trapped in a small glass box
tattoo blue ink on my skin
a closet full of missing shoes
and pairs that crushed my bones
destroyed my feet
dust and crumpled silks and sweaters
an empty page
a blank canvas
a pond clogged with dead weeds and the bones of fish
yellowing grass
a dripping faucet
the sound of her voice no longer in my ears
no music at all
no dancing in the living room
no dancing
food without taste
her, gone
ashes unscattered
still in their urn
we're afraid to touch them

grief is the underworld
persephone's realm
a single pomegranate seed
life without demeter
did anyone think
that the daughter might have grieved too
even with hades to fill her
and mine comes so briefly
mother, mother
under the ground
she would say
is where the seeds begin


  • Ashley Elizabeth Wednesday, 12 September 2012

    No! "Nothing you can do will ever make me ...

    No! "Nothing you can do will ever make me wish away the stars or cast out all the secrets my pinky finger has promised to keep you can try, oh try, I dare you, but I've built a wall with no cracks, I'm sure of it."

  • Imogen Tuesday, 11 September 2012

    La blue (unedited) Painted girl, if you could Rea...

    La blue (unedited)Painted girl, if you couldRead me like Braille My patchwork skinCould tell such things.Here, this one whispers ofThe loneliness of so, so manyYears since I have been anybodiesLover. This oneWhispers that I am thirty nowAnd have never been anybodiesLove. This oneSays that the only thing IHave to giveAre my poems, and I'm Afraid they're just not good enough.This one, oh this oneBegs for the next song onMy playlist to tell meHow to not lie down and Give up. This screamsSave me from meSave me, save meFrom me, this oneSays nobody can hear meAnyway.Here is a scar that can neverFade away, the one so deepI needed stitches, the one that got Me stuck in a hospital roomTill I could find aMoment of inattention And run, run soFar away.This one is here to stay.I try not to believe there will beAnymore. I try to believe I'll beA real girl somedayNot this ragged, patchwork Thing.

  • Yajaira Monday, 10 September 2012

    I carry our secret deep inside me It is a memory t...

    I carry our secret deep inside meIt is a memory that haunts mepressing into wounds that refuse to healI want a scar I want it big and dark I want it to showI want people to ask me aboutI want to sing its storyI want to laugh at it...because that would mean it was overno more dreams no more tearsI often wonder how it could have been avoidedHow it was my fault I replay that momentover and over looking for an instant that I could have escapedI could of...I should of...I carry our secret outside of meIt looms over everything I do and what I seeI want a scar...I want to scar you

  • Exitonpch Monday, 10 September 2012

    Surface It began as tension swirling on the surfa...

    SurfaceIt began as tensionswirling on the surfaceof a soap bubblea thesaurus of bluespinks that might make a flamingo greenwith envy, purple majestythe shade of mountains at dusk and thistle at noona cascade of yellow like my heaven starred as a branding ironI was the skin of a planetin orbit around your heatplates shifting, center magma coolingso quickly I had to wrap myselfin burning oilwhen you took your sun to another universeI learned to carverunes and scars with fine tippedwords, ever more intricatea symphony of cuts, incisions that sangso high that dolphins and bats repliedecholocating is a human skillyou find every nerveresponding if you slice finely enoughI took out thread and needle more fine than flaxen hairsewing nimbly, looping colors like magnetic solar flareslike a medieval tapestry weaver, patient as a beetlefocused as a lenswhen the welts finally healand you slide fingertips like reading braillealong the textured surface of each story woveninto my skinwill you remember when I was every coloryour eyes ever wanted to drink in?

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