katie's re-occurring nightmare

I had just fallen asleep.
Eyes moving in REM
Door creaks, startling my subconscious state
"Keep your eyes closed,
Maybe he won't try if he thinks you're sleeping."
I shut them hard, lashes to cheek,
Still he inches closer.
I feel his weight on the corner of the bed.
His fingers touch my toes.
Instantly I'm jolted by nausea.
His hands are moving quickly.
"Keep your eyes closed, just lay still."
I lay flat, lifeless, a dead fish,
Make it hard for him to move.
I feel his ribs and hips against mine.
The nauseous feeling is overwhelming now.
I can't help it; everything comes up.
"You stupid cunt, now he knows you're awake."

I feel my flesh burning
As he punishes me for getting sick.
At this point, the pain has turned to numbness-
No more acting; I was lifeless, a dead fish.
he slaps my bare skin once more
Before retying the drawstring of his flannel pajamas.
He pets my hair softly, as silent tears stream own my cheeks.
He drops a towel on my lifeless carcass;
I think it was for the vomit and blood.
He said, "Goodnight, Katie."
"Goodnight, Uncle Frank," I said before nestling back into my grave.

Dolls

hand-painted faces
porcelain china skin, pale white
curls of golden brown

cheeks pink with powder
lips smeared red with crimson ink
full lashes shine black

dyed hair, press-on nails
layers of unneeded bull
bangled wrists hide scars

verbs

Love to pretend.
Pretend to care.
Care to remember?
Remember to forget.
Forget to cry.
Cry to feel.
Feel to find.
Find to create.
Create to renovate.
Renovate to learn.
Learn to fly.
Fly to live.
Live to love.

the truth about forever

how long you can last while the wolves are gnawing at your ankles
space between two hearts that have been ripped from the chests of those trying to love
time between decapitation and losing function in your brain
ten feet between you and your baseball bat, when the zombie is only five feet away
seconds between the needle touching your skin and the rush to the head
yearning of the flower who longs for the sun in the depths of winter
memory of your first love, your first kiss
last breath before the oxygen has been cut off and after your lips have turned purple
pain of the puncture mixed with the dizziness of losing blood
lump in your throat when you’ve realized that your love is gone
flutter of your heart when you understand that it’s for good this time
minutes it takes for the glass to shatter, sending splinters to your eyes
length of the rope that lowers the casket into the ground
blade of the knife as it cuts deep enough to feel but not enough to harm
pressure of your fingertips as you hold the last chord
burn of the whiskey as it cleanses your throat

the time it’s taken you to forget about me.

follow your heart

to the land of paltonomy and feratocity
where fribjous mandibles play with the extilopitous jowls
and tillisks are filled with sweet supturienne nectar
you’ll find me there
in the land that you devour
cocktails of wee-gilly make us tipsy
and alcopticators are forced to watch
as we enjoy every moment
succumb to your pliquental vesfippity
join us where the zamtassels tower over the splestin
covering the entire land in their shade
forget your shomburists and filtobitours
they’ll forget you
feel the joy in authentic limensity
let it devour you

the girl who fell in love with the mirror

bloody, tear-stained veil lines her neck.
dress made from silkened ruffles hangs from her shoulders.
strawberry curls frame her rouge-smeared cheeks
fall down to the small of her back.
eyes naked from the salt
lips pouting, pinched red.
fingernails nubby and bloody, bitten raw
painted toes, fuchsia, beautiful.
hips poking, skin tight, veins

if only you could see how pitiful you look.

creation myth

painted the roses red
at one time, they were white.
but we decided instead,
it'd be better if they were red.

hung flowers from the trees
a sight of thorny color bright.
they were barren, few leaves,
now they're pretty, powerful trees.

folded paper into mushrooms, brown
nestled in grass, shading the light.
placed them on corners all over town,
paper mushrooms made of beautiful brown.

ice beauty

I stumbled across her lifeless body, frozen.

She was angelic, her skin pure and pale.

