Ruins
A Rorschach of pen ink spilled
Delicately on white clothes,
Illustrating the unknown for eyes
Otherwise closed to the world.
Years ago, Rorschach's images,
Deemed nonger viable windows
Into the brain, became torn pieces
Dali used to melt into clocks.
Open the window once again,
Begged the spilled ink, pining
To be used rather than sopped up,
Discarded as pseudoscienfic,
Unethical, unrealistic, and dumb.
I feel its pain so I peer inside,
Letting the void slither into my irises
And probe my brain as it pleases.
Avenge Me, Please
He balled the letter up tightly and squeezed it, letting the angry pained tears run down his cheeks. All his life, his sister had never told him why she was such an angry person. Now, he knew after reading the Dear John letter why his sister left when he was a baby. He tossed the paper to his side and stood, letting the realization hit him like a tidal wave. From afar, the key clicked and the door opened. His dad's voice reverbed down the hallway but he heard nothing. Just the click of his dad's Glock and his angry footsteps.
Keep Fighting
Obscurity always knows how to steal joy,
Sucking it in like a vacuum of despair,
Planting kisses of death on any plan made.
Starting with the littlest aspects of life,
Dampening them with drenching acid rain,
Depression reigns supreme over my head.
Torrential tsunamis of push and pull,
Insanity versus sanity, if you deign believe
Either is on a separate, cleaner coin.
Whether there's a cleaner coin, mentally arises,
As I flip the shiny token of "joy" on knuckles
Bruised from beating the shit out of life.
Yet, every night, as I undo Mayweather's laces,
I look up to the sky and beg God to give me
A sign and let a star shine through for luck.
New Soul
After years of slipping through fingers
That clutched so tight, half-moons
Outlined desperate and sweaty palms,
I saw him again, in the wild, not long ago,
And my heart stopped.
The heat in my body radiated like lava,
Melting every resolved feeling, thawing
All those tears I had frozen long ago,
Which threatened to burst right there.
My fingertips sucked the blood back
To my crazed heart that leaks cracks
Like the spiderwebs that held trash
For so long after he left me in the dirt.
And there he was again.
A new body, a new smile, a new life,
Yet still no ring on his left finger.
No surprise Mr. No Commitment could
Change everything about himself
After walking into a sea of death,
Cleansing his soul in the navy blue water
Outside his broken hometown and rising
To the challenge to help girls like me.
His first, or maybe his last, I'd like to think
I stayed on his mind until his dying breath,
Until God showed me that beautiful smile
As he waved and walked back into the sea.
But, he's back and will never be mine again.
Primary Succession
My traditions lie like a forest after a fire,
Cracking and black and unfruitful.
The life that once chattered and sang
Whether the sun shone bright above
Or stars twinkled to their tunes
Scurried off to protect themselves,
Leaving the house vicitm to the elements.
Despite seeing the world around me,
The Mayans may have struck bigger
Than any Gregorian or Julian calendar
Ever dreams since it still stands, evidence
Of the union of arithmetic and faith
Raising nature to work for society
Yet never bend to break under pressures.
How I wish nature raised me like Tarzan
(Maybe with thirty-percemt less racism),
So the smoldering trees and blackened soil
Would not ignite such fear and pain and pining
For better days that feel uncertain
Despite the gleam on the horizon.
As the story goes, the ancestors came in boats,
Severed the cord and spilled the blood
Of the children of the earth centuries ago
And used the red earth to make brick for houses,
Roads, infrastructure, indoor plumbing,
Washing machines and ovens, things we thank
The Heavens and kiss God's feet for, and laugh
That we could not live without these blessed items
Built by pioneering pillagers' slaves and children
Of the land stolen and violated and trampled.
Winter lie on the horizon, and the chill wraps us.
Lying on the warm ground, savoring the embers,
I dream of a day again when the vibrant forest
Lives and sings and dances once again.
Confessional
Lord, I ask for aid with this prompt. I can only think to compare it to writing a personal prayer on a chalkboard. I've only said the scripted prayers before in public, the Hail Marys and such, that you memorize and sit next to the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance. I can't possibly speak how I do in private with You. I can't cry the tears or sing the praises that one only loses themselves in in Your presence. But, to tell You the truth, there is one little thing bothering me. Confessional is a little sacrilegious, right?
DWB
Chia's heart pounded in her chest as the officer's slow steps approached the Cadillac. She held the pale squirming baby tightly in her arms. She could see Artie's charcoal hands gripping the steering wheel. The officer shined the bright bluish-white light in their faces.
"Where you coloreds going?" He grumbled.
"Missus want us to take her and the babe into Baltimore to see her husband."
The cop looked in the backsest where the little Italian woman was curled over onto herself, deep in a fitful sleep. The police officer tapped on the window but the woman scarcely stirred.
"Please, suh," Artie said.
"Shut up, boy." The officer was jouned by another one now who was shining a bright light at Chia and making the baby cry. "Why ain't she wakin up?"
"She deaf, suh. Deaf and dumb since she a lilun."
The first officer looked at the woman, the baby, then the pair of black people in the front seat. He made a face and peered at his partner, who shrugged.
"Your tail light is out," the officer said. Breaking glass was heard. "Fix it."
The pair of officers left, and Chia sighed.
"Did I do good?" Angelica asked.
"Perfect."