He makes me want to
drag red ribbons from her throat;
see what shapes
lye beneath her coat;
maybe walk for a thousand years,
without any fear of stroke...
never to return to this Land
called: Love.

He brings out the violence in me - -
for, I fear for the loss
of his soul, to thee.
He brings me to the light...
It's what makes it worth it;
all these foreign feelings of envy,
sneaking up my spine,
poured into my wine...

If only I were the only girl
in the world...
If only he were blind to
the golden locks of Hell
and the perfume scent of smell...
He makes me selfish;
No, I do!!
He makes me Hellish;
That's me too!!
What to do, what to do...
I love you.

He'd never turn.
So why does this passion
rapidly burn?
Like a clench of my fist,
and a stomach that churns;
He's mine!! Only mine!!
Never a question,
yet my words
portray suggestions;
Empty thoughts-- false dissatisfaction.

Unnecessary worries
and unwanted emotions...
Love can cause quite a commotion.
Worth it?
Yes, it's worth it.
Crazy?
Of course, I am.
I love you.
I love you...
I love you.
Thank you;
*Don't leave.

I love you
Please don’t let go of my hand
Are you ashamed of me?
Wait stop
What did I do?
Don’t
Please don’t squeeze it so har-
Ow!
That hurts please let go
What are you doing?
Stop please stop pushing your
Fingers between my collar bones
What are you doing?
Please stop, I love you*

This isn’t love, not at all
There isn’t a single bit
Of affection on his fingertips
When he shoves you on the floor
That ache that you feel when you touch
Your bruises? You tell yourself it’s love
Manifested so deep
Only something as intense as pain could show it
I know it hurts
It hurts when he calls you names
But it hurts more to think
That this isn’t love
Not at all
You’re doing everything
You can you’ve held him after
He hit you when he cries and
He swears he will be a
Better man.
“He can get better, I swear.
It wasn’t his fault,
I shouldn’t have done that.”
Darling, stop.
Stop bending over backwards for
A boy who only wants
To break your spine.
Stop giving him forgiveness undeserved
And apologies unnecessary.
Stop covering your bruises and
leaving your wounds unstitched
Stop bleeding for a boy
Who will never clean up the stains
Stop crying for
A boy who only laughs at your tears
Stop
This is not love.
Not at all
You’re too beautiful for these bruises
And dark circles under your eyes
You’re too strong for these wounds
You’re too important to let this
Boy take away your life
This isn’t the love that you deserve.
This isn’t love, not at all.
You are more than
Your bruises and you are
More than your scars you are so much
More than the names he calls you
And your tear stained pillow cases.
Honey, dry your eyes.
Stitch your wounds.
Straighten up your spine
You are so
Much more than this.
Say goodbye
Because this isn’t love
Not at all.

Wednesday 17 December 2014

This one was beautiful.  I sculpted it myself.  Did you know that?
It took years and, if I’m completely honest, I was overly fond of it.
I’d made many, of course.  I had to.  We all had to.
Cupped, round, and smooth, heavy in my hand like a clay pigeon.
So beautiful...

Somehow it began in light,
Naïveté and youth.
I used to say it just felt right,
And free from all abuse.

At  first it formed a perfect ring,
Of lies I thought were true.
I bring it, now, to end the thing.
I bring it, now, to you.  

Because every thing must have its place,
Every thing in its own time.  
This beautiful thing has failed it's need,
Inspiring only pain and rhyme.

-but may it live in memory, still,
May the growth outweigh the pain.
When pain brings growth beyond your will,
Remember fondly, this thing, again.

So why did I smile when you asked me to hold it?
Why did I find it fitting that you made me load it into the trap?
Why were the lines formed by your braced shoulder,
your leveled forearm, your
outstrectched, cradled hand,
so beautiful...
when you inclined your head,
Closed one eye, and,
Steady, raised your sights?

