"When it comes to art, it's important not to hide the madness." -Atticus
Abusive Society
Muscle memory filters a reaction
My body becomes a Roman sculpture
But I lack the shield
The arrow pierces through my skin
My bloodstream is filled with poison
Slowly, although all time is lost, my skin turns red
Roses blush onto my blemished cheeks
But to the broad they blossom only to be picked
I do not want them picked
I would rather have bloody fingers
It defines who I am
It defines what makes them invade my garden
If eyes are the windows to the soul
Then men do not look
Piercing stares
Coming from boiling skin
They do not represent crumpled clothes on the floor
They never will
My walks have become battles
As a little girl innocence flowed onto every brick
Now the trucks make the bricks shake
The trucks pull up
The worst is when the trucks brake
Instead of veering into their own abyss
They enter yours
I used to love people watching at a crosswalk
Technicolors would swirl around me into the sky
As the music of the road enlightened my soul
Now my soul lusts for places to hide
A crosswalk feels like a plank
A red light feels like an execution line
My body gets pushed against the bricks
The innocence gets shot
But who is to say they get to take my innocence?
Feminists are supposed to fight
But what if fighting only leads to a new curfew
A new stream of hateful words
A new reason to hate this town
A new reason to despise the Xs that mark the spot
A walk on the sidewalk turns into mind games
Safety eclipses into shadows behind each crack
Now one must keep their eyes up and hands curled into fists
Purses contain weapons only blue used to hold
Hearts pump to the beat of enlightened fear
The world is only ever seen in blurs without a pause
Anticipation if you will actually reach your destination
Now the other ones will deny us
They will say that we do the same
They will say that we lie
I have been called a whore
The star in my sky sat back
A joke entails vibrations of the larynx
An accusation entails a fire in the soul that pollutes the lungs with smoke
I choked on the smoke but no one found the extinguisher
The thought will forever linger in my mind
No one will bring it back again
For that risks it all
The risk is too large
Society cannot swallow it
I keep my mouth shut
I keep my finger down
When all I want to do is slam the country into shattered pieces
I want to watch it fly into dust particles
The hours tick by without the clock hands moving
They remain on the miniscule minute
The clock maker relents without success
For only a blessing will fix this mess
Blame only falls on those who take it
Defenses go up like rays of sunshine designed to penetrate caves
Only to find that the cracks are too small
Evolution cannot save us now
But maybe there is a way one at a time
Bodies are delicate
Tossing will result in wreckage
Glue only lasts for thirteen raindrops
Heaven lasts for one hundred and thirteen
First my body would shrink away
As if one touch would melt my skin to only a pile of bones
Rigidity is a staple through the finger
Painful but with an intent
Until one day the rags fall
Two roses are blooming in the garden
The dried blood creates a pool to wade through
Cracked with every hand that has ever brushed against you without permission
Shanked with daggers of superiority
Cleaned by consent
The first few months the chain was wrapped around my torso
Trapping every temptation that ever laid inside
The key was swallowed in an attempt to flee
But one day they catch up
One day the chain turns into butterfly wings
Stripped of color but fluttering
Once escaped they fall into paint buckets
Out once more as an eclipse of beauty
But only time and trust can heal
Even then my hands would cover the places where piranhas bit
Where cats claws could not break my skin
The scars are internal for only a women’s eye to see
Now my hands brush the places where a palm leaf traced my outline
Where a bird’s feather fell to earth and filled in my errors
Electricity is static for a short time
But this is the time we get
Society relents
My walks will still be battles
My hands will still restrain behind curtained buttons
My eyes will still pull the trigger
My innocence will still be shot
We live in an abusive society
There is no answer for everyone
Only some
But maybe love will save some of us?
I am for changing the pattern that has plagued my generation like a pandemic.
Too many of us break down in hallways,
the earth crumbling below our tired feet.
Why does no one try to do more?
When did normal become abnormal?
Therapy is a tool,
not a taboo to fear.
The word is not a swear.
Thoughts may be fleeting but they are real.
They are painful.
If one individual can say "enough,"
when do others join?
Let the house be filled with dog fur.
Coaches are for sitting on with your best friend,
do not push them to the floor.
Let the fur fly through the air like dust.
Glinting in the rays from the front window.
