"miscarriage" poems
where it starts
1. your girlfriend will have a miscarriage
for the second time
and you, you'll start using needles
THERE WILL BE NO DIRECT CORRELATION BETWEEN THESE TWO THINGS
but you tell yourself
a daughter is what would make life worth living
and subsequently what it takes to get you sober
2. you lose your job
because you're always in the bathroom missing veins
loss of job will inevitably spiral into an
"intolerable depression"
or
"extended sadness"
or
"whatever version of this is easiest to swallow"
3. you get to spend every holiday from your birthday until The Day She Dies sitting next to your mother's hospital bed
(except for when you're always in the bathroom, missing veiins)
LATER
your sister reassures you that mom didn't know the way you also choked back guilt with all the bile and unpleasant things in your trips to the restroom
but for now you will hate yourself
hate the sticky needles
and hate the way your girlfriend leaves all her ghosts behind when she leaves you
4. you find that bathroom floors are your new home
splayed out after your 8th overdose
jail cells are just a normal tuesday
and you keep waking up to razor blades left neatly on your pillow
where it ends
5. giving up ****** is like pulling teeth
messy and painful but typically necessary
and so hard to do alone
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
I'm the villain, but how was I supposed to know he had a wife and two children. Twenty-three years of marriage and she contemplates her happily ever after coming to an end……after a miscarriage, another child's death, 23 anniversaries, and 23 year old twins. My sugar daddy lead a double life, but how, how, how……was I supposed to know that he had a wife? It should've registered to me how he always wanted to skip out of town, but how could he lie to his goddess and not see her standing before him in her wedding gown. She hates me……She hates me and I don't blame her, if she decides to **** me and him both, I hope they don't tame her. When this woman walked in with her husband's **** inside of me I felt a rush of excitement, rode him harder and looked her in the eyes as I did it……painful mistakes you make when you're *** addicted. They'll think about how Dad's fake girlfriend is younger than them, but they won't understand, she'll wonder why he stepped out on her with a stripper young enough to be their resting daughter………as she thinks of a backup plan. I know this is wrong, but I might be in love, and this is strong. There's black and there's white, and grey will never be right. But this grey is my sin escalating to a whole new level, I can't leave this man alone………for I am his cruel devil.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC
a miscarriage
a road to nowhere
an ******
a hybrid
a chance missed
a tarantula's kiss
everything's lost
a sea of critique
a man chained in front of the mirror
a priest reciting an unending bible
everything's lost
because perfection is the goal
and failure is the only hope.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
One, and two, and two, and two
The people I saw to get to you
The door, the desk, the man, the bed
The thoughts of what you're going through
My face a distant helpless frown
My heart gave way when I saw you wince
My knees felt weak and Buckle-y
The thought, it came: I let you down
Control so far, we can't attain
Alternatives so distant now
Delete the wrongs this world wreaks
Loss too great, the horrid pain
A miscarriage of all our aims
No doctor can prescribe a cure
I finally scream in cathartic rage
"I thought this ******* comic was about video games"
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
What's so illegal about wanting to marry?
What's so illegal about not wanting that weight to carry?
What's so illegal about inhaling the pain away?
What's so illegal about not living another day?
Our choice, our freedoms, once all in the same.
Now apposed by laws and wars and the Government's games.
War on drugs, anti-gay marriage,
No more abortions might as well lead to "accidental" miscarriage.
Suicides and trespassers both shot in the head,
Hacking games and fake identities, you might as well be dead.
Everything we fear the pessimists then "amend"
Pretending to be gods as if their hands are to be a lend.
What happened to the world when freedom was a lifetime?
Not where fat bellowing rich men made ruling us their pastime.
A rebellion is out of the question,
For people are afraid of more oppression.
Somehow comfortable in homes where brains lie with matrix,
Merely made up of fools who are not creative.
Sick of living in these countries of lies,
Freedom is all I ask but it is what others despise.
What's so illegal about being free?
What's so illegal about being me?
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
There is sea salt all over my hands, and I know I'm not the ocean.
So let's drink tea out of mason jars,
with cold porcelain shards instead of ice,
and let's cut our mouths on every argument we've ever had.
