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Literature Text
The blushing crows
Land on my clothes.
They tease my ears
With regrets and fears.
So I suppose
This is how my life goes.
Purples, blues, greens, yellows…
It's something that I never chose.
My eyes squeeze shut.
Another cut.
I mend and stitch
The holes and splits–
The ones I etched
And the ones you stretched.
Six hundred pounds of flesh
Resting upon my chest.
It's harder to catch my breath.
I hope this is not my death.
The worms withdraw
While the vultures claw
And begin to gnaw
At my limbs of straw
My skin bursts open
To release words unspoken.
Down the street
Tires scream
Headlights creep.
A young teen
Wants to sleep.
Eyes squeezed shut.
Land on my clothes.
They tease my ears
With regrets and fears.
So I suppose
This is how my life goes.
Purples, blues, greens, yellows…
It's something that I never chose.
My eyes squeeze shut.
Another cut.
I mend and stitch
The holes and splits–
The ones I etched
And the ones you stretched.
Six hundred pounds of flesh
Resting upon my chest.
It's harder to catch my breath.
I hope this is not my death.
The worms withdraw
While the vultures claw
And begin to gnaw
At my limbs of straw
My skin bursts open
To release words unspoken.
Down the street
Tires scream
Headlights creep.
A young teen
Wants to sleep.
Eyes squeezed shut.
Literature
Repossession
Your words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.
My ribs cracked from the blow.
But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.
You were sweat & spice & scars-
Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.
(I want my insides back.)
Literature
Society Is Ugly.
Society is ugly.
Not you.
Beauty is defined by
How you act.
Not by the number on the
Scale.
Starving doesn't work.
Purging doesn't work.
Pills don't work.
The girl you see
In the mirror is
Perfect
Just the way she is
Now.
Don't get upset because
You don't match up
To the media's
Expectations.
Cutting won't work.
Crying won't work.
Dying won't work.
Remember this:
Society is ugly.
Not you.
Literature
Colorblind
I gave away my name today
and it might be a metaphor, but I think
we only remember the quietest suicides
the walls are thin enough to listen
as the angels try to scratch free;
bloodied fingernails and God says everyone
screws up, sometimes
I'm waiting for a silent night.
I only ever believed in solid ground
and depressions' tides, and sometimes,
those little wounds I nursed deep
within my vocal chords (because
my voice is dying, too)
I can see the beautiful people, now
overdosing on their own opiums of
self-acquittal and dissolution
they ran out of ways to ask for help.
I'm fragile, but my glass ribs
aren't holding much
and
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So many themes in this one.
October 2, 2012
Loneliness, death, abuse, self-harm, rape, homophobia, and being 15
October 2, 2012
Loneliness, death, abuse, self-harm, rape, homophobia, and being 15
© 2012 - 2024 sminkle
Comments23
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This piece would be perfect for a project we are developing -- an online gallery for artists who have been bullied or who explore the theme of bullying in their work. It's called the You Will Rise Project. Check it out here: [link] and let us know if you would be willing to share this piece on the site. Read the "Submit Your Work" section of the site for details and follow the instructions to e-mail us your submission if you are interested. Thanks!