When little girls cry,
let the dog cleanse their cheeks.
Don't forget the love in this world.
You must be a part of it,
before your time is done.
And it will be done at last.
If you wait until the clocks break,
your heart will never tick quite right.
Tell the people in your life,
they are the oxygen you breathe,
the angels that protect you,
the beings you love and learn to love from.
Stand up straight as a woman,
the world lies on your shoulders.
You are born of Athena.
Your blood flows from a warrior and turns your heart into diamond.
Not a stone would rock upon this earth,
were it not for your powerful push.
The world exists because of you.
We must remind the men, without woman there would be no man.
Stop shooting guns.
Titanium breaks bones that can never be put back together.
The earth has enough composition.
Stop beating people to death,
stealing land that isn't yours,
labeling rapists and drug dealers just because they crossed a border.
Being white makes you far from pure.
Our skin is dirty with the evil inflicted on others.
Stop.
The metal hit the table so sharply that the silence was stabbed through the heart. Jojo quickly clamped his hand around the flask as though that would silence the frequencies that were already released, “We’ve covered our tracks. They won’t find us.” Even as he said this he glanced out the cabin window. The trees that survived the last wave of drought were starting to tumble to the ground like bodies after a war. Sal sipped silently on his own whiskey, “You can never be sure. The dogs can find anything and anyone.” Sal kept his face as strict as a seventh grade teacher. There could be no signal on his face. It would give everything away. For now he was just an apprentice to a dutiful pupil. Jojo looked at Sal with no flicker of doubt, the only sign that he showed any distress was in his eyes. But that was just the normal deadness that accompanied murder. No-one’s eyes shine after they take the breath away from someone else, even if it is for a good cause. Sal’s eyes had years of dead bodies in them. He learned the hard way that there is a difference between training at headquarters and killing a man in the woods.
Jojo suddenly looked up at Sal with admiration, “Tell me, how have you managed to kill some of the highest government officials and not get caught?” The playful joy in Jojo’s voice spread throughout the cabin. The leaders of The Rebirth would be very pleased with Jojo for his attitude. He was a perfect specimen, a man who will fight to the end of the world before he breaks his loyalty. Sal sighed, “You wake up every morning of your life thinking this is the day you will get caught.” Jojo looked confused. Sal suddenly became serious, “That's how you don’t get caught boy.” Every word that flowed out of Sal’s voice was like water to a dehydrated man in the desert to Jojo. As Jojo sipped his whiskey and looked out the window in deep thought he did not notice Sal watching him. He did not notice Sal adjust his body position slightly, shifting his legs sixty-five degrees towards the door. He did not notice the howls.
Suddenly, Jojo sat straight up in his seat. He was following protocol down to his heartbeat. An assassin must never stand up before assessing the situation. Sal watched him. He knew what was happening already. Jojo became alert and tilted his head to the right towards the window, “Listen.” Jojo’s stomach dropped, “The hounds are coming.”
Without even taking a moment to breath, Jojo grabbed his backpack and flung his flask into it. He secured his pistol and knife onto his belt as he simultaneously drew the shade on the window and flicked on the silencers that would muffle his footsteps. In the expanse of forty seconds he was ready to run, “Let’s go! We still have time to throw off our scents. We can head to the cliffs and follow the Gardner riverbed to the South and then…” He trailed off when he finally slowed down enough to see Sal sitting with his hands clutching his flask. Sal had not moved. Actually he looked calm. Jojo raised his voice, “What are you doing Sal! We have to go now!” As soon as the words escaped his mouth he realized his mistake; his frustration got the better of him. He had spoken too loud, the hounds definitely picked up his voice. They had to go right now or they would not make it. As Jojo started to turn towards the door the old man spoke up in a voice he had never used with Jojo, it was full of menace but there was also a touch of grief, “This has to happen. Running gets you nowhere. At some point, you must give in.”
The hounds’ barks echoed throughout the dry forest turning any noise into capture. It was clear the hounds were just over the hill about a fourth of a mile away. That meant that the officials were only four minutes away from the cabin. This was a code red. Jojo had been trained to handle these types of situations but right now he was confused. What did Sal mean? Maybe he was still in shock after the murder, it was a brutal one. Jojo did not have time to wonder, “Sal, I am leaving whether you are coming or not. I don’t know what you are doing but I am going.” With that he darted towards the back door. Within the blink of an eye the old man stuck out his leg and before Jojo knew what was happening he found his face on the floor, “No young boy, you’re not going anywhere. We both aren’t.” The hounds barked right outside the door.