I hope you don't mind if I make a home out of you,
and I'm sorry if my spirit doesn't fit so well inside of yours, you see
I have been carrying dead weight with me like a terminated pregnancy,
and mourning the emptiness inside of me like a miscarriage.
Now it seems like I'm only giving birth
to the sorrow that my heart cannot hold.
Now I'm starting my mid-life crisis early, stating over, starting with you.
I'm writing my past into the sand, waiting for the tide to clean my slate.
So just wait a little but while I hold my breath hostage,
and I will wait for a ransom to come,
and I will pray that it doesn't come barreling down my door, looking like you.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
aesthetic is etiquette
is:
what is & isn't
either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...
nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...
i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...
but...
aesthetic ≠ etiquette...
but...
it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,
then
(the)
aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...
if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
no genius of the originator
basis...
wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...
(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...
etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...
nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?
hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!
a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...
if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...
so...
so...
ah...
was kommen:
was ist...
und alles was:
ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
ich war
nie sein: geboren....
ich war sein: sterben!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
They say losing a loved one is the worst thing you could go through.
Suicide.
******
Heartbreak.
Divorce.
Miscarriage.
The whole nine yards
But no one ever really mentions reputation.
For me reputation has engulfed my whole life.
Caring so much about
What other people think.
Image.
Late nights
Wondering whats wrong with you.
Wondering why
you cant look like her.
And wondering why boys
steer clear of you like a virus.
For me
I contributed all of this uncertainty
to one event in my life.
And for some reason i think if i got the opportunity
To go back in time,
I would.
Maybe.
And teenagers, especially girls
Crave affection.
You have no idea what a girl would do
To feel something
Even for just a minute.
People call us names for looking for affection.
****
*****
Thirsty.
But how were we supposed to know
That this so called
"Affection"
Wasnt real?
How were we supposed to know
That we would get
Played
And used?
Yet we do it more than once
In hopes that
Someone.
Will surprise us.
Dont get me wrong,
My life isnt terrible
None of those things i mentioned before
Have ever happened to me,
But reputation has.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Today
I savored my own killing
I could've done so
at the twilight of my days
while I dose off
on a creaking rocking chair
my old lean limbs entangling down
my crooked joints melded to the arm rests
my heavy head resting on my collarbone
oblivious as I
mercifully approach from the back
gently stepping on the tube
leading oxygen to my dying body
watching as my breath become heavy
as my blocked throat wheeze in exhaustion
as my stressed lungs finally collapse
as I quietly yield to sleep.
I could've done so
sometime tomorrow or yesterday
As I lay asleep on my back
snoring as usual
in an instant I'll roll over
and be on top of myself
clasping at my mouth and nose
pressing my full body weight
as I jolt awake, panicked and confused
my arm randomly flailing around
torn prayer flags swooped by a hurricane
my fingers digging into the flesh of my arms
attempting to pull me apart
until finally
my stubborn grip overcomes
and defeated I dim onto stillness
save for a twitch here or there.
I chose to do so
in my youth
as the texture of a heavy rope
grazes and bruises the skin on my neck
while I send a chilling smile at myself
from across the room
pulling a handle
that drops the floor beneath my feet
accelerating for the first time
relishing the hissing air
the absence of gravity
catching with my eyes my penetrating gaze
older than I am
full of grief, fatigue, and divination
cut by the cracking rope
torn like my snapped neck
with a hallow sound
much less revolting than I thought
watch me dangling like
a ragged pendulum
a grotesque puppet
an unripe miscarriage
feeling but a slight pinch of regret
for never knowing
this moment
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
\\\\\\\\\\___------/////////
Sitting in the blue-grey stillness
Of my bathroom
Temperature set to make a perfect
balance
between hot and cold.
Except I am leaning on the cold side,
Prickly hairs.
Porcelain bowls,
cupids, angels,
catholic saints,
preasthood,
Angelic ivory
white
toilet bowl
Stained with our animal ****
Over time creating cracks
Of filthy streaks
Just like
how humans carve into
the Earth,
Denying our birth,
Killing our worth,
By overstuffing
our girth
To hide our
true nature.
Ivory bowl
I have just released my blood to you
Blood of my ancestors
Sacred blood
Blood pasted down
in this lineage.
Deep, deep
womb blood
Blood of mistakes.
Blood of stupid conversations and lies
I lived.
