Baba Yaga

listen, it's not like you think
those girls? they came to me
they wanted things
gold and jewels and love and everlasting
they wanted my white steed of morning
and my red steed of day
and my black steed of night
my prophetic cat
and my loving dog
and my singing bird
they wanted my house on its claws
because it could walk
they wanted my servants
tied me down to reveal
their invisible forms
and their secret names

the girls beat me and bruised me
and called me crone
they made me listen to them weep
about how lonely and ugly they felt
(they with their long golden hair and skin smooth as glass)
as if my withered face and spotted hands
my empty bed
were irrelevant

yes, i killed them
and used their skulls for lamp posts
with candles burning inside
brighter than their old minds
yes i took their lives
but look at my scars

if you come visit me, pretty one
i'll show you the truth


  • Ashley Elizabeth Wednesday, 05 September 2012

    Passion lies in the dark waiting to be whisked off...

    Passion lies in the dark waiting to be whisked off its feetwaiting for the skeletons to create color on empty canvasesrough, uneven, waiting to be dripping with paintin the folds of curtains, plum and velvetghosts dance and wait, patient,wanting to return to the light when they could dancefreely without anyone judging them ortelling them to go to the white lightAngels, don’t dance in the darkdon’t hide the feathers that make you wholeskeletons weren’t made to bewithout breath, without love.

  • Imogen Wednesday, 05 September 2012

    ImogenSeptember 4, 2012 8:16 PM If Baba Yaga bo...

    ImogenSeptember 4, 2012 8:16 PMIf Baba Yaga boils me down to my bones,is it one more task over and doneOne less thing till I atoneTwelve steps down from the world aboveTwelve princesses dancing in shoes of bloodTwelve months passing in the blink of an eyeThirteen moons across the skyIn the belly of a wolfIn a hundred year dreamIn iron shoesIn the shape of a treeIn the fire ashIn a tattered coatWith a stolen voiceWith claws at my throatWith footsteps like knivesWith a cloak of redbartered away toa monsters bedWhen she chews on my fleshand shatters my bonesswallowing all I have seenand have doneWith fingers like clawsand blood on her teethOh, wake me, shake meremake me please.

  • Imogen Tuesday, 04 September 2012

    This comment has been removed by the author.

  • Exitonpch Tuesday, 04 September 2012

    Belong We all belong to the dead soon enough, dea...

    BelongWe all belongto the deadsoon enough, dearbut until thengargle that redpulse, eat blackas though canceris anything morethan an expresswayOh, murder yousay? Of whatkindness, of healthor innocence keptat the endof a leashor a whiplike in beautymagazines that don'tforget the jealousand the frightenedwho clothe usin their hatredof anything differentas though demonsplanted in childhoodgrew full flowergrown up mouthsfilled with poisonBut also remembercool green morningsan orange sunsethow blue armshold up heavenremember open doorskind encouraging wordssmooth brown banistersand one smilejust the onetime is allwhen you belongto the living

  • Jessa Marie Monday, 03 September 2012

    17. uproot my soul has no dwelling my home has be...

    17. uprootmy soul has no dwellingmy home has been uprooted by greed andavarice, youhacked at the buttressed roots and pulled outthe stringy, malnourished cords underneathyou did not feed us, yousmothered us andstabbed us andchopped our limbs, sucha snuff filmwe have always been unwanted.it has been this way since i was a childthere were no prayers, noconsolation, only empty words andempty ultimatums from empty shells of fleshwolves of industry preyed upon what we had built with out hands and heartsripped our flowering buds from the ground withtheir pointed teethfeasted on our petalsspat our seeds and let us flail aboutwe landed in new spaces, separatebut always seeking to strengthen sisterhoodamong the strangling weeds.

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