definition - human

a solid,

a living machine,

a cluster of gears.

-

There is something intriguing

about the idea that we are one in a million.

There is only one “us” and many “thems”.

Notice that there is one absolute with our machinery:

We know not our true function and purpose,

except our limbs.

to touch,

to caress,

to injure.

definition - eyes

a visionary,

a window,

a messenger.

-

We all feel the eyes surrounding us move.

Seeking to grab our own like

anacondas and their prey.

Judgements are held captive there,

like killers in straight jackets.

They wait to be released to go on a murderous fury.

definition - skin

a colorful shield,

an artistic tissue,

a thin breakable layer.

-

Our skin is beautiful,

yet often our peers prove otherwise.

My own is flawed and hardened,

forged to protect.

Fellow bodies shoot arrows from their skin,

piercing holes into our pride.

All that is left

are wounds and gashes,

holes that grow.

definition - blood

a binding fluid,

a forest fire,

a violent promise.

-

Blood runs warm like cooling lava.

The oil that coils through our veins,

can be set aflame with ease.

The nuclear weapons,

ambush bodies.

The aftermath;

a pool of crimson wine,

drunk by our peers,

leaving us hollow and hurt.

Forsaken in ourselves.

definition - mind

an element,

a trove of memory,

an urge.

-

When our similarities ride forth on horses,

we ignore them.

Their thundering hooves stampede elsewhere.

When our differences spiral downward,

our guns are shoot recklessly,

damaging everything around us.

Fear is gunpowder.

Pain is the goal,

the result,

and the false treaty.

The trauma haunts our innermost home.

All we can do is start a war of retribution.

definition - heart

a feeling entity,

a easy manipulation,

a cavern that collapses.

-

There is enough love to make us happy,

and more to make us hate.

Through clouded threats,

we get poked by hot iron swords.

Through imagined enemies,

our vulnerable organ turns to tar.

Do we choose to cleanse?

Do we let it rot?

definition - soul

an essence,

an embodiment,

a moral immoral mortal.

-

What are souls crafted from?

The pure white marble from

our childlike innocence.

Or an inevitable animal corpse,

whose grotesque instinct

encourages retaliation,

paranoia,

discord?

definition - human

a monster,

an angel,

a mass of contradiction.

-

We heal with one hand,

and sin with the other.

We are beasts with the means of destruction,

and we are warriors of light.

We fight wrath with wrath,

forgetting the absolutes.

We are all flesh,

blood,

and cells.

Equally capable of seeing others as we are;

a creature searching for meaning,

longing for survival.

Yet we ignore that,

sentencing our world to a fate

of dark stormy mists we call suffering,

and a raining acid called war.

A vampire feasts on blood.

When I was born,

Father told me stories about vampires.

Creatures with fangs,

that gorge on blood.

A vampire takes prey

Father always said,

our blood binds us.

Mother did not share our blood.

Father took her as his prey.

A vampire sleeps alone

The first time I encountered blood,

I was a wisp of a girl.

My sweaty bed sheets once virginal white,

crimson and cold.

A vampire is unwanted

Children are cruel.

They bathe in holy water,

to push me away.

Their garlic words stench up my life.

A vampire is hypnotic 

“You are a part of me,

I am a part of you.

Our blood is same,

for I created you.”

A vampire despises light

I lived in the light once.

So father’s essence boiled hot like magma.

I was taken from the schoolyard,

so the darkness can keep me safe.

A vampire takes what he wants

I vaguely recall father’s pale palm,

gracefully lifting my nightgown.

His bare skin blanketed my own.

A spill of scarlet on my thighs.

A vampire devours selfishly

Father’s fang was large,

and it lived beneath the silk at his waist.

An orchestra of his masculine groans, 

performed with my pained soprano silence.

A vampire takes a bride

“Love is connection,

and everyone needs connection.”

We lived in our dark isolation together.

For we were made for each other. 

A crusader - a fighter

My journey began from my first breath.

In that moment,

I vaguely recalled a woman;

whose lights had glared,

flickered,

brightened like an angel’s,

then faded like the mist.

Then I saw,

darkness,

melancholy,

agony,

and a man shrouded in the shadows.

A hero - a warrior with a journey

The path I took was said to be perilous.

Covered in thick forests

of hardships,

hungry wolves with fangs

made of mistakes and choices,

and wicked phantasms;

trying to stop me with words of

discouragement.

In a cruel world,

I was told I would be in need of

a guide;

someone who knew how to

tie the laces of shoes,

fight for what’s right.

Someone who had seen the tough terrain.

A mentor - a guardian

My father was a veteran knight,

yet he was a ghostly presence,

sitting at a blank screen.

Long has his armor been in use.

Now, it was rusted

and sullied from neglect.

His sunken eyes gave

emotionless stares.

His wrinkled skin,

sagging on his body like

crinkled fabric.

His story had finished.

His legend was recorded.

