Bulletproof Glass

Words hang between 

us like glass

about to shatter

Once touched

they fall

flat, a din

sad sound

with an edge

thick

in the throat. 
I heard 

crying

but felt

nothing

I feigned sleep.

It’s not my place

any longer.
It’s nice

to read back 

over old stories

but your chapters

are over

and I’m writing new ones

without you.
The cracks

you made

are gone

from my skin

and now I

am bulletproof. 

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Poison Brewers

All it takes
a single drop

a word
a look
a laugh
Poison

to rot out a pure heart.
tiny things
Subtle
enough to turn a person
sour
bitter
resentful.

The world is tainted
Poisoned
and ruled by evil.
goodness
and decency
shamed away
into dark corners
to suffer in helplessness
and loneliness.

Why
are humans
such terrible creatures
to poison each other
in such a pointless way?

Even acts of valor
a kindness
a favor
saving a life
clapped at, then forgotten
“last weeks news”
or all looked down upon
shamed for bothering
thank you’s are ignored
holding doors for others is strange
Poison taints the meaning
destroys the purpose.
What is the point
of being nice,
when it is only ridiculed?
If it doesn’t fix the world?
One thankful heart
versus ten that hate you.

Poison creates more poison brewers.
Only few survive
the process of
that drop of malice
to live outside evil
and even those
are forever cursed
with the bitterness
and loneliness
of a long human life.

Do you not see
you are destroying the world?

I would put my mother in a snow globe

I would put my mother in a snow globe
where time stands still
safely tucked
far away from the world
up in a tower
in a castle
frozen in liquid
under glitter-snow
safe away from things
So she would stay
the same
as she’s always been
who I thought she was
when I was younger.

Mothers are supposed to be
smiles
and hugs
comfort
a shelter
from the storms of life

But
mine became a monster
I want to trap
and cage to keep
as an example
of what a mother shouldn’t
look like.
I want to keep her
away from
the things that turn her
into this creature
with the familiar face.

I would keep her in a snow globe
safe inside
a glass prison
perfect and beautiful
under the glitter-snow
where nothing can touch her
taint her even more
where she can heal
and where
she can’t touch others
as the creature she now is.

Ice Giants

Heart
at the center
of blackness
burns yellow death
pressured
by freezing cold.
A bulb, flickering
faint
under thousands of tiny eyes
hopeful, far away
lights in the darkness.
An infinite crushing
coldness.

Heart
drags
shadowed corpses
splintered ice giants
at the far edges
of a bleak eclipse.
They hang
there forever
in deafening silence
life gone
far beneath the surface.

Heart
lets fall a crescent
light. warmth
over a glacial wasteland
it makes cracks
heat pours in.
Tremors, as cold
is shaken off
and new life
melting from
a burning core
erupts free
to take a breath.

Heart
burns yellow life
emerging
from cracks
after a deep sleep
to feel the air.
Dust
rubs free. Warmth
radiates
and grows
a new world
to be made
into a home.

 

People are Lucky

People are so lucky.
they don’t realize
what precious things they have
surrounding them. they’re happy
but all good things
always get taken
for granted by those
who have the privilege
whether they love
or hate the things they have.

Some of them are
fake happy smiles
hollow words of love
idle complaints about nothing
complaining about
these riches they possess
the people they love.
These people don’t realize
what precious treasures
they have between them.
It sickens me. I am envious.
It’s a waste.
I would not take
such happiness for granted.

Those commercials on TV
about medicine, vacuums
life insurance. with the happy music.
They break me down
into a waterfall.
Children laughing, crying,
holding onto their mothers shirt
baby bottles, tiny hands
enveloped by a fathers strong fingers.
Two people
a tiny treasure between them
I have to look away.
Happy Families:
my own little trauma trigger.

The museum has a display:
fetal tadpole darlings
floating frozen, ghosts in glass.
A black and white room
of tiny dead babies.
The Development of a Human Zygote
it used to fascinate me
but now
those dead darlings hang
like bodies on a gallows
strung up for the wide eyed crows.
Nightmare fuel.
I can’t go into that room anymore.

This poem makes me shake
to write. but with tears
like a cold river washing
through me. the words cleanse
my poor broken heart
and take the pieces far away…

People are so lucky.
They have treasures all around them.
instead of nightmares. Ghost faces
in the dark corners of a room. Staring
dead hopes haunting my shoulders.
They don’t realize how lucky they are.