Verily Strains or Truth by A. David Abraham

Some verily strains made me look that way

Out into the looking glass

Wheat-colored fields

Covered my imagination

And let go of all fancies

Streaming through the mind

Light-bulb colored candy sticks

Coated with flavors 

Of destiny and 

desire

Labeled one 

On top of one another

One by one

A Poem, By Vita Taurke 

Once you said that “Pretty Pretty Meow Meow” could be my name, that it could really work for me. 

I agreed immediately and wholeheartedly. 

And I meant it. 

You laughed, but you never called me by that name. So I became sad, crossed-out, a Lover destroyed. 

I’m not an angel after all, stop pushing me. 

I’m not a princess either, unless you know something that I don’t. Which, of course, you do, reminding me constantly that I’m here, now I’m here, now I’m here. 

I’m addicted to the image of Lover destroyed. I destroy myself in anticipation, knock myself out in the heat of the moment, worship every cliché I can find. I pretend to be an angel, then a dragon, and then a princess. I sing songs by Lana del Rey and cry in my car. 

This is what I was talking about when I said “divine love.” It couldn’t be you that I missed, because you never existed. You never existed but I believed you did, and that was good enough for me. 

Now I’m getting lost, breathing fire, controlling my temper wherever I can. The dragon and the princess are elsewhere, somewhere, not at the house this week. 

I take off my hands and I throw them away. You tell me, “that was a stupid thing to do. Now you’re blind.”

But baby, I’ve always been blind. 

Until I found you.