Sing a song so Juvenile

‘Jessica was a worthy child’

‘but let Jessi take her place’

‘Make haste’

‘Lay waste’

‘For her death is why we’re here’

‘Burn her body’

‘Let it rust’

‘For Jessi is the king that we trust’

Nana

I melted to a tall tale
Whispered children with the braided hair
Her skin, aged like the earth, brought forth stories on unknown worth.
I melted as far as the oak tree stands
Wine in hand with berry delight
A beautiful sight on a beautiful night
Clear cut eyes crinkle under the moonlight


Whispered the children with the kinked up hair
Her skin, aged like the earth, showed visions of stories never told
And I melted to hear the tale
My dark brown skin and coiled hair, My children!
All standing there
Whispered, ‘Nana, thank you for being here.’

Written for my Nana Vivian Person

Love you

Dreaming

I thought it would be better if I died.

A hopeful wish really, but one I still believed in. I wanted to go away. For everything to end.

Only, I entered an agreement for a new feeling. One which brings me pain.

I figured it would be better if I was deceased.

My rotting body used to study various diseases. For science of course. While my mother grieved and my father went on living. I figured, that with time, memories of me would fade.

Only, I entered a realm of false hope. When memories fade only to become the chains that choke me with yesterday’s desires.

I just wanted to go away.

At least Google Remembered

October 20.

1993.

I was born.

I am now 27 years old and only just starting to feel like an adult. Maybe that is why no one remembered that there was any reason to celebrate. Adults don’t have parties. They don’t sit in anticipation wondering what all they receive in gifts. The don’t hover over a cake awkwardly standing as family and friends sing happy birthday to them.

No, instead they do what I did.

Treat it like another day. They don’t sit awkwardly refreshing their social media pages waiting for someone to send them that special message. Hoving around their phone just waiting for someone to call. Sitting in bed trying to come up with excuses why they shouldn’t cry.

I am an adult and I no longer need that validation that my existence matters. I don’t need family and friends to celebrate with me. It’s just another day. I don’t need anyone.

Happy Birthday to me.

My ice cream melted

As he slammed the door I could remember the stickiness the touched my lips. Sweet bitter raspberry, how I hate the flavor. I remember moving my arms to wipe my face but it spread the mess across my cheek. I left it there, from what I can recall, and got up to look at the damage it caused.

They say the mirror does not lie but I digress that such a thing could show what I have tried so hard to repress. The raspberry upon my lips stands so pretty against against my skin. My eyes don’t show how bitter it taste because I do not remember them showing anything. A blank slate. A broken shape. I can remember trying to brush my hair into place.

It’s messy bun that I tied that day. So proud because it frame my face in a way I never thought before. But the raspberry stuck to the strands is all I can remember as I removed the bands. The bands I had picked with him in mind. Coupled with the blush, I felt divine.

But he wasn’t home like he was before. It was my fault and nothing more. When the monster within grabbed my hand and pulled me to the floor. Raspberry kisses on both of our cheeks. As the door groans and creaks.

My ice cream has melted, upon my thighs. I can see it in the mirror that I wish would lie. Raspberry glistens on my lips. Bitter is which memories keep.

Puppet

A tick tock heart made with clay and discarded parts. Sat on the window to dry. The painter and the sculptor, who where known to hate each other, gave it meaning before it begin beating and put it on display. But it would not sit, where it was meant upon the window still. Instead it would clatter and thump and jump as though to reach the rotted sun.

So the painter and the sculpture sat about to make another. This time a heart that would sit still. But they failed in times that changed because neither heart could feel.