death by burning knows no era
and my demons have long
set me on fire.
i feel like a witch burning at the stake —
burning and screaming for too long now,
but give it time and maybe
even my nerves can learn to be numb,
even the lick of flames can grow cold;
and maybe even the ashes can feel like home.
1; fear will not **** you, but it can eat you alive and make your insides rot.
2;you must allow yourself to thaw before you can melt--the cold was meant to allow you to feel your own heartbeat. don't ignore it
3; you are alive, even if just barely. make sure to lift your eyes to the sun to know that it still shines even amongst the dark.
4; breathe in with your nose and out through your mouth. you are a passageway for ancestral air and you should take that responsibility seriously.
5; your blood is not special, nor is it ordinary.
6; it is only by chance that you are here. a line of perfectly timed decisions birthed you--remember why you're here.
7; look at the mountains. they were here before you and will be long after you're gone. one day you will become the air that surrounds it.
8; you can lose your footing, but don't despair. sometimes you fall into a new path and it's like breathing in clarity you've never once known.
9; listen to what you're body tells you, it knows you better than you think.
10; when everything turns to dust remember you have the ability to start over. it cannot harm you to wipe the slate clean
You're innocent like the people of Salem.
But you're Abigail Williams.
We can all be a Reverend Hale sometimes. It's human.
But you are the witch.
© 2018 Omni Winters
October 26, 2018
we live in the salem of judgment
acting as though
these are the societal judgment trials
acting as though
we are perfect
and everyone else
is either subpar
we look at people we don't like
or don't know
and act as though being propelled by
throw our judgment
douse it in oil
and light it up
to surround those
at first as innocently
as christmas popcorn strings
growing into a licorice rope
it is a rope we unconsciously
throw around necks
we always forget they might have
because we're so
obsessed with ourselves
no one else
and our lives
i'm not blameless
but whoever says they are
just like the witch trials
tries to end
once it gets personal
it never seems to matter
who we hurt and judge
because that's all we care about
A velvet smooth muskrat
her peltry in woods abandon safe harbor
as though a fir tree can alight her gain
yet beneath her surface
that cast doubt in a loom
where her shape desire it
but a charlatan begun ahem
if Tom sheath his wrench
and tries to loosen her again
in Bensalem tonight.
On Proctor’s ledge I made my bed
Following the ****** scores
Through grey fog, thick as cold death.
Screaming gallows want my head...
To dance across their blood stained floors.
This opaque sky is my one true friend
Oh the exquisite view it does afford!
Peering down those rotten trap doors.
Puritan villagers spew hate
Lighting my ***** feet
As this frayed rope keeps me safe.
Smooth grey rocks hidden away...
By broken sticks and amber leaves.
I left them on the ground where they lay
Just to preserve this caliginous scene!
Eighteen others shall soon agree.
In pressing times truth oft' lies so oppressed
And falsehoods rouse to speak in joyed debate
That burdens brought to bear upon the breast
Might anchor nought but will of one testate
What courage leant upon a graven guest
Not thrift of fear in bearing of his fate
But silent as all untruths so expressed,
Except to cry with cursed tongue, "More weight!"
Giles Corey was executed via "Pressing" during the Salem Witch Trials on September 19th 1692 at the age of 81. He refused to enter any plea against the charges of witchcraft, as was his legal right.
Entering a plea meant he could be tried in court and if found guilty, all of his estate would be forfeit to the crown.
By not entering a plea his assets could be passed to his children. To prevent people from using this legal loophole, the law allowed a person to be "Pressed". This involved the person being stripped, having a large plank placed upon their chest, and then large rocks piled on top of the plank to slowly crush the chest, until a plea is entered or until death occurs. Giles endured his torture for two days before succumbing, only ever crying out "More weight!" when asked for his plea.
I stand before you
accused by some fool.
You call me a witch,
but I say you are foolish to agree.
I but a simple girl
I mean harm to no one.
You demand I confess to my sins of witchcraft
I'm firm when I look you the eye and tell you,
“ I cannot”.
I go three days and three nights
with only water and some stale bread
in the damp dark of the jail.
I almost fear my hunger has made me mad
when I see your face appear at my cell.
Though am weak,
I rise to greet your scornful face.
Again, you demand I confess.
You wish to make an example of me.
Yet again I look you in the eye and reply;
“ I cannot."
You storm out in anger raving about how I shall hang,
but I will not be tried for something I did not do.
I will not ruin my name for the games of the fool.
I stand at the gallows and you demand one last time my confession
A single tear rolls down my face as I look to the crowd gathered to see my end.
Standing tall, I whisper
I’m a witch when in the fire:
the taste, just like acid
dropping down the hole.
I’m a witch when I get out of here,
so devastated was the
dilapidated Ferris wheel.
I’m a witch when my mother comes
and succors me along,
but she don’t like
what I’ve been doing
at the witching hour--
only time I got to raise my flag.
I’m a witch when they come in
to make a martyr out of
flesh and bone. I live for the day
the people gather round’
and weep for the child of
ignorance and recreational hate.
I’m a witch when the riot
raise their fire. I’m unholy
so the temple must go down.
One, three, five, six,
give me, give me all of it.
I can take a lot, you see,
my will is unrelenting.