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The Sky is Falling

Above roofs of the same looking houses
Was a sound that pierced the sky.
A mechanical bird,
Which squawked
And cawed the sound of grinding motors
And propellers, which roared
Look at me I’m flying.
A million little sound bytes crackled in the sky
Scattered
And fell through the air
Like torrential rain
And penetrated the walls around us
And the shelf above our heads.
The invasive sound brought life to objects
While we lay still holding our breath.
We absorbed the vibrations
And images, like the ones we had seen earlier
Of bombs
Explosions
Gunshots
And people covering their eyes and ears in terror.
In the dark
We listened to the activity around us
Conceiving thoughts like
There is danger outside
We are not safe

-m.T

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House of Cards

 

Fuck what we are and what we’re fated to be
There’s a deeper story of make-believe for me
And there I was imagining a world of my own
A world with no faces for I was alone
I found myself in the weirdest of places
In a house of cards of spades and aces
Where the Queen of Hearts was screaming, “Off with her head.”
And there I was, not knowing what lay ahead.

-m.T

(Photo credit: annstreetstudio.com)

The Seamstress

Here she is
Something
For you to look at
Something
For us
All
To look at.
She is looking back at you
She dares you to look further
To look beneath a sewed canvas of skin
Which covers life within
A body containing trinkets collected along this journey
You call life
She calls fantasy
Because it’s always been better this way.
She stands upon a wooden stool
Holds her breath
And tilts her head back
To the fluorescent lights she imagines is the sun.
She stretches out her arms
She imagines her arms are wings
Wings she can use to fly away.
Her feet begin to levitate
She frantically flaps her arms
And defies gravity.
Her spirit is seamless
Her wings are broken
She falls to the floor.
Seam-less
She is pricked with a needle
A knotted thread weaves
In and out
He pulls
In and out
Sometimes catching the knotted thread
Between her open flesh
Every now and then.
She doesn’t bleed
Her body won’t allow her to
Sacrifice
Herself
For something she doesn’t believe in.
She withstands the pain of the knotted thread
And her gaping flesh
Which absorbs the air she cannot breathe.
Still she stands
Eyes shut tight
Lips pressed tight
Hands clenched tight.
She leaps forward
And opens her hands.
Her fingers comb the air
And time holds still.
She grasps the needle
She can sew her own skin with
Skin, which is not tender and soft
But rough
Covered in sharp fibers
Splinters pushed into the skin of another
A touch, which electrocutes
You
Electric shock, which pulsates through your body
Channeling the message that
You
Do Not
Have
The right
To
Touch
But you felt you had the right anyway
Because
THIS
Is
Not
MY
Body
But YOURS
For the taking
Dear Sir:
Who I thought was kind
You are mistaken
I am Mine.
The day I bleed
Will be the day
I have sewed my own skin
With my own needle
Sterilized from the disease which you spread
And while I stitch
I will look back at you.
Now look at me
I dare you.
Now touch me
I dare you.

-m.T

(Photo Credit: annstreetstudio.com)

Absent Memory

 

I took the letter you wrote me
Lit it on fire
And let the wind carry it
To the place
Where we shared
Whispered
Laughed
And lay
Between blades of grass
And blades
You used to cut
To rid yourself of the pain
You could never
Ever
Numb yourself of
When I placed my hands on your wounds
And on your heart
I tried to absorb your pain
But it wasn’t enough
For you to lose something
For me to gain

m.T

(Photo Credit: annstreetstudio.com)

A State of Mind

A gallery of words displayed in her hand; what she will write hasn’t been planned.

A lot like her life.

Her pen moves on command, by a thought not molded by this world she sees, instead by a thought held as a secret by this girl and what she believes; a girl who does not live by the words she speaks but by the words she bleeds on a paper so white it loses its purity. The ink spreads intricately and imperfectly, where it’s allowed to be. The words she wrote are sacred, opposite of his temple of hatred. She is naked. She has come undone. One by one, one by one, words fill her world opposite of a reality she lives. She doesn’t give a shit. She imagines what isn’t real so that what is real can feel like something she imagined. She is damaged. An infliction of contradictions. She doesn’t give a shit. She takes a hit. Vulnerable and guarded, she is hardened. Exposed and closed, she takes a dose. Each word she releases into her veins travels from a needle filled with ink, numbing her and giving her the power to think. She feels freedom. She struggles with this demon. She calls it a poisonous blessing. Her pen does the undressing, of what is inside. Logic and emotion collide. Emotion wins and strikes her heart, she holds her words close so they can’t be ripped apart, like that day they tried to rescue her from her mind. They were denied. She couldn’t admit her thoughts to a world so blind. So her words are held safe and sound and bound, to a place, which can be closed and re-opened. Her words prove she can’t be broken, on pages, which have stayed intact and bound together; a life in words is a storm she can weather.

m.T

(Photo Credit: annstreetstudio.com)

Motion Sickness

Independence
Is a shiny pendent
He dangles before her
Swaying

Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth

She’s dependent
Although she craves the other
Instead she dangles before him
Reaching

Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth

He moves his hands
And grasps her
Flesh and bones
Shaking her

Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth

She wants freedom
Beloved freedom
Torn between him and liberty
Deciding

Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth

Hypnotized and terrified
She can’t break free
Asleep, she wanders
Indecency has swallowed her
Loyalty to him has become her
It’s all she’ll ever be
Until the day she runs
And screams
Hears her voice
And awakes from his dream
Disrupting
The world
And everything
From continuing
To move
Back and forth
Instead she moves
Forward

-m.T

(Photo Credit: annstreetstudio.com)

A Heart Made of Holes

old hollywood

The promises we make
We often break
Sometimes even a promise we’ve made with ourselves
Don’t we?
Haven’t you?
Oh you fool
Who used her heart
And he used it too
To have it
Succumb
To a shriveled, decomposed state
Of mind
Over matter

I never counted my blessings
Only the cigarettes smoked
And the amount of times
You undressed me
Stripping me
Not of my clothes
But of me
Revealing my bare
Necessity
For a heart
You stole
Many years
Ago

Beneath my skin and bones
Is an empty cavity
That needs filling
Love willing
Without smoke
Which fills it now
From a cigarette
Tugging at the filter
Of what your mouth didn’t have
Of what it felt like
To tug at you
At your sleeve
Where I wanted you to wear your heart

And I loved him, I loved him
And now that love is gone
As courageous I have become
I was afraid that this would happen
I was afraid you’d blow all your kisses
Away
For someone else
And you have
When I had been saving mine
In the palm of my hand
Where you once held yours
In your soft hands
Unlike your heart

And you love her, you love her
And I had to imagine a life
Without you
Without her
Because it made me happy
Even though I was lying
In a bed
Which I have made
It’s happening
I have become this
What’s happened to me?
It’s better to forget
Ignorance is bliss

-m.T

(Photo Credit: http://www.annestreetstudio.com)