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#5 “the mother wound”
I wish you could see me
for who I am.
Not who I could be,
who you wish me to be,
nor who I was.
There is a gaping hole,
jagged and raw in the chasm of my soul.
Shaped exactly like you.
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#29 “your name sounds like a rhythm”
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.”�� - Romeo and Juliet: II.ii.
Your name rolls off of my tongue like a melody
accompanied by the drumming of my heart
synced to the song of your soul.
Your name is the sweetest lyric
to ever leave my lips. I could speak your name
every day and every hour, until Selene’s chariot
crosses the night sky, and even then;
I would speak your name like a prayer
The one true deity to which my soul is bound.
The syllables of your name forms
a magic spell that encases me to you.
Ah, sweet vixen! Even the waters of Lethe
wouldn’t be able to wipe the rhythm of your name
from my memory.
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#9 “my blood tastes like cherry wine”
Tearing flesh and ragged gasps,
broken only by the gulping of life’s essence.
That’s all I am to you.
A walking blood bag serving as refreshment.
I should be offended, angry even...
but I can’t.
How do I turn away one who is starving?
Especially when you say
it’s your favourite taste?
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#4 “tragically, yours”
Dear Beloved,
How I yearn to embrace thee!
If only you knew how my heart aches to be in your presence.
The light of day seems so cheerless without you,
and the sun may as well be the moon
devoid of its life-giving warmth.
Yet, I know thou doth not love me.
You could never stray from the teachings
of thine accursed house.
But my darling,
I prithee never forget that you are loved.
Tragically,
Yours.
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#28 “of little gestures and big love”
Love is patient
and love is kind.
It is the cup of coffee left on the counter
for the passing hand to pick up
on their way to work.
It is not envious
for it knows that it is the home to your soul
perfumed by the scent of your dreams.
It is comfort and intimacy
tangled in passion and understanding.
You laughed when I said our love was
the expanse of the glittering Northern Sea.
My love, although our actions are miniscule
they encompass universes.
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#25 “lady macbeth”
“Look like th’ innocent flower, But be the serpent under ‘t.” -Macbeth: I.v.64
We women have mastered the art
of portraying that which the world wants to see.
We have played many roles
of maiden, mother, and crone. Moon goddess
and manic pixie dream girl. None have seen through
our act nor gazed under the deceit.
We’ve spoken honey-sweetened lies
before betraying whoever stood between us
and our goals. Like our patron saint Lady Macbeth,
we have supported and solidified
plans for the betterment of ourselves and those we share
life and home with. The façade of the flower
was seamless. You didn’t even suspect
the serpent hidden beneath.
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#10 “the moon in my palm”
The moon in my palm,
A testament to our love;
the shattering dawn.
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#8 “flowers on my grave”
With the clanging bells
and faint strains of the choir’s last chord
here lies my earthly form.
Put to rest in this embrace, warm
and moistened with the wine poured
and blessed by the loving farewells
of those I’ve left behind.
Death’s kiss is soft, my love.
A cold touch of skeletal lips on my cold brow
Calling my soul resigned.
All I ask is your solemn vow,
Even though I am now below,
you shall smile above
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#12 “the breakup”
Maybe we don’t work.
I’m sorry it had to be
like this. All my love.
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#30 “there exists art in all hearts”
There exists art in
the expanse of my soul
clawing to escape.
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#27 “grief in a jukebox”
With the clanking coins
we paid the piper to weave us a dream.
Lured by the promises of beauty
conjured up by his haunting melody
drawn from the magic of his music.
When grief arrives, there is naught you can do
but hold on and pray that the weight of it
won’t drown you in the sea that
was once called love.
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#26 “pining for destruction”
Everywhere I look,
I see the contours of your frame
clothed in the firelight of the wretched sun.
A daylight wraith that haunts me
throughout the expanse of these deserted lands
of my barren and broken heart. Comfort
found in the taste of dark liquor
and perfumed smoke curling from the
edges of carnivorous smiles.
The burn of the regurgitated shards
of my once vibrant heart is the only
taste I can remember.
You once said I was sweet like honey.
The only one to pay attention
to the innocent candy that dripped from
my hands. Maybe, just maybe
that is why I yearn for you.
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#24 “i have no more love to give”
Look not at my heart
for she is empty. After
beating for others during her sad
short life, she holds nothing more.
Reach not for warmth for
my table has naught to give.
The hearth that used to crackle
merrily, the heat which radiated forth from
Hestia’s altar in my depths
has died out.
It is too late for you
to take more from me. I
have no more love to give
from the chasm in my soul.
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#23 “love on a pedestal”
An eclipse of hate,
the tolling bell that shook us
from the pedestal.
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#22 “my nails are the colour of your blood”
I feel as if I understand why Rome,
that wide ranged empire with far reaching
spires melted in the fast flowing waters of
Tiber. I understand the force that Egypt’s love
held and the inability of Marc Anthony to stand
against it. After all, my love, we had the same.
A forbidden love, between the conqueror and
that which would be conquered.
But, my love, our love was different.
Whereas Cleopatra, the masterful and beautiful
killed herself before the conquering Rome could;
I would rather kill you and paint my nails
with your blood.
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#21 “on a bed of white roses”
Hark and behold! Here lies Youth.
Cold and forlorn atop this abandoned shroud.
Forsaken by all, without a gentle touch to soothe
that icy brow and countenance proud.
With clanging bells, Virtue is extolled.
Praised as that which has no end
and beautified for what was not foretold.
See there! Look at the mound which holds the end.
Of labours and loves lost and won
where Death, his cold companionship proposes
in realms where the ever blessed sun
shalt ne’er again touch this bed of white roses.
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