Wednesday, January 16, 2019

Where has my voice gone?
I can feel the place where it should be-
Empty space in the bottleneck
Back of my throat.
What happened to my voice?
Was it taken, stolen away
By fairies in the night
Because I forgot their offerings?
Is it misplaced,
Dropped between
Couch cushions or
Absentmindedly swept under the fridge?
Where is my voice?
I try to cry out but the noise won’t come,
Hollow air speeding past
Chords that have lost their purpose,
Will not bend to my will.
Have I lost my voice?
I can feel the echo of it
Reverberate in my chest,
The memory of it
On my lips and teeth and tongue,
But my words are gone.

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

My princess stays with me.
She taught me how to shape words,
Encouraging my toothy mouth and
Clumsy tongue with laughter and smiles
And at each attempt she embraced me
In our halls of riches.

My princess sleeps beside me,
Warmed by my fire, in our nest
Of furs and skins. She tucks
Flowers and presses kisses
Among my scales and
She makes me gentle and soft
And beloved.

Outside our castle is a great
Wall, forged of metal and stone;
A warning to anyone who would try
That they cannot come and take
My princess away from me.

Still, they try, but I am my lady’s
Champion, I will protect my love
And keep her safe by me, and
Their toy swords are no match to my
Ironlike armor and the fire of my fury.

After, my princess comes to me
On the field of battle. She soothes me
And gives me water from her hands.
She gathers the bones and together
We return to our stronghold.

In the heart of the castle lies
Our greatest treasure: a great
Cavernous hall that once was filled
With a princely court, now lies silent.
We keep no candles in this hall,
We light no fire in its hearth.

My breath lights the way as we
Walk through long aisles created
Over the years, shelves upon
Shelves, built up from the long
Straight bones, holding their skulls,
Forever looking out into darkness.

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Me(diocrity)

Maybe the secret to self-improvement
Isn’t getting better at things:

I think practice only helps you accept
Your mediocrity

Which sounds harsh, I know,
But think about it:

Some of the greatest people I’ve known
Have been the most mediocre

And no one cares if their pie crusts
Aren’t even of their bread doesn’t rise

Or if they can carry a tune or draw
A bowl of fruit on a window sill,

But they still learned how to be happy
And generous, and that’s why I love them,

So maybe I don’t have to learn to be good;
Maybe I just have to learn to be me.


Special Kind of Magic

Bad art
Is still art

So maybe try
Just making something

Anything, really
Because

Even if it’s bad,
It’s something you made

And that’s a pretty special
Kind of magic
My greatest fear used to be
That I was a monster,
Shrouded in human clothing,
And that one day I’d tear off my costume
And destroy the world

But now I’m more afraid
That I’m normal, and that
This darkness lives inside of everyone,
And that maybe none of us are strong enough
To keep our masks on.
I feel cheated out of the past ten years,
But I would forgive every minute of them
If I could see you smile at me one more time.

I haven’t felt truly loved since you’ve been gone
And I wish you could have seen who I’ve become
And loved the woman I am now.

Mircalla

My father tried to protect me from creatures like you,
Tried to keep me honey-safe in the soft world
He built for me.
You walked through the gates and walls like
They were only fog, you taught me to cut
And bleed and thirst.

My father was afraid, but you taught me to be
The thing to be feared, to feel no terror for the
Other dark things hiding outside.

You taught me to walk like mist and you broke
Me and recreated me in your  image, out of
Bone and shadow.

I walked out of my father’s house clothed in
Night and blood and you followed behind me,
Close enough to touch.