His rewards reaped.

forsaken - to be alone

My obstacles weren’t special

Every warrior must face

the villains we meet in our youth,

the challenges and trials of

growth and maturity.

The tribulations met

when we’re set thrust upon,

the world that needs saving.

failure - to live in guilt

My quest had ended abruptly.

I couldn’t reach the forbidden castle,

for I lost the battle.

How could I have won

barefoot and weak?

I had no map,

no steed,

no sword,

and no armor.

haunted - to be followed

I begged my father to teach me to be a hero.

to face slay dragons,

to complete a mission,

to climb the tower,

to give true love’s kiss.

monster - a villain to kill

My father’s corpse-like body

gave me a deathly glare.

He couldn’t help me slay monsters,

rescue damsels.

He said he would never fight again.

For his fair maiden was gone,

and to help me,

was to help the monster

who slayed her in the end. 

When I breathe,

what do I choose to inhale?

The air;

Full of poisons.

The pollution, the chemicals.

Bleaching our body.

Discussed everywhere;

the schools,

the news.

The ones that fuel the wildfires

of suffocation;

those aren’t brought to light.

And they come from our own

mouths

and actions.

I was once forced to take a joint

made by a boy that took pride

in his strength.

Strength that he proudly displayed

through heinous acts of

grabbing me,

touching me,

pushing me.

The grotesque fumes clouded my eyes

in a haze of self hatred,

spilling into my nostrils.

The scarring of my nose

reads words:

Ugly, unworthy, unlovable

You know what they say about smoking,

It’s addictive.

The chemicals, the nicotine.

Others tried his drugs at his urging.

They accomplished the same high

via my pleas for mercy.

What good is a single smoker

when you can

share the artificial joy.

Others simply chose to breathe.

Coughing out the second hand smoke,

hating the lingering scent,

but not saying anything.

Just don’t join in,

that’s what everyone says.

What about me?

The drugs were being forced down my trachea.

Shoved into my lungs,

creating a growing cancer,

infecting my body.

I was told to fight it, but

how can one ignore the destruction

of my cells;

the cells that made up my every being.

My self-love, my empathy, my kindness.

The signs of my newfound disease

were there…

Scratching my arms,

colors of grey underneath my eyes,

Sometimes I refused to eat,

and when I did,

the sustenance exited into the toilet.

I tried to find hands, doctors to hold me.

The diagnosis never came.

It’s my fault, they say.

Why should I have these feelings?

It’s just their words, why should I listen?

They tell me to deny it,

to ignore the hatred,

to turn a blind eye to my torment.

It’s not real to them.

I suppose I should have protected myself better.

I don’t want to smoke,

but in the end

my words aren’t enough.

So I let the toxins infect me.

My parents stood by

watching me overdose.

Disgusting

You don’t belong here

My drug addiction

only become important,

when my own smoke

Disappeared into the stratosphere

singing hymns of unshed tears and cries for help.

You didn’t see my pain.

I wasn’t unhappy in your eyes.

How could you not see… 

They say that there is a rhythm

to your tears. 

So curiously, I examined my own,

The ones that came during the showcase of my

parent’s performance.

The dripping essence rained with the delicate grace

of a pianist’s fingers.

The music that my mother danced to.

Then, when she is held for guided pirouettes

she loses her balance.

The snap of her graceful bones,

echoes the crash of my father’s grand entrance.

His fists spinning off tempo to the slow

thundering of the orchestra.

The shattered wood of my mother’s prized

swan carving underneath his steps.

Wooden corps de ballet gather

around my mother during her solo;

splinters falling into a finished pose,

directing attention to my mother’s dying swan.

My father joins my mother in their usual

midnight pas de deux,

assuming I’m sleeping backstage.

The theater seats are presumably empty,

for the dress rehearsal.

The last night before the final dance

of pain and torment.

How long can one dance on a broken stage

before they gain a permanent life-changing injury?

I wouldn’t miss their finale of artistry for the world. 

The fury of my mother rises on her pointe shoes.

Her movements channel my father’s 

coaxing his own loneliness into an arabesque.

The pose reflects his split decision;

Stay standing on the stage, or find a new place to dance.

One leg on, one leg off.

Their pas de deux was perfectly choreographed

by empty promises,

infidelity, and abandonment. 

Towards the end,

Father’s double tours become uncoordinated,

Mother’s limbs shaking with her plie.

Grace and dignity can be quick cover ups for pain;

His eyes take a knee, 

holding her tears in a penche.

Father used to catch mother in her

grand jete.

A spiralling leap of faith in their

partnership.

His arms open wide for her to try again.

Today,

he dropped her.

Now she will never dance again. 

Where do I lie?

Perhaps it’s in a duvet made of

all the ripped fabric,

that were once my clothes.

The garments he enjoyed shredding

with his filthy nails like a lion and it's meat.

His pot-stained breath

waltzed off beat with his slurred voice.