Blood of my dear dear
Precious baby
Blood of shame
Further ingrained
Into this white ivory
perfection.
Blood of the savage within me
Crying to break out
While I stand stout
And pull my bow
Tighter and tighter
Sharpen the peaks
Of my fake smile.
I'm happy
I'm happy
I'm normal, normal,
Normal!!!
While inside drums cry
To be beaten
Battles rage on
in explosive contemplation
My bodies ovulation
Of fertile
Formation
....
Then the immunization
..
I try to move to the beat of the nation
But it's a boring station
Feeling my souls frustration
With this numbing radiation.
The baby in my body wails
I am NOT(!!!!)
To be born
To a ship that
fails
The sails.
I am sitting on this
Cloy toilet bowl,
a mirage of all that's wrong
Ring wrought
Fought
rung wrong
Throughout me.
I've been living so long
Killing my song
Killing my dear
Sweet, sweet baby
Hiding demons behind flesh
An obsess
to hide the less
Only ever the best
The best, best,
Best, Best!!
And now I sit,
In porcelain stillness
A full release of the wild woman
woven deep in my bones and blood
Now I sit
Smothering myself
in the mud
I was born in.
Once too ashamed to accept the actuality
of this physical form.
Now I sit
In the silence after
The storm.
Miscarriages, miconceptions
Flopped contraceptions
Illusions, lost directions
Miscarriage means:
a foiled outcome
Of something planned,
Lost dreams,
So strongly bound
Into my bone.
Now I'm feeling
Alone.
They say you must be empty to be free...
Pulling the scattered pieces
Off of the wall
Reshaping after
The fall
Courage. Courage.Courage
COURAGE!!!!
Courageous heart
How I let you fall apart
I'm here
I'm now
I'm ready
to grow
Run free
run strong
And let blossom
The seeds
you sow.
--thank you--
.. sweet blood..
.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
I’m sorry I lied about you...
that instead of being honest,
I hid behind grief and shame.
Truth is, I was so excited to meet you
but knew in the end I couldn’t keep you.
So instead, I waited with sterile wallpaper
and on me were cold hands of a stranger
and I said a brief farewell that wasn’t any less painful.
And afterwards, I could’ve sworn I was okay
but the thought of you, I couldn’t escape
and it started to feel like the biggest mistake.
I’m sorry I lied about you...
but I made the hardest decision
I have ever made that day.
The day I lied about my abortion
and claimed it was a miscarriage.
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 1:14 PM UTC
We always said we didn’t know what we would do without each other
But we did know
We’d only known each other for two years
I wasn’t there when your parents split up and each remarried
or when you had to get stitches on your face
or watched your first scary movie
And you weren’t there when I smoked my first cigarette
or tried to **** myself when I was 13
or when I won that soccer game my freshman year
The last time we had *** we were in a rush
because we had school in 37 minutes
and so we made it sloppy and fast in your shower
and then we drove to school together with wet hair and we laughed
The last time we had *** I got pregnant
This wasn’t one of those scares where you’re two weeks late
so you buy a few cheap tests and it’s negative
so you stash the rest in the back of your drawer and forget about it
I got pregnant on the first day of June and I never told you
I miscarried on the last day of August
and you never even knew how close you came to being a father
We stopped talking and I couldn’t even tell you
how I was stunned into silence when I realized I was going to be a mother and then knew I had to keep it a secret
Knew I had to keep our dark haired future to myself
So here it is the end of February
I should have been having the baby this week or next
and you NEVER EVEN KNEW
I watch you say how much you love this little 15 year old girl
you’ve been dating for six months
I miscarried the day you started dating so tell me that was just a
coincidence
But don't you dare ever tell me you don't know what you'd do without me
Well, I guess you wouldn't anymore
Seeing as how you don't want me
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
That’s all it takes to make a woman quiet,
to silence her.
A slap, a word, a scream, an eye
and perhaps a kiss too.
But there’s a different story for my mother.
For the three words, she spoke
while her heart was struggling to keep alive,
She was given a slap.
A slap whose loudness,
I still hear somedays
when I go to bed and when my mother wakes up.
I think she has been silent for too long
to even count now.
So, I pretend I never heard her speak in the first place.
But there is a different story for my sister.
