she was gone
high above her reality
happier than she would ever be
she was gone, no worries, no cares,
just happy and free.
society couldn't touch her
that's just the way she was
made of bulletproof glass.
people threw sticks and stones
trying to break her down to her bones
but everything just bounced right off
that's what bulletproof glass is for, right?
little did they know,
she was cracking
society had put a bullet in her glass,
pounding her over and over with
an assault rifle
until she shattered.
and when she broke
she realized that
isn't so bulletproof
then she realized that
she was never made of glass
because instead of shattering
but only for a brief moment.
then the blood stopped
she was gone.
silence is a library filled with books
books as blank as soulless eyes.
silence is a library by some other name
the librarian raises his finger as he looks
if no one can speak, then nobody lies
but pursuit of truth in quiet is a losing game.
silence is fingers, clamping down
on crying babies' mouths and a teenager's frown.
silence is pain of the most acute kind
a deep, mournful stench like a rotten rind.
silence is a library, encouraging you to be still.
silence is only oppression, a line in a fire drill.
silence, you're talking too loud
words scream off the paper,
and that's not allowed.
silence, your head is not right
you'd be better off
if you were unable to write.
hands chopped off at the limb and mouth sewn shut
silence is a library but there are no books,
only knives waiting to cut.
only bindings of flesh and bone,
waiting for another word
to claim as their own.
i was never
never went to church
unless my grandma
i never had to
bite down on
the straw that fed me
filled with self hate and
but i felt it.
when my grandma visited,
i could feel something wrong
with the air
or maybe it's just that
the act of
dressing up nicely and
who couldn't accept me.
once i had a friend
tell me i was going to hell.
i had other friends tell me
that i could be whatever i wanted
talk about it.
i brushed them off,
religion was made
afraid of their own
death never scared me,
even before i started
flirting with it.
i never knew the brutality
of coming out to a christian family
because my family was never really
i never had to decide
between god and my life.
i never had to decide
between heaven and hell
because i had never been brainwashed
into believing in all-or-nothing.
i never had to reevaluate my life.
i never had to force myself onto a new path.
i never had to change
because i was raised to believe in evolution.
i never had to argue with the science teacher about
the age of the universe.
i never had to rethink
because i was taught to think.
bits and bobs
she collected bits and bobs;
turned a discarded dream
into a story,
turned a lost screw
into a quest,
healing from broken bottles.
she gave the inanimate
because she had none
to claim as her own.
she wandered the streets
picking up odds and ends
head bobbing to some
that she'd fade away,
maybe hoping that
she'd give these lost objects purpose,
hoping that one day,
she'd find something
to give her purpose.
sallow cheeks and
her skin was made of darkness
and her heart was made of stone.
her clothing sewn from werewolf furs
hair dyed with demon blood.
she was the hollow queen
as wispy as the flesh of ghosts
like a full moon at midnight
she was the hollow queen
hallowed by the ghosts and fiends.
she was the hallow queen
created from our darkest dreams.
nightmares personified, come to life.
she walks the streets on halloween night
“A headless chicken, that’s what I am today” (A Poem Inspired by an Overheard Quote)
across the cutting board
waiting to be plucked
clean of my feathers
and stripped of my meat
by hungry gnashing teeth.
still squawking out it's final song
a chicken without a head
but i still refuse to die
claws scrabbling at gloves hands and
in a futile attempt at escape,
unable to see
unable to think
but unable to stop.
a headless chicken,
that's what i am today.
of costumes and bones and tasty drinks
of colors of leaves evolving in sync.
of death and life in equal balance
some crops are growing, others vanish.
the season of tripping and scraping your knees
as you scramble for stranger's candies.
dressing up or dressing down
ghosts and goblins dancing with demons
blending in with humans for a night of fun
before they have to return
for another year.
when seasonal drinks start pouring
in clementine colors,
and coffee starts
painting your day.
when hot chocolate is only
a few steps away.
hush little baby, don't say a word
your flesh will be eaten by a hungry bird.
and if that hungry bird won't eat
i will clean your bones with bleach.
and if those bones still aren't clean
i'll scrub at them until they're thin and lean
and if they still smell foul and rank
i'll dip them in mom's perfume
and if she won't let me take her scent,
i'll hang you up even before your smell is spent.
and if you fall down from my tree,
i'll find another baby next halloween.
i was cast aside
a broken fishing rod that never
cast its line
forever a bundle
of tangled string and metal.
i could never catch a fish.
i was broken and damaged
prepared to fall apart
good for nothing else
other than to play my part;
doomed from the start.
my mind was a marriage
of dysfunctional mirages,
flickering images of happiness
that left too soon
and were never real.
i could never feel the way they did.
a fishing line tossed to the wind
only to blow away like an untethered kite
and find a home in the trees
torn apart by cruel branches.
a stowaway on a stolen ship
waiting to crash
on the island of my thoughts.
like a cast iron stove,
no longer efficient enough
for hungry mouths and greedy bodies.
not safe enough to protect sensitive fingers.
it's only a matter of time until i'll fail you.