Fists

-
I carry them
Smooth black metal
Hardened steel
Made to break bone
They slide down thin fingers
Onto the hand of the girl
Who never knew she needed them
Soft from birth
Kind hearted
Full of love
Beaten by the world
And those who
"Love her"
Don't love her
Shes dangerous
And ready to swing
Always poised
Ready to strike
To defend what she has left
Forsaken by those close
Hated by most others
People come and go
But she remains
Surrounded by broken bones
And destroyed bits of life

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Anecdote

-
I look back into the void and see a set of eyes looking back Reflecting parts of myself back I had long laid to rest As I no longer feel the need to hide Ineffable is not even close to the word that I feel accurately articulates the way I feel Not lightning  Nor thunder Not flashing Nor light Just warmth.  Like the first real ray of sun cresting the mountain after a long winter, Just subtle wind, winding change, snaking its way through the folds of my own inter-workings Quiet and calm A voice comes through Changing of waves that interlink in a way two long lost puzzle pieces connect You, the final piece of the mosaic, prized, that an artisan has searched high and low for I look forward, seeing myself reflected back in the figure of another How striking, how odd, to feel myself mirrored, How I may be able to speak and be understood, not simply listened to like a record on repeat, How is it possible I come across someone who so closely mirrors the walk I've tread, How have I not...
Read more

Lineal

-
 "Why is it that grief cannot be a straight forward path?" I can't seem to comprehend  An arrow, shot from the bend of a bow is direct, Piercing, pulling, tearing, Slicing its way cleanly from one side to the other of my soul, Just like the day I lost you. What bitter games do the gods play, Is it to their delight to watch me find my way around and around with it? The same way we may observe a dog chasing it's own tail, A silly thing to watch them catch it, only for them to realize it was attached to themselves all along. I can't escape the loss, just like an appendage I feel I've lost, the ghost of sensations that no longer I am able to feel. I grieve an ever distant growing image of you. Like a photograph carefully preserved. I see the corners of your mouth turned up, the way your teeth dance across your lower lip, Hair ruffled in the way only my fingers could've been the cause of. Like the photo that graces the front of an end of life service pamphlet, ...
Read more

Origins

-
 The Deep South, hot, humid and unforgiving, You can see it etched in the faces of those born here, In the face of the farmer, who worked beneath his father and the one before, In the face of the pastor, proclaiming his faith and preaching it out upon his weary congregation, In the face of the grocery store clerk, emptying buggies, greeting each person they meet, In the face of the hardened labor hand, working hard so the mother of his children at home doesn't have to, I see it in myself, In every mirror that hangs in these halls, The lines etched in the same places,  Those of worry, those of fear, those of disparity,  Those of laughter shared, smiles that never quite faded,  This land is tough, so is this town, Each and every one that comes and goes, Yet, it feels so foreign to me. My hands are no longer calloused and rough, The skin on my back has softened, My skin glows white like the moon, Instead of reflecting a tan from the hot summer sun, I am from this red cl...
Read more