sift between what's left.

someone I loved

wanted their root beer, no ice.

Between what proceeds and follows,

I am stronger now, I swear,  than before.

Yet there are still those moments.

But like any good guppy

I blamed my morbid fear

on the sea. 

How the waves crafted it's own truth

around my thighs. It was me, I thought

responsible. Tearful at all suffering.

Balling at the first raindrop. Writing

letters to a father dead for 25 years.

Ironically, no God placed his palm

against such easy gradations. No profuse

blood lowered it's liver down towards

my wounds, consequence. No lightning

struck the head board that my ankles were

fastened to. The chains

through my tongue ring didn't stop me

from calling out your name in the dark. No goblins

larger than the night hung from my window sill

like Sugar Babies stuck to the roof of my

mouth. Just playhouse

and all the things related to it waltz by like

they never knew what's left of me:

Baby oil and myth

your majesty,

both human and divine.

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

This is a darker poem with the feeling of being trapped. Stuck in situations or a fraud to move away from them all in the same. Screaming for answers with no resolution or divine intervention

[h d e rushin]

I agree with this assessment....that of being "dark" of course. So I bought a bunch of fake hummingbirds on stick and place them in my garden in the hope that the gypsy in me can recognize the subjective nature of this earth without the contrapuntal, unacompanied essay I seem to attach to every event I come across. great thoughts my friend and thank you....dana

[Corset]

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I love your poetry, this one has such a depth that only people like us can understand. As much as I scream what happens to me does not define who I am, that I won't let it...but an honest part in me says it does because it makes us emotionally unavailable, it makes us emotionally fragile, it makes us fearful of eye contact with strangers and lovers alike, it makes us become raging elephants at the thought of someone thinking for a moment we are weak, or to be pitied, or victims of circumstance. All these things we tell ourselves are not true, all these labels we will not wear yet we do behind our smiles.
i wish I could give this one 1 billion trillion points. It still would not be enough.

[h d e rushin]

so true my love...and just imagine what life was like 40 years ago or during the great depression when lovemaking was specifically, ecclesiastical where the very examination of it had to be "in order" or even contractual...The women had her place....the man had his..Women were weak (cryptically) yet only if they were fruitful. No one stepped beyond the railings of their emotions, even if it meant freedom. What I like about 2021 is that no one's past hastens their future. In other words, you can play Pokemon all day and it wont mean that you're vulnerable. Thanks for your insight my friend...stay safe and social distanced....dana

[Fanicia E.]

Intriguing poem, I would love to understand the context behind it. A line that really stuck out to me was "How the waves crafted it's own truth around my thighs." Overall, beautiful imagery, compelling diction, very expressive writing!

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest for those kind remarks....dana