Poetry

Ywa

I will NOT call you names, like pathetic asshole loser dickface motherfucker. No. Even if there is a deep and delicious desire to say to you, “you are a purposeless and wasteful space of a human who only exists so the people of the earth understand what evil and darkness is.” NO. I won’t say any of it. Not a chance.

What I WILL say is:

 

I am kind.
I am loyal.
I am trusting.
I am courageous.
I am brave.
I am honest.
I am intelligent.

I am a good person.
I am a good mother.
Remarkably good, in fact.

I have a pure heart, a loving heart, a bold and open heart.
I speak freely, I speak truthfully.
I am a daughter, a sister, a colleague,
I am a writer, a storyteller, a risk taker.
I am STRONG.

Strong enough to battle demons
Strong enough to carry humans
inside of my tiny body
and bring them into this massive universe
Yeah – ME. I did that.
I fucking did that.
Strong enough to be kind to unkind people
Strong enough to be alive
Strong enough to be HONEST
and RELIABLE

Ywa – and I am beautiful.
Darling I am GORGEOUS.
Have you SEEN my smile?

Anyone – ANYONE – would be lucky to have me in their lives

because I am good.
My parents are PURE. And I am PURE.
We are imperfect and we are sinners
But we are PURE OF HEART

And that is exactly why I know I will be okay

Because I WILL say: I am EVERYTHING and ALL of the things

Poetry

Careless Criminals

Cruel intentions
The pair of them had
What they saw in each other
Made their victims quite sad

Contorted and twisted 
Their minds intertwined 
Blind to their sins
Casting shadows on their crimes

Callous disregard 
For inculpable scapegoats
Eager to drown the vulnerable
Who merely tried to stay afloat 

Cutthroat and dirty
With blood on their hands
They got away with gluttony
Euphoric in the sand

Cashflow in, misery out
A trail of transgressions left behind
For a friend they disposed of overnight
Her pain and suffering far from their minds. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry

Waiting

She wakes at three
in the morning
sweaty and confused —
Heart rapid fire
feeling black and blue

Plunges her hand under
the pillow
to check for her phone —
Head wrecking ball
feeling alarmingly alone

No missed calls
or messages
capsized by her panic —
Hands earthquaking
feeling episodic and manic

blue alone manic
rapid wrecking earthquaking
waiting waiting waiting
plunging into fire
capsized
into blue panic

Heavy heart
Heavy head
Heavy hands

 

Poetry

Ruminiscent

“Tell your father he needs to stop drinking,”
the mother told her daughter.
The daughter wrote a note to her father
and taped it to a bottle of rum.
It read, ‘daddy, please stop drinking.’
When the little girl checked the bottle
the very next day,
the note had been torn off —
only the corners with tape remaining.

“Tell your daughter-in law to take out her husband food,”
the father in-law said to the mother in-law.
The daughter in-law placed her husband’s food
on the table, and asked him to eat.
The husband ignored her
Dropping cubes of ice into his glass —
Clink, clink,
the rum poured over the ice,
into the soda
Swirling into the same shade of brown
Behind the mist in her eyes.

“Tell us mommy,” the daughters said, “is daddy sick?”
The mommy looked at the daddy
laying asleep on the bed,
skin thin and yellow —
a papery sheet over his diseased liver.
She looked back at her little girls,
Into their curious, warm, brown
eyes
And saw herself in them.
She reached out,
extended her arms and embraced her children
for a long, long time.

 

Poetry

Opening

You opened the door

Quite literally

I rang the doorbell

And there you were.

You opened the door

And something changed

Like winter to spring

There you were.

You opened the door

Yet I didn’t walk in

I stood there frozen

Because there you were.

And who was responsible for what I had found?
Was it serendipitous or divine?
An answer to a prayer?
Karma? Destiny?

You were just there.

You opened the door

And I fell to the floor.

Poetry

Trapped

“Why”, he asked me, “why stay?”

I looked away, not knowing what to say.

‘Maybe’, I thought, ‘it’s time to let him go.’

What do we really know?

He saw my pain, he took my hand.

“Come with me,” he said, and it began.

I followed him into his world; blinking, not from the light but because it was a terrifying sight.

The darkness, the frigid wind. It was bleak and it was grim.

Someone laughing, sent chills up my spine; it wasn’t the contagious kind.

He was gone; my heartbeat quickened; “where are you?” I called, my limbs all stiffened.

Sobbing, I heard, ran towards the sound. My screams piercing through me as I saw what I had found.

He’s in pieces, broken, blade in his hand. Crying tears of blood, unable to stand.

“I can’t, I won’t!” I said, “I won’t let you go! You’re coming with me, don’t tell me no!”

I gathered his pieces, broken heart and all, sew up the wounds so he could stand up tall.

We ran, hand in hand, I thought I saw the light. “We’re getting out of here!” I told him, “I’m ready to fight!”

Back to my world, it was getting close. He let go of my hand and said, “it’s no use.”

He was giving up, consumed by the darkness. He began to fade, blending in with the blackness.

“No!” I cried, “I know why you should stay! Your world is a cruel one, heavy without hope. But there’s another world out there, one you can cope! Let me bring you back there; I’ll stay by your side. Please, little brother, please don’t die.”

He wanted to choose life, he wanted to stay, but the world had failed him, persuaded him another way.

Poetry

Easy

It’s just easier. Easier to be alone.
Don’t have to worry about checking his phone.

Easier with the dishes. Not too many to clean.
Don’t have to worry about what he didn’t mean.

Easier in bed. No snoring in my ear.
No. Don’t miss his body, holding me near.

Easier in the morning. No make up, no shower.
No, don’t have to worry about marriage and power.

Easier with the kids. No drama at all.
Don’t have to worry if he’ll catch my fall.

Easier when the family gets together.
No, he’s not here again, I’m alone forever.

Easier without that diamond on my finger.
No, there’s no heaviness, no weight that lingers.

Easier without the smell. No more Bacardi.
Don’t have to worry about all his mini parties.

It’s easier to be alone. No more abuse.
Don’t have to care about his being obtuse.

Easy, just look. It’s easy to do.
No, my heart’s not broken, it’s good as new.

It’s easy to be hard. No more being weak.
No, I’m not crying, my eyes sometimes leak.

The easiness comes and the easiness goes.
After all, it’s what my kismet chose.