Gingerbread

The witches beyond the breadcrumb miles
Have no need of ladles, pots, or pans.
Nay: they strip you of your youthful smiles,
In the backseat of their ice cream vans.

Advertisements

If you’re really going to leave this time

Could you please close the door on your way out? Properly this time, if you please. Don’t leave it the slightest bit open, a ghost of a sliver of a gap, just enough for a little bit of hope to seep through and stab me in the heart. Just enough to remind me of the fragile home that we built, a construct of driftwood and cardboard and gluesticks that held strong in spite of the raging storms. Just enough to make me miss the times when we took off each other’s masks, and found beauty in every crease of every feature. Every flaw and every fracture.

Just switch off the lights and walk away, please. Nursing a broken heart is best done behind closed doors.

thick skin, fire blood

Darling, my dear,
Your words mean nothing.
You think me another paper castle you can crush underfoot?
That every libel is a boulder upon my fragile walls,
Every slander poison to my moat?

Darling, my dear,
Your abuse means nothing.
You think my silence a gaping hole in my defenses?
That a blow upon the body is a blow upon the soul,
A wretched bruise I cannot heal?

Darling, my dear,
You know nothing.
My skin is equal parts iron and cosmic dust,
And liquid fire roars through my bloodstream.
My spine is a metal railing you cannot bend to your will,
And my every breath is a warcry.

I will speak as loud as I damn please,
I will stand as tall I damn please,
I will take up as much space as I damn please,
I am stronger than you take me for so damn, please!
I have no need of charity!
I have no need of clemency!

This body is a temple you cannot defile,
These words a sermon you cannot silence.
I exist, I am whole, I am entire,
Your capacity to degrade has nothing
On my capacity to be.

salt river

My eyes are wide open,
And out flows a river of salt.

Out flows a river of salt from the basin under my eyes, though I thought they were dry;
I thought they were dry, they have been for so long that my cheeks have forgotten,
They have forgotten how it feels to have a river coursing through their peaks.
They only remember the ache of smiling on those golden days,
Days when we laughed so hard that we could no longer breathe,
Breathing is a chore when you’re no longer here.

It is a pretty river, this river of salt,
This river of salt that distracts me so well,
Distracts me so well from the pain in my chest,
The chest that collapses on itself, and the pain in my brain,
The brain that searches, replays it all in my head,
The head that wonders every day without fail,
How do I go back to being okay?

I wish it would fail.
I wish it would stop.

What a pretty river, this river of salt.
I let it pool on the pillows, let it stain the bedsheets,
I think maybe it will distract me too from the dreams of you,
You holding my hand, and me holding yours;
The touch is ecstasy, and we were high on the feeling,
But now feeling is painful, every memory a fresh cut,
Every longing a puncture, every heartbeat a stab.

My heart has split open,
And out flows a river of blood.

What a pretty river, this river of blood,
But my body is a husk that has felt too hard,
There is not much life left in me. Not much blood.
So it dries.
Dear God, I’m feeling again. I don’t want to feel again.

So I open my wrists.
Out flows a river of blood.

So I cut out my throat.
Out flows more rivers of blood.

So I claw out my sides.
Pretty rivers of blood.

I wish it would stop.
Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.