The intoxication in his words exit his mouth

as the once beautiful smile shriveled into

a subtle snarl.

His dry and callused fingers on my body,

attempting to heal every scar yet forming

new wounds around it.

He took pride in the darkening bruises patterned

along my arms, thighs, stomach. 

They will always be a reminder of the mantra

set in stone.

- I am his, and he is mine.   

He lies on a pillow

made from the old yellow sheets,

stained from our fluids and sweat.

The liquids were made from feats

of athletic intimacy,

camouflaged and distorted

with vile, lustful frenzy

and frantic claiming.

I reveled in the sickening, sinking sensation

of my canines attacking the tendon

of his neck.

Pulse skyrocketing with shock.

The little marks, how they aroused me!

- he is mine, and I am his.

Connection can create love

but how could we not be frightened?

How could we love each other gently,

when there are others who covet what belongs to us?

They want to take him away,

take me away.

Rip the planet from the sun.

Impossible but not without precaution.

- I am his and he is mine.

They don't understand, he ruins me

for all others.

His weapons;

kisses he could trademark.

Firm and violent clashes of teeth and tongues.

Heavy pants and mixed saliva.

No matter who desires to touch me,

the memories of his nefariously used

sacred spots,

they throw the others away.

Kill them all.

- he owns me

Those who dare to look upon him,

sense my jealous fury through messages;

all sent to him.

A ding for every doubt,

A ring for every accusation.

Who is she?

Is she prettier? Sexier?

Do you wish to be hers instead?

-  I own him

Some days I can’t stare at the sun,

for all I desire is eternal darkness underneath

the ground;

the separation from him

too miserable to bear.

Other times I dream of horned demons 

snatching him,

taking him to a place specially made for 

great evil

and sadistic souls.

- consumed by love 

Yet we both know,

when we die,

we will lie together in the bed we made.

Dragging each other to the floor,

then carrying each other to the bath.

Washing away the pain with soft touches.

Or drowning one another with rough grabs.

- plagued with hate 

Our bed, made once from desire

and pure magnetism,

now wet,

from thousands of spilled cocktails.

Ingredients: tears, misunderstanding,

insecurity, animal possession, and obsession.

Disgusting and pitied,

but addictive all the same. 

- forever we are one 

My nightmares happened in the day,

so I called them day mares.

-

Children always believed,

monsters lived everywhere.

Under the bed,

in the closet,

in the dark.

I was eight when I encountered my first.

By then mommy told me,

that a special poison overtook daddy.

Then,

the monster took his skin.

Now,

I hide under the bed.

The monster never lived there.

Nightmares make illusions of pain,

day mares make them reality.

-

Outside the house

it’s almost as if a great war has begun.

All the sounds compose a chorus,

befitting the backgrounds of battle.

Screams of pain

ella, run away, i’ll handle this

Screams of wrath

lizzie, you've been a bad girl, now the brat pays

Screams of beseeching

i was going to I swear, leave her alone

Screams of sadism

you know what happens when you fight back

Screams of torment

please stop

I can only cover my ears,

then wait for the bombing to end.

not all day mares have frightening features,

some are masters at camouflage

-

My hand is gripped in the monster’s claws.

Yet his pearly white fangs form a megawatt smile;

donning a mask of false goodness.

All of his work friends call him lucky.

you have a beautiful daughter, johnny

and an even more beautiful wife.

golly, i wish i was you.

His arm around mommy

is an ironclad leash,

keeping her close,

ready to harshly tug if she strays.

He professes his adoration of us,

just like daddy used to.

they are my everything.

i love them with all of my heart.

Behind closed doors,

day mares lurk and wait to be tamed.

-

The beast sleeps only when sated.

Tongues and teeth.

His calming requires an invasion of mommy’s mouth.

I watched his hands grip her throat in a vice.

Tonight, she won’t sing me to sleep.

Tonight, she won’t tuck me in bed.

Her legs will be covered in bruises,

her insides are abrupt with blood,

her voice, hoarse and rough.

I still smell her sweat and tears.

I still hear his monstrous growls.

Humans can mutate into day mares,

inner monster released from it’s cage.

-

The house is cold.

The floor is painted scarlet.

Mommy stands before me,

mouth agape in horror.

The monster’s weapon of choice,

pointed directly at his corpse.

A hollow hole impales his temple.

The fluids splattered on my clothes.

She came running when she heard the bang.

look mommy, i saved us.

We cower in the light of our day mares

but we forget we once loved the human inside.

-

Her body is draped across the monster’s.

Her shoulders shook harder than buildings during earthquakes.

Anguished shrieks cloud the room,

colors of conflicted relief and grief.

For once,

her lips press to his in her own freedom.

what have you done

i rescued you mommy, i defeated the monster

he was still your father and the husband i love

but mommy

have you no regret, you’ve become a monster

The darkness and light of a day mare stares into your soul,

If we don’t look away fast enough, that day mare becomes us.

-