For her Thumbelina sized request,
she was shouted on like Lady Tremaine did.
In a voice so loud that
It was all she could hear for years to come by.
So, while hearing that, she forgot to speak.
She did not know who to search for
when your ‘Prince Charming’ becomes your ‘Wicked Step-Mother’.
But there is a different story for her.
For tears in her eyes
and the words that were just a zygote in her mouth’s womb,
she got a stare.
A stare, that froze her down
and her words had to go through a miscarriage
So, she went through an unplanned abortion
that made her mouth infertile.
But there’s a different story for her.
However, somehow, they are all the same.
Because that’s all it takes to make a woman quiet,
to silence her.
A slap, a word, a scream, an eye
and perhaps a kiss too.
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 9:32 PM UTC
I wrote this after reading a poem about fake people off Facebook.
All is not fair in love when you got to research dudes secret desires and **** like that.
The real dudes want you to be real and not be head game queen to get him.
I'm a real man who spent time seeking women in all the wrong places.
Tried real life met my share of God faring GCB ****** droppers giving it up.
Met ones at bars who drink to much, will do you but blame it all on *****
I've met plenty of fake women seeking to get at what I have using *** methods.
Met many raised thinking marrying a rich man is better than a poor one.
If all the women claiming they want a decent guy were real they would find one.
Met some at malls wearing rings but bored with husbands and Facebook is a hunting
ground for lonely women and housewives like the ones off Craigslist placing ads.
Did some knowing they married ones weren't keepers they forgot they were married
not me. Who thinks about a wedding ring when married women come on to you and
you find **** what you see in profile pics and think you can't have it then BAM.
Husbands aren't the only ones placing ads and setting up hookups off net.
If you think I'm a scumbag what about the lonely married women who flirt, tease and
****** in chat and phone tempting you until you feel you gotta take it to real.
What about the young ones using bodies and *** to get a nice life and a ring on it.
Most of the young ones don't look at the man as desirable but are good at fake ***
Met a woman who got dumped by plenty of men and faked a pregnancy to get a
married man. After she got him to leave his wife, kids and home she had to fake
a miscarriage to keep from being dumped by the millionth man.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
ah, love,
you're a walking tribute to anarchy
and i love to hear you preach -
boxcutter lips wrapping around
the holiest words of blood and viscera,
rage and fear
that clench in the throat like a diamond called from coal.
in the name of the lord you drink the sun
and the burn is familiar,
an old friend
the father of the righteous fire
that drives you to drag down the sky,
or drag up the earth -
anything to approach
empyrean heights:
in your sermons you scale mountains to break into heaven,
dragging your scars
behind you.
you break glass just to prove that nothing lasts.
every manifesto is another gospel
in your holy book,
your promise
that promises mean nothing.
love me like a miscarriage,
hold me like a cancer -
prescribe diamorphine to the world
and watch it choke on numbness.
*those who fear pain
deserve to feel nothing at all,*
you say,
*those who fear pain
deserve to never die.*
bestowing the world with
the worst curse you know.
boxcutter lips
ripping words to shreds.
molotov eyes
and paper lungs.
your paper-lantern lungs
shine through your back
and you smother them with cotton to **** the sickly glow.
the sun you swallowed is still pooled in your lungs,
and it shines like a blasphemous joke -
green light in your sick midnight,
a burn to rival your molotov eyes,
your righteous fire.
you live like steel to forget your paper lungs.
*brothers, sisters,
have you heard the good news?
you won't be the first to die.*
of course not, love,
we can all see the collision course you're on.
walking tribute to anarchy,
you're crafting your own doom.
{oh, but i'll go down with you, love,
i'll carry all your scars for you
and blow out the sun in your lungs -
let me show you, love,
what i can do.
let me show you how sick i can be -
i've a twisted mind and i'd like to prove it,
like to take all your scars upon myself
and burn down heaven
if they won't hear your sermons.
i am your weapon so wield me well.
i am your weapon
and together
we will bring the heretics
low.}
ah, love,
you're a walking tribute to anarchy
and i want to watch you suffocate
when your fire burns the last of the oxygen.
your footsteps are ashes and broken glass
and i follow
close behind.
you scream
and curse
and cry to heaven
and i smother the sun in your lungs.
