A Selection of Various Short Stanzas

13 short stanzas unrelated to each other and complete poems on their own, grouped together for ease of reading.

i.

the honey you poured in my tea

won’t sweeten the poison.

kill me honourably,

or not at all.

ii.

i saw angels carved from marble
holding grace in their wings,
and i tried to make a replica,

a crudely sculpted ivory figurine.

but its wings snapped off and now i know

nothing holy can be made by me.

iii.

venus made of marble

cold and cruel

your gaze upon your creator

is something terrible

iv.

twenty days in hell and i’m ready to be the devil’s bride

and if god so much as looks at me

i won’t hesitate to show him what holiness really feels like

v.

staring into the abyss of your grave

where nothing is real but the darkness of death

there’s nothing to say that can make you crave any less

the day to arrive when you take your last breath

vi.

keep pouring honey into your mouth. it won’t turn into gold nor will it soften your words.
don’t steal my halo just to melt it down and turn it into a necklace -

or, if you do, let me strangle you with it.

it’s not meant for you, it’s not meant for you!

vii. 

we’re wandering aimlessly in a wasteland of dreams

and every star that falls is

another wish that didn’t come true

and they’re telling us to always have hope

but we’re discouraged by the masses of heartbroken people.

viii. 

oh darling, of course the gods answer our prayers!

with whispers in your ear as they sit beside you and stroke your hair -

do you mean to say that they’ve neglected you?

ix. 

oh how it must be

to have the danube in your veins

blue under parchment skin

matching soulless gaze

the black sea pooling in your eyes

every time you start to cry

rivers down your cheeks

mountainous countryside

x.

splinters in my skin

thistle tea too sweet

prickles in my throat

from coughing up my lungs

xi.

the moon knows all the secrets whispered into phone lines at 4 am

she keeps them as blackmail material so be careful what you say

xii.

i passed out at gatsby’s party and became an eternal house-guest

now i’m a ghost in 2018 and i’m seeing that nothing has changed

xiii.

if sometimes the world spins too fast

it is because she remembers

how you spoke of her: like a man

begging for a drink, his parched throat

dry and hurting. it makes her blush,

her oceans crash, and her heart rush

Author's Note

Written between 2016 and 2019.