Pain is the price of creation
Thoughts on Poetry/Having a Womb That Bleeds Every Month | @rose-resplendent
I am pacing back and forth in my apartment, trying to keep from calling you with a fistful of matches. Any friction, and I will start a fire.
The thought of the pain I may cause stops me nearly every time. Nearly. Deep down, I don’t want to hurt you. In times like these, I forget that I can plant instead of burn.
I am restless and cold and in need of a blaze. It has all grown so grey. I don’t care if I burn myself or you, as long as I can be rid of the fog.
Fire is is vibrant and warm and it flickers and flutters like the universe being born– like I am in control of my life for once–
until it dies down. Then the grey returns with a vengeance, smoke and ash grey and icy and me truly alone in their midst, with nothing under control.
I am no god. Fire in my hands only destroys. It only burns.
I know we have not talked in a while, but please, let me keep my distance until the sun returns and chases away the grey. Leave me alone until I remember my love for what grows.
will you turn my brittle body into poetry
when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse
will you interpret the path i skipped along
writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind
or will i be forgotten?
just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface
scribbled lines in the once lively flesh
it was never pen ink that cherished me so
if my name has not been lost
and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book
run to my tombstone
letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing
recite to my grave lovely words
soothing my wandering soul
remove my past from the chain around my ankle
let my image seep into the setting sun
allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime
an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body
permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being
but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence
please oh please let me be poetry
- sundayafternoonsedentary
i told you i loved the night we spent together
i wish i could have captured the grin you wore
so proud of the terrible things you did to me
how i love that smile
the same lips that grazed my skin not long ago
the same hands that caressed my body
the same hair that I tugged on as i made a show of your acts
it was only an act
all of the good things came to an end
the heavy breathing started
my lungs were collapsing
my heart forgot to beat
it was too busy aching to love you
wishing to be more than just a body
as the liquor crawls down your throat the phrase I love you is drunkenly forced out
fatherly compassion that only surfaces when the alcohol has engulfed your body
submerged so deeply in a drink that love is just another meaningless word
a silly phrase that slips off of your tongue with the sharp taste of whiskey
too intoxicated to hear the crack in my voice
when i tell you that I love you more
more than your addiction
more than myself
but my words are tossed into the trash
clinking with empty bottles
colliding with conversations you don’t recall
memories of an absent father that loosely maneuver through my conscience
I have to compete with a $58 bottle of bourbon
but you seem to love being numb more than raising your daughter
it’s alright dad
i’ll carry the both of us out of this mess
maybe one day when you wake up you’ll thank me for it
but for now, I love you and I can spare enough love for the both of us
The world I saw through adolescent eyes isn’t as brilliant now that I stand in it
oh lover,
how I miss us
things were simple
the world wasn’t so big
we didn’t have to be anything to impress
it was just you, me, and a sky full of newly named stars
he finally told me he was proud of me yesterday
after i had given all of myself
searching in other people what he didn’t give me
selling parts of my soul for short lived validation
but you’re proud of me dad?
all that is left of me is my heart in your hands
what i’ve become is great he says
but i look in the mirror
and i see a few strands of hair falling from a broken down body
morsels to appreciate
but finally, he is satisfied
-sundayafternoonsedentary
It’s been 2426 days since I dragged my childhood bedroom across the pavement
Almost 7 years since my love for my mother spilled from my suitcase onto the driveway
i still feel as if I could waltz into that house
Now belonging to strangers
Sit on my pink fluffy bed
And remember her screams
As if they were happening presently
The house is now home to an elderly couple
I wonder if they can feel the ghost of my younger self
Etched into the bannister
Youthful laughter in the backyard
I don’t know what part of me was left in that house
But if feels like not a day has passed since that crisp April morning
When my mother decided that I was not the daughter she had wanted
“Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.”
— Lemony Snicket
something about falling snow is unsettling
peaceful to the eye
silencing the havoc throughout homes with a foot of soundproof encasing
sure the purity of the winter is breathtaking
but my lawn has been walked over time and time again
and the chaos is seeping out through the gaps of my snow boots
my screams echo with snow flakes hitting the ground
this chill in my bones is not serene