They forgot to tell me that
college won't be home for a long time.
They forgot to tell me I'd drink
because the truth is sometimes it's easier.
Plus isn't everyone so much nicer when they are intoxicated?
Once that pale vodka touches their tongue,
they have no problem calling you a "best friend"
but in the morning they close their doors.
They forgot to tell me I would have to go
home because the night before I drank
too much and cried myself to sleep.
It's sometimes easier,
easier than my mind reminding me
that the love of my life will only ever be an ex,
reminding me that mom isn't here everyday to give me a hug,
that all these friend groups around me just taunt me,
that when I pick up my phone I don't have infinite
photos of all my new friends because its harder
than you think to find them in a sea of thirty thousand,
to remind me that I will need to pick a career,
my whole life is starting,
to remind me that I have no f*cking idea what I am doing.
they forgot to tell me that.
But they also forgot to tell me
about the feeling you get when you
walk to the dining hall next to mountains that are shrouded in mist,
the beauty of the rain on the 21st floor of the library,
the way a smile from a boy you don't know makes you wan to skip,
how beautiful it is say "I love you" to a new best friend,
they don't tell you about the mornings where you
get up on your own and realize that you are doing this...
that you can do this.
they should tell you that.
I stared out at the bay located in the beautiful province of Newfoundland, Canada. The water was still just like the land around me. The only sounds came from the waves and the wind. I shuffled past the rickety dock; a sneeze would blow it over. My hiking boots crunched the rocks below me as I inched along the shore. Although my intention was to go for a walk, I didn't make it past the beach before my pockets filled with pieces of the province: a purple rock, green sea glass, a white shell. With my cargo pants weighed down, I reached the invisible line where the safety of the beach ended. I stared restlessly back at the dock which was now a dot on the horizon rather than a familiar landmark. The distance between me and the bed and breakfast seemed exponentially large. I questioned if I should go further; I had lost cell service and would not be able to call for help if needed. As an extrovert, I feel safe surrounded by people. Whether it is grabbing coffee on a Tuesday afternoon or playing games on a Friday evening with my friends, my time is a whirlwind of socialization. In front of me lay only boulders and a cliff of pine trees that curved around the bend; there was not a person in sight.
This was not the first time I had explored the shores of Newfoundland. The quietness of the landscape was familiar. The feeling of not seeing another person, except for your travel companions was familiar. But standing at the curve of the bend, I longed to see more of the beautiful land. Yet, this meant leaving the safety of the beach. I never was the type of girl to walk beyond the bend alone, but I saw an opportunity... an opportunity to take a risk. If I kept going it meant being totally isolated, but something inside of me urged me forward.
Making sure to avoid the slippery seaweed, I navigated the boulders. Each rock I put between myself and the beach made my nerves jump. The cool morning air forced my senses to become acutely aware. Apprehensively, I glanced up into the forests that shadowed me half expecting an animal to jump out. The only things that moved were the branches of the pine trees above and my feet below. Listening to the waves splash against the stone, I took a moment to slow down and focus on my breath. It was anxiously fast at the realization that I was in isolation.
The first bend in the shore now lay far behind me. As I continued to venture away from the intimacy of the dock, I became a girl alone on a vast island. The uncertainty of being so far away from people slowly wore off as my mind honed in on the land. The waves caressed the rocky shoreline and mountains towered across the bay. As I stood alone and clung to the rocks for support, I came to terms with myself: I could no longer cling to the familiarity of other people. Rather, I needed to be open to the idea that being alone can be fulfilling. Like the stillness of the bay around me, my mind was still. I realized that I do not often check in with what I need, rather in the social world I live in it is easy to get caught up in the stimulation of other people and become consumed by their lives. In that moment, surrounded by nothing but salt air and earth, I practiced mindfulness. The ease of solitude allowed me to take in my breath, my thoughts, my needs, and my aspirations. A fishing boat drifted past. I barely glanced it’s way.