Attention Seeker

Do you know what it feels

like when everyone walks past you?

When everyone

talks over you?

When no one gives you

their time of day?

I am invisibility at its finest.

I get not one glance in the slightest.

I am a walking ghost

passing through wall to wall.

I remember the first time

I saw you.

Your skin was glistening

under the summer sun.

How I wished to hold you close.

But to you I was nothing,

a piece of debris traveling

in the somber air,

a trash bag floating with

a merciless wind.

And then I saw you with her

blonde, blue eyes

the ones you prefer.

I’ve bought a new outfit

for me to wear.

I’ve put on some makeup

and done my hair.

Do you like how I drip

in your lover’s blood?

Do you like this new look
and the orange that I wear?

Just switch on the news.

You’ll see me I’m there.

What do you think of

my new, blonde hair?

Don’t worry these bars

are really not there.

May you let me ponder

one simple question.

Have I finally got your attention?

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Cold Feet

honey-colored toes

frozen like stone

ice dripping

melting under a

scorching star

sweet little toes

curling in the face of foes

tapping and dancing

through mountain

and valley

and river

and ocean

honey-colored toes

curling  in the face of foes

blood dripping

faces melting

A Transformation

Something inside me

loves to

twist

as

my lips

long for the

rarest red.

In the air lives a

bloody anticipation,

my gradual

transformation.

Am I ready?

No, I am not.

Hurting others,

this I was not taught.

But lately, I’ve been wanting a

kill.

First,

a bluebird

chiming on

a tree.

Next,

a  golden hare

descending

a

mountain.

Now,

I desire an even larger target.

One that will pose

an enticing challenge.

Will it fight me?

I hope it will.

But in the end,

nothing in this

world

can match

my

skill.

1975

The year I found my one true love

he gave me the sweetest kiss

I gave him my purest cherry

a naive girl and a young boy

eager and desperate to marry

it all happened so fast

the way our relationship bloomed

the way it was destined to doom

1975

was a year of many lows and highs

with him, I saw tomorrow

but now all I see is sorrow

he died much too soon

left me alone much too soon

but I found someone new to bring home

together rebuild a lover’s dome

cheers to falling in love again

cheers to falling in love with him again

to falling in love with his ghost

then following him to the grave

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Apple Pie

Sometimes when I stepped into the warmth of my home I caught a whiff of Mother’s sweet, apple pie. If a pie had hands and arms it would have wrapped me up in the fluffiest blanket as if I were a newborn, clinging to me and offering comfort like no other.

When the smell of cinnamon and apples danced through the kitchen walls I knew today would be a special day.

Sometimes it was a birthday, perhaps my older sister, Mara’s. Or perhaps father had obtained yet another promotion. Other times it came down to one simple thing: Mother was in a darn good mood. Her baking told me so.

Last time it had been my very own birthday. Mother always knew I wasn’t particularly fond of birthday cakes or birthdays for that matter.

And yet she always baked me an apple pie, adding a generous layer of apples just for me. Just how I liked it.

But one day changed everything.

From then on, I couldn’t bear to stand an apple pie in my sight. It was as if staring at a sweet, harmless pie would cause my eyes to pop out of their sockets, dangling on my cheeks with fear.

You see, on one summer day Father had come home from work–tired and with a look, I had never seen on a man.

His eyes glowed with menace. He snatched Mother’ s apple pie and began relentlessly pounding at it with his fist. Bits of apple splattered all over mother’s panic-stricken face. The pounding quicker and stronger with each passing moment, like the sound of a drum gone mad.

Then he turned to mother and yanked her delicate, auburn hair, began pounding her head to the floor. He had a rage of a beast that had been caged for his entire life and just now had been set free. The ugliness set free.

Bits of red splattered all over my face, and I stood there in utter shock. Too scared to even let out the slightest gasp.

I was frozen like a rock, a rock that had witnessed countless crimes and tragedies but could never manage to move, to do something–anything.

But if you could feel my beating heart, you would know I wasn’t empty. I was screaming deep inside. Blood, apples, and cinnamon mixed, creating something different, something dead.