breaking skin, tearing muscle.
Then the blood drips.
We exchange wounds,
Cut for cut.
It wasn't love, just pain.
My Mother called my Grandmother a "Dirty Gypsy" a long time ago
I never knew what it meant until I gave that part of my heritage a go
The Romani left India about 1,500 years ago, traveling, running ever since
The White people of the Medieval Ages hated them, at their very presence they took offense...
In some areas of Europe it was a common practice to mutilate the woman, rape and stolen kisses
And they branded the men with hot pokers... Who can understand this?
They were forbidden to speak in their native tongue
Yet their songs of joy and laughter are still sung