in your sick midnight sermons,
heaven pulsates like an open wound
and i stitch you up,
keep the gangrene from your gospels.
ah, love,
in your throat
coal turns to diamond.
rage and fear
behind boxcutter lips.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
The Cannibal’s dream and the inverse conclusion
Twist of the seam, sunken scattered illusion
Shouts of the spy fastened tight to the pylon
Sacrifice sweating; bygones can’t just be bygones
Mustard gas moans, whip lashed in the fire
Cunning glass masters burned alive at the pyre
Miscarriage minister delivers the sponge-bath
Alive at the eve of divination, the wrath
Blasphemous cries vindicate putrid powder
Sweet crystal cradling, swaddling sheets on the shrouder
Arcane sessions in the cavern deep
Turbulently righteous ideas to reap
Divine purification at an alchemy flame
A zenith of nostrums, bad medicine, blame
Strip off the layers and chant benediction
A hand, from the mind, reaching out for conviction
Sharp swords of lead, heavy, shifting to gold
Sentient beings search for truth to behold
Excavate, deviate, a stranger to demonstrate
Colloquial séance with panic to elevate
Head leads body, a path of insurrection
The soul and the mind at war for correction
The crotches of branches, slits of the eyes
A crevasse of lonesome; wedged in, we writhe
Anticipating the sting that comes with the change
Of transforming the cave into a mountain range
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
The 3 am twilight blues his sandpaper skin
A beast-like hue
she feels down
So he lifts her spirits
By the neck
Like a Heineken
“DO NOT call the cops”
His words sharp objects
He speaks machete fluently
I freeze
He ice skates on my childhood
Blades figure eights on my frosty irises
His face switches from blue to red
Like 3D glasses
I think of alps in the summertime
Defrosted mountains unveiled
Scooby-Doo villains
The much-awaited unmasking
One time he shoves her
And murders a generation
Her run-ons have become clauses
Short.
Incomplete.
Terminated.
I smell miscarriage on her breath
Now her voice carries
What her stomach cannot
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
ghost in a gutter in a sidewalk
once i taped my body
like dozens of wires now
i lie down palms flat
atop vessels of pavement
i can tell you so much about
wiring also about breathing
forests into your lungs, they
haunt your lungs like the child
my mother never gave birth to,
i’m not convinced that it’s not
still in her womb. they called
it a miscarriage but sometimes
i see the child when i’m taking
a bath; stare at my fingers
and the wrinkles are newly
discovered bodies coddled
by electric fences.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
This dry Spring
the parched earth drinks quickly,
every cool droplet precious
as the tears of the bereaved.
The rain furrows the dusty creek banks
like sunken, careworn cheeks.
the timid water hurries
past sandbars and gravel spits,
around balding rocks crowned
with rotting riverweed.
and in the green places that remain
to be sought and found between
the highway noise and the factories,
there the shy ones grieve with us
for all those lost to disease and violence,
miscarriage and mischance.
We round the bend;
the yearlings start and bolt
through the tangled underbrush—
an exercise in their own fragility.
The mother does not run.
she moves warily
a few paces away
and meets our gaze: measured, assessing.
She takes us in, then bows
her graceful neck to the tender shoots
that break the hardened clay,
the gesture her benediction of peace.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 10:42 AM UTC
I woke up, what a **** day,
When i realised you'd gone away,
I fought for you, but try i might,
You left me, in a dream of fright.
He said"Positive", and i cried,
The joy i could not hide,
I rested, as i was told,
And i felt you grow.
I slept while in a nap,
And i loved the sleepy swap,
But in a daze i felt,
A sharp twinge, like a welt.
I woke and knew straight off,
That you had become cross,
And wanted to leave me,
You yearned to be so free.
The doctors said," i'm sorry",
But you sure took the glory,
I'm left here without you,
I hope they appreciate you!
goodbye baby
(c) [email protected]
Jan 6, 2010
Jan 6, 2010 at 1:33 PM UTC
Miscarriage
If I hadn’t stepped outside, I would not
have seen the cloud buried deep in the approaching
storm I vaguely remembering hearing about. I would
not have seen the hole in the mist, the darkest
blue splot of our baby, blasted against the
lightning heavens. I would not have heard
the coyote howl or the neighborhood dogs
bark back, bark bark barking, as if you
would eventually return their perilous cries.