Why did I love you so much for pulling the trigger?

i pull away in the nick of time
right before he captures his lips with mine
he grabs my shoulders
my meekness making him bolder
and as i struggle he pulls me in closer
as if this changes the fact that this is part of an older
struggle for dominance
but aware of an audience
i shrug out of his violent embrace
as his angry fingers try to erase
my fear of his anger
my fear that he will linger
in this ferocious dispute
of me trying to escape you
bruises bloom as you glide your hand down my arm
as you make everyone forget with your charm
bruises bloom in my heart
as your words tear me apart
bruises bloom in my mind
as you blind
the ones that could mend
the bruises you tend
like a garden of blue green
roses

While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a rapping.
A loud rap rapping on my chamber door, the noise of the latch
click clicking, I heard above the clock tick ticking, then the creak
of the boards, the squeak of the nails, across my chamber floor.
And in the darkness with eyes flick flicking and the noise in my
head of the latch click clicking, and the clock in the hall still
tick, tick ticking; came the noise of his boots kick, kick kicking!
What thought I with eyes still  flicking with the sound in my head
of the clock tick ticking, and the ache and the pain from his boots
kick kicking!  Why me?
Then a punch to my face, my face to his knee, then my eyes stop
flicking. No sound anymore, no more of the clock tick ticking,
Only the creak of the boards and the squeak of the nails across
my chamber floor.  Then the sound of the latch click clicking;
no tapping or rapping, no eyes flick flicking, no, no more kicking.
Only the darkness, the slam of the door.  Then the clock tick tick,
ticking, no more creaking of the floor.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I lay there wondering and
fearing; I just cant take this anymore!

My couch is a wasteland,
Pulls me down, I cannot stand.
It scares me that I’m drawn to gore,
I see destruction, I want more.
I don’t know if its anger,
Or if it’s something stranger.
I want to shatter glass,
I need to make this feeling pass.
I want to throw things and scream,
I want to get out of this dream.
Running isn’t satisfying,
I feel like I need to break something.

Rain comes
the flood
from her eyes
and she tries
to resist desire

Torment
disguised
as a love
as a friend
as her lover

Rain drops
falling down
touch the ground
cold as ice
extinguished her fire

He touched her face
and she bites
and she screams
and she cries
but it doesn't matter

And she tries
to hit him hard
to make it stop
as the clothes
are ripped apart

She does not like
the taste of ***
his dead eyes
how he cringes her hand
doesn't matter

Doesn't matter
she screams
she cries
she's passed out
but he keeps making "love"

This morning was cold and a foggy one.
It reminded me of a past colder morning,
When the holiday hustle and bustle had just ended.
I was here....at Windwood Park,
My arms squeezed across my chest.
While briskly I walked, a strong wind blew
And by me, a flock of black birds flew...

I passed along house gardens, with Christmas trees,
With angels and stars on their tops still lighted.
Further on was a row of evergreens,
Upright, unaffected by the cold December winds,
High above the Magnolias and Hollies.
Beside the orange-purplish Birds of Paradise
Stood two smaller, obliquely grown pine trees;
Leaning, but undaunted by the sway of the winds,
No angels, or stars to show....instead, I watched as
The Crows approached, and on the tree tops, they alighted...
And then came another group of three,
And then several more followed suit,
And settled
On the nearby trees,
Blurring the tree line...until
The treetops were darkly shaded....

High above, they perch...on the grass, they search,
On the streets, they cross, pick up food, doing
What birds of the same feathers do---to survive...
A group of beaked, footed, dark crescent creatures
On top of those trees, so green with life,
Against a sky pleasantly clear and blue...
The contrasts, the events I witnessed, lingered with the cold...
A small patch of darkness...emerging,
Widening, prevailing, gaining power,
Can eventually conquer a whole world.

The White Egrets, Herons, the Finch,
The Bluebirds, Junkos and the Parrots
Usually grace Windwood Park with their presence...
Only the Blue Jay was brave enough that cold morning,
While a large number of Crows scattered,
And bravely, skillfully scavenged,
Through the wet, verdant grass,
Through the tall cans of thrash...

This morning, the cold brought back these events...and
I thought of the violence and starvation existing in places worldwide,
The prevailing restlessness, the senseless killings...the children....
No more concern for human lives...and
I thought of Nigeria...
And Pakistan,
And Paris, France,
And those that happened before them,
And those that are about to happen...

Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


...we never know what we may witness when we step out of our
   comfort zones...