#june2k22

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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. 

[poetrybecomesher]

#30 “there exists art in all hearts”

There exists art in

the expanse of my soul

clawing to escape.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#23 “love on a pedestal”

An eclipse of hate,

the tolling bell that shook us

from the pedestal.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#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.

[poetrybecomesher]

#20 “the bane of immortality”

Humans always strive 

for the unattainable.

They refused to accept

that the Fountain of Youth 

was a lie. Carefully constructed

to give them hope.

They are willing to try anything

as long as it gives them the illusion

of youthfulness. They hide

from the life-giving sun.

Bathe in the rays of the moon.

Yet never questioned why the night

was my domain.

[poetrybecomesher]

#19 “pining for destruction”

It’s amazing that I only feel alive

when pursuing something that could destroy me.

I have a turbulent history with the divine,

and an alarming resemblance to Icarus.

Yes, even that golden child,

flying on wax wings and borrowed time

craved for that which would destroy him.

He too, knew that life is meaningless

without the challenges of the unattainable.

[poetrybecomesher]

#18 “insincere truths”

Our love is a lie.

An illusion made of hate.

And yet, we still love.

[poetrybecomesher]

#17 “places I have felt lonely”

At the counter of the bar

and underneath the strobing lights

in the nightclub bathroom.

Among the crowd of people rushing

to work, and in the middle of the ocean.

In the backseat of a taxi

and the silken sheets of this week’s lover.

If I carry my mind prison around

it’s no wonder I’m always lonely.

[poetrybecomesher]

#16 “living at the edge of a hourglass”

Like Alice when she fell into Wonderland,

all confusion and mired in madness;

I too fell into the vast expanse that was you.

I soared through the winds of your soul,

buoyed by wings strengthened by our love.

For you, I willingly let my

inner Mad Hatter out.

I poured tea for the Queen of Hearts

of my own free will

and invited the dreaded Jabberwocky

into my sanctuary.

But love isn’t a fairy-tale, my love.

 Like the Looking Glass,

we too shattered. 

Now all I can do, my love, 

is wait for you,

at the edge of this accursed hourglass.

[poetrybecomesher]

#15 “building a house out of my bones”

I want you to be comfortable

even at the expense of my safety.

I would gladly set my skin on fire

to let you bask in the warmth on a cold night.

I would destroy myself

if it let you live another day.

My therapist tells me that this isn’t healthy,

that what we share isn’t love

but obsession. A spark of a wildfire

that will burn us down if we

don’t stop pretending it’s a harmless candle.

She doesn’t understand the depth of my affections

for you. Because, you’ve done the same.

You’ve built bridges out of your dreams

so I could achieve mine.

“Love is supposed to be 50/50.” she says.

But she doesn’t understand

that on the days I could only give you 20%

you gave me the 80% I needed.

So yes, I would build a house out of my bones,

to accompany the castle you’ve built out of your blood.