Her lips, a very faint pink, almost purple,

Golden curls framed her face.

Her clothing was sheer. I could see her insides.

The blood that used to flow through her veins was cold, frozen, dark.

Her organs were shriveling, dissolving

And her bones, poking out all over.

The sky opened.

Bits of snow began to drift on to her frosty limbs,

Fingers and toes darkening with frostbite.

A layer of ice formed on her face,

Her eyelashes frozen shut, icicles.

Purest of beauty.

Cover her. Save her. Take her.

More than that, love her.

But I was too scared of the cold.

Gently, I kissed her pink lips

And left her sleeping in the snow.

short poem

Embalm me in your memory.
Please, adorn my casket with your tears.
No greater love.

Come into my cocoon,
I’ll let you but only once.
You’re against my better judgment.

Let me trust you,
I want to, but you never gave me the chance.
Come find me, I’ve been waiting.

icarus

When I was younger you always told me not to fly too close to the sun.
I was enticed by defiance.
I wondered what my wings were for if not for flying.
So I began to fly, but never too high.
Fly over treetops, breaking branches.
Fly over lakes, watching ripples.
Fly into the clouds, indulging in the mist.
Too high didn’t seem possible.
My wings were invincible.

When I was younger you always told me not to swim too deep.
I was overwhelmed with curiosity.
I wondered what my fins were for if not for swimming.
So I swam, but never too deep.
Swam through the seaweed, endless.
Swam between schools of fish, scaly.
Swam above the coral, beautiful.
Too deep didn’t seem possible.
My fins did not want to be controlled.

I defied your warning.
I flew too high; I swam too deep.
However, I survived.

I flew higher than I ever had before.
I felt my body burning, dissolving.
I turned into a ball of fire, an enflamed meteor.
My body stayed lit for a while,
But it did not kill me.
My wings were charred, but I could still fly.

I swam deeper than I ever had before.
I felt my fins flying through water, gliding.
Then I felt pressure, my body becoming small, compacted.
I was suctioned to the ocean floor.
I could not breathe; I started to drown.

I was becoming weak, and the water was dark.
I saw a small light, reached out to grab it.
I felt something soft but rigid.
I held tight, I knew I was dying.
It was a whale that saved me,
A whale.
His firm fin guided me to life again.

I flew too high and swam too deep,
I had to, it was my calling.
I know now that if you truly did not want me to fly or swim,
That you would have cut my wings and fins,
But that was not your choice.
Maybe someday, I’ll cut my own wings and fins,
But for now, I will fly too high and swim too deep.

survive

Forget what he said. It doesn’t matter now. And it never did.
He was speaking in tongues, only nonsensical
Language that never held meaning.
We thought it did when we younger,
Perched on your every word,
We were waiting for your hierarchy to fall.
It did, but we survived,
Alone.

I survived, without you.
The grasp you had on my neck has been lifted.
The chains you locked on my ankles have been broken.
I am yours no longer.
Now I am mine.

Pretend he was never yours, never real.
Realize that he was just a figment of what could have been,
Not what is.
Recognize that the sun can still burn you,
And water can drown you.
Don’t let him kill you,
There are better ways to die.

The lion and the Tiger

A lion will always be a lion.
If you start with a lion, you can’t end with the tiger.
A lion can never turn into a tiger.
But a tiger could easily become lion, if he wanted to.
You are either a lion or a tiger, you cannot be both.
If you look and act like a lion, you are one.
You speak in lion.
Language of a lion can be hard to translate, especially if you’re a tiger.
You have to be careful.
When dealing with a lion, understand they can’t help themselves.
Lions have no sensors.
A tiger will never fully understand a lion, and vice versa.
Sometimes tricky lions try to disguise themselves as tigers.
They paint themselves orange with stripes, trying to deceive,
But the lion, will never truly be anything but a lion.
Tigers don’t need to disguise themselves as lions, nor would they try.
They don’t need to be lions, for they are tigers.
Why can’t I forget the lion? Is it because I have yet to find a tiger?