Shame Has a Name

If Shame had hands of its own, 
they’d beat across my chest, 

and rattle my very bones,

like thundering skies rumble a home. 

If Shame could hear
it’d be a silken trap,
patiently awaiting its souvenir 
to tightly weave and wrap.

If Shame had eyes
they’d be only for me,
and no matter my disguise 
could never be free. 

If Shame had lips
they’d recite appalling poetry 
as crimson bleeds and drips
from my weeping willow tree. 

When I became Satan’s helper
through no desire of my own,
Shame became my shelter
that morphed into my home. 

Shame indeed has a face,
and it revealed itself in time, 
and is now replaced 
with a face that’s no longer mine.

Core-upted Gardens

A cratered core

in the midst of our middle,
bears a token of love and war
worn both big and little.

A hallowed sore
in the midst of our middle 
carries our lore 
like an unspoken riddle. 

It’s the first love we’ll ever know.
It’s the first love we’ll preserve,
and it’s the same love we’ll grow, 
even if it’s less than what we deserve. 

This hallowed ground is your garden,
the only one you’ll ever get,
so don’t welcome or pardon
even the slightest decay or threat. 

If love had a taste, 
I think it would be metal,
for we enter this world bloody-faced,
and depart it just as gentle. 

Birthday Wishes

You said I’d understand when I grow older,

back when my face was still new.

I’ve since looked over my shoulder

to observe what you always knew.

With your wisdom and guidance,

I invested myself as collateral,

and all I inherited was silence,

both deafening and unilateral. 

Oh, how my bones quaked

under the weight of my body and mind,

as I searched and raked

for any answers I could find, 

but like leaves, were scattered to the winds.

How many candles does my cake require

before this healing begins? 

Because right now it’s on fire. 

Am I old enough now? 

Have these decades proven that I’m capable? 

Have I finally shown you how

I’ve earned a spot at the grownups table? 

Could you be so kind

as to pay your emotional debt,

from my childhood in which you dined?

Am I old enough yet? 

Age didn’t seem to matter to you at the time,

but with my face now lined like rings from a tree

I’m now closer to your age in this timeline, 

wouldn’t you agree? 

They say wisdom comes with age,

so allow me to share some of mine

as my candles burn down your performance stage. 

“You’ll understand when you grow a spine.”

Blood Moon

Emerging from the world’s ledge,

like a baby from a womb, 

a spellbound waters edge,

cradles a blood soaked moon. 

Ocean waves twirl and tumble below,

with red scattered streaks, 

and water filled echos flow

from my eyes, down my cheeks.

No moon clinging in the air,

even one as beautiful as this,

could ever attempt to repair

what I’m now left to reminisce.

Science says it’s shadows and light,

being the most likely case

why our lonely neighbor bleeds so bright,

but I wager she chose to embrace

and absorb the World’s pain tonight.

A Delicately Dangerous Dance

I swear I’ve been here before, 
but this place feels new.
It doesn’t matter anymore,

but do I know you? 

Quick quick, slow.

It’s not the rhythm that I need, 

but it’s the one that I know,

it’s both how I love, and how I feed.

Tik tik, tock.

Goes the sound of my heart,

like a ticking bleeding clock,

it’s both how I stop, and how I start.

We seem to belong together,

like two sides of a coin, 

destined to spin forever, 

until both sides join. 

I’m heads and your tails,

let’s twirl, spin, dance, and dip,

while we even out the scales

of this fated flip. 

I swear I’ve been here before, 

but this place feels new, 

spinning on this familiar floor,

like a dance with deja vu. 

I know those eyes staring back at me,

and like a curse or broken spell,

turn to ash and debris,

a sudden waltz in hell. 

Quick quick, slow…

It’s not the rhythm that I want, 

but it’s the one that I know,

it’s both how I love, and how I taunt.

Tik tik, tock…

and my heart burrows and drops,

deep within my chest, like a serrated rock.

It’s both how it starts, and how it stops. 

I’m tails and your heads. 

Not that it matters anymore because

as soon as the spinning ends,

I’ll know I was here before, I always was. 

You Say

You say you like my curly hair

and the way that it stands out,

but the commitment and care

is something you could do without. 

You say you like my voice

but don’t like it when I speak,

and if it were your choice

would muzzle my mystique.

You say you like me at times,

when I’m open to your critiques,

which cluster in my eyes,

and sizzle down my cheeks. 

You admired my chaotic curls

and the way that they hung,

while resenting the twirls

of my disposition and tongue. 

Every strand has a story,

whether grayed out or not,

and is a swirling history

of all my battles fought.

Battles you’d rather not hear,

Battles you’d rather not see,

despite being the leader

and turning a blind decree. 

You say you like me

but I don’t think that you do.

Because everything I am,

seems to repulse you. 

You say you like my curly hair

as you place me on your shelf,

my commitment and care

has always been with myself. 

Collateral Damage

I know it’s a lot to ask, 
for you to envelop me,
to want to brave the task

of swallowing the sea. 

It’s all or nothing, fast or go.

Explore my shallows,

but watch my undertow.

The crashing waves silence the cries,

are you in a watery grave,

or did you make it out alive? 

I promise to be gentle

or as much as I can be,

all casualties are accidental 

this is my only guarantee.