I never persumed to know love
Tickled beneath a berry tree
as giggles touched the leaves
I was never one to really believe
In love and all those silly things
But here I sit in stiled laughter
With a daunting dancing daughter
Her smile lightens my darkened heart
Beneath this berry tree
1 by 1, 2 by 2, she calls to me, lovingly
Beneath this berry tree
I must wear it like a chain around my neck
A bloody weight specially made of gossamer wings and naivety
For a split second I can see it
A tiny throne for a tiny king
Strong,
holding me upon a dirty bed
Strangers walk by with their stilted lies
throwing their red paint and holy words
A christening by those who curse
It must be hanging like a noose
This tightly woven cradle where tiny kings,
With tiny wings can slumber
For a split second I can feel it
(Tantalizing fingers glimmer, gently brushing remembering the need)
Remembering the greed
It didn’t take that long to bleed
As they tugged and pulled away my flesh
Cutting into my skin like a second dress
I remember it so clearly
Maybe that is why I wear it around my neck
This bloody weight specially made of
Gossamer wings and tenacity
Such a tiny throne for a unwanted king
a blackened hole with a twisted tongue
unhinged and jaded by a lie not won
i turn to whisper at a page
i turn to shudder at the pain
because there are stories not yet spilt
on this dangerous land we have not built
ancestors screaming in distress
for they have started to fear their rest
i am nothing though filled with dread
with writhing maggot living in my head
a blackened hole and twisted tongue
ancestors voicing lies not yet won
only to turn another whispered page
and gratify myself with its rage
this is a story not yet spilt
of a cursed home i am to scared to see built
A/N Normally I do not talk about the inspiration for my post but this one I had to include. This poem came to me while looking at one of my friends creations. They had sewed together a bag that I just absolutely adore. Being able to see every step they took to making it. The energy, the heart, the literal blood at times, made me appreciate those who craft with their hands even more. Now, I am not gifted as they are, and even though I found some inspiration in what they had made, I had to show it another way. This is my creation and I am forever grateful for the support my friend has given me.
In return I am sharing Laurens work. If you like this poem please take a look at their Etsy page. They make custom work and are more than willing to work with people to get them that desire. Most, if not everything, is one of a kind. So if you like standing out and being unique, give it a go, if not, still leave them some love!! They will surely appreciate it.
Mirrors edge taste like depression
A tainted lesson in repression
From a girl who is no more
A gift at my discretion
NIGHTMARE FANTASY 