I would not have had to bite my tongue
from interrupting their noises with my own one—
a single scream—all out-stretched to you as
the windy sea blew a blue cloud into
you, crushing you into the embryo, the egg,
the moment before you did not exist. I
would not have stood there on the grass,
head tipped up to where you once bud – a
cutout memory in already drifting fog – and I
would not have let the rain fall into my
open mouth as I thought about how easy
it would be, how easy it could be to finally drown.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
I can smell the fresh paint,
thinking it should be blue
for the future small you.
I rub my belly watching for growth
of the child you put inside of me by force.
Of course not to be out done,even by
yourself, violently you took my child away
kicked him from my womb.
Laughing as the blood ran down my thighs
in tiny trickles like sinister kisses,
from a lovers soft lips.
And when I awoke,
I found I had not escaped
and yet my small babies fate
lay in a pool of blood
in the already ruined rug.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
My own body is abandoning me,
the flesh and blood falling out like clumps of hair.
I never wanted a second heartbeat –
already have one too many
but it came with
a full moon; my cycle in its final stage,
to purge and be young again
purge and be hollow.
He or she has whispered, vital things can leave
too, stain your thighs
red like footprints down a path. He or she found the
door easily. I whisper back, you were
a light
too bright for my house
so you set the whole thing on fire.
Ashes, singed skin
float from my crevices like a cloud –
I did not know that
some things can take up too much air before they
even need it
or that I can mourn what
I would have wanted dead anyway. It is
like everything I could
never love
just wants to remain a pink bloom on my *******
until I wish they would have stayed.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Eloise in a Christmas tree,
swinging a straight razor
at the children below.
Never held enough
as a baby.
Never in love
just a maybe.
Eloise's father
in the living room,
drinking the news.
Those *******
******* and *****
he screams.
Never held enough
as a baby.
His mother smelled of
a late night and
pineapple blend *****
Eloise popping Prozac
like Tic-Tacs.
Fantasizing about
shooting the school body.
You sonuvabitch,
her father screamed.
He penetrated--
She screamed
and writhed.
Wrists held.
Body pressed.
Beans and toast
for dinner.
Mom left dad because dad
isn't big enough
or makes enough money.
Enough. Enough. Enough.
Eloise was supposed to be
a miscarriage.
Her dad lost some toes
when he missed a log.
Chop, the axe said.
The world is a swinging place.
Whispering in the dark.
A hushed frenzy.
Mix and **** out,
her gun let out a shout.
Eloise, queen of the
student mass grave.
Eloise's father turns on
the news.
He drinks liquor instead.
Eloise on the t-v.
Oh, woe is me.
He went to the shed
and blew his head
clean off.
The world is a swinging place.
The world in a frenzy.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
You questioned my virtue
After witnessing all the things that I’ve been through
From the time I kept my heavily gates locked and suffered the repercussion
A swollen face and minor concussion
To the time I had a miscarriage scared and alone
We still loved each other but first I needed the father of my child to atone..
I always thought my honesty was something you adored
Never thought the day would come where you would be the one calling me a *****
I could never be this open with anybody other than you.
I thought you were my best friend but now that couldn’t be any less true.
You used to tell me everything
From the highlight of your nights to the grimiest of schemes
Something along the way was lost
I sit and wonder what it could be
Now I cry cause I can’t remember the last time
you kissed my forehead ever so gently
Your kisses aren’t the same
But whose to blame
I remember the time when I could fall asleep in your arms
I hated how those pictures of me passed out They didn’t do any justice for my girlish charms..
I thought you knew me and my insecurities
I thought I knew you but I look at you now and I don’t know who is standing in front me
I’m sure you feel the same
I don’t know how it got to this to point
and I sure as hell don’t know who to blame..
What if it could be a good thing
Maybe the birth of our son will give us a new song to sing
I still want to be your wife but
I guess I should be grateful that I’ll always be in your life
I always wanted to have your child, I wanted at least four.
I don’t know where you’ll be after you walk out that door..
And I’ve never been so scared
Never thought the day would come where I wouldn’t be spared
Will you ever come back?
You’re harder to reach the further you fade to black..
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 1:32 AM UTC