There Are Scars

There are scars on her hands

where the nails dug into the flesh-

-clenched fists

and the taste of blood

in her mouth

from teeth piercing the tongue.

She tries to remain civil,

even as the words burn the back

of her throat.

Words like knives,

and she can't help imagining 

cutting her opponent to ribbons.

But the sacrifice won't kill the infection,

and the legion may spring

into action.

Instead, she lies in wait

for the empire to crumble on its own.

I was there

I was there when the uniforms came.

Armed, they stormed in.

No time for questions,

no time to discuss.

Only time to move.

They tried to fight back,

but words, documents, hands

are useless.

They chose their battle.

They will not back down,

until there is nothing left

to hold onto anymore.

Two for Today

Since I missed posting yesterday, two in one today:

He runs when it gets serious,

when good may finally triumph.

If he thinks no one is looking,

he begins to self-destruct.

Leaves pieces of himself

to scatter in the wind.

Destroys what is real

in favor of a plastic dream

of the ones who never learned

to love.

This one is definitely going to be longer, I just haven't quite pieced together the rest of the story:

A corset-wearing menace,

weaving a path of chaos

and natural disasters.

Fools with charm

and promises that are broken

before the words escape her mouth.

She'll tell you she loves you,

and swear that she needs you

as the wrecking ball hits

and you are nothing

but dust on her shoes.

Cast Out of the Garden

There are locks on the doors

because they tell us

it's unsafe inside.

We're better off in the streets,

where the rapists roam free,

but they'll try to keep us safe

for three days.

Nothing happens on a weeknight anyway.

The artists-musicians-dreamers

are silenced,

kicked to the curb.

Who needs free expression anyway?

They let hero worship

go to their heads.

Forgot what it means

to protect,

to honor life.

Forgot that they could have

ended up on the streets with us

when the city crumbled to the ground.

Raspberries

There were raspberries

the day I found out.

One tumbled out of my hand,

leaving a pale red stain

where it landed.

Evidence of the heartbreak.

Over time,

wounds healed

and scars faded.

But the body never forgets betrayal,

and still rejects the taste of raspberries.

Untitled

If I bite my tongue,

close my eyes,

you won't see 

how the words

cut me to ribbons

and open the wounds

that never healed.

You'll never know

of the sleepless nights

plotting escape.

The way flesh burns

at the touch

of countless others.

The way the heart breaks

with each rejection.

You've forgotten already

how difficult your own journey was--

and remain unaware

that this one is just beginning.

Poem

Dishes left in the sink

a reminder of our failings.

Faint mark on the hand

from a fight that quickly turned violent.

We wear our secrets out in the open,

hoping to find our companions, a savior, a meaning for the madness.

Still dress it up to avoid

the unpleasantness of scars.

What is real is terrifying,

we create a new story in order to survive.

Yet still find beauty,

in the imperfections, the sickness, the disaster.