homeless

Amandine Van Ray

curious at my own change

validating the harsh sense of self

feeling lesser than what I am

 tho I am loved so strongly by him

still struggle to see my worth

he assures me of abundance

yet I feel bankrupt

empty pocketed and sitting

on cardboard boxes beneath vents

to grip their warmth in my skin

admittedly I like my coldness 

the frigidness of my protective veneer

keeps me from cracking deeper by

the pressure of unwanted emotion

forgotten doll

I'll lie there with you ...
Look into my reflection from the glint in your eye,
The girl I was, time has made me no more...
I'll whisper, "I don't care...that sweet little lie made me smile."
We'll talk about what never was - like long lost friends ...
Embrace-but awkwardly, I don't fucking know you anymore.
You can pick at my threads, watch me unravel ...
Flick my skin and see my layers ripple...
I'd let you do anything- just as I let you do nothing ...
I'll be silent as you decide to where you'll lay me ...

Until we do this all over again.

I don't fucking know you anymore... But I'll still wait - because I once did.

A Virtuous Lie

 

 parts my lips

tempts my tongue
bitten
stricken
but not purged
unchallenged within
a merciless criticism
silence is tolerant
I am no longer a child

Prayer of The Human Condition

Stopping to ponder on insecurities, I found my own coalescing and threatening mutiny. I've grown bored of my usual haunts. Stretched beyond what my mind can conjure interest. Where there once was fertile soil, now barren fields of apathy go on as far as the mind can perceive. Ghosts forever taunt me; forever are in misery of every loving thought I hold. They sleep in my shadows, lie in my bed, burrow next to my cold skin. Fluted music, melody once as sweet to me as nectarines, have soured in my ear, in my throat … In my heart.

Here, wrapped in my anonymity, forcibly restrained by my own frailties. Bound are my feet by birth; my hands by class; my will by the servitude of my sex.

I am nothing more than a servant, humbled to thee by chance- enshrined in memory of none. Lost in my wander, feverishly beckoning to those who pass me by. 

See me for what I am not, not what I am. Want for what I am not, not what I am.

Let me glisten under light not found by common experience. Let me dance in the rain not fell upon spoiled ground. 

Do not let me languish or despair my circumstance. Keep me from brushing into mires of thorns; words  of brutal sacrifice; in feelings of inequity. Let me reflect upon me as a smile... A casual touch of warmth or even slight glint of eye.

hand-me-down

                                                                                              Wyatt Mills

Scents, words, a scene

My mouth is moving
the voice isn't mine

It is his

I'm not running

I'm still; flat against the earth

My ears pound 

The struggle to fade into the surrounding sand

Can't sink deep enough though... not to disappear 
Silence

Silence becomes a sentence of infinite time 

It never fucking goes away. 

Like clay, I'll reform myself into a ball, firm and smooth

My feet get so fucking weary of this same 

This road that never seems to fucking ever end 

 "Fucking" becomes the only word that I can FUCKING say 

 I've been a FUCK because I didn't think I had worth
 A garment

 A hand-me-down 

 No longer valued; worn

Those around you become facilitators 

Of self abuse
DIDN'T you see that I was broken 
I watched as you stepped over the pieces of me 

You turned back, selfishly, to bend and take

Cast down; unwanted

No parts of me were salvageable