RISEN

Rebirth_by_michellemonique

 

I can handle emotions, explosions

Such commotion in motion

From the unconscious ocean

You tried to drown me when you found me on the shores of Devotion

A catalyst for The Analyst who lives in this skin

while Sirens beckoned so sweetly

“Come back in, come back in…”

Melodic voices drenched wretched with sin

You bound my wrists and my eyes

Plugged my ears

Threw me in

But when you learned to slither, friend…

I learned to swim

You thought me lost

The Sacrified lamb

But I’d gone to hell — got acquainted with Hades

Befriended the devils

And that lamb?

Oh so tasty

Still don’t know it’s name was

But it sure wasn’t ‘Katie’

The Time has arisen, I’m out of my prison

Hell made me Whole

Clear is my vision

The Sirens may call but my ears do not listen

No infection in my direction

From dismembered dissection

Put myself back together

In perfect imperfection

I call myself servant

Head down and gaze in

The one Call I answer?

The Call from Within

 

 

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Underneath

affair

 

You slipped beneath my skin today

Tried to reach into my soul

Your eyes fell, easy, into mine

And you began to know

She’s not gonna do it, hey?

Ain’t up to the task

The only thing you see in me

Is Everything she lacks

We sat face-to-face, today

Facades partially in place

But I wondered — just like you, I think —

If they could be erased

What if we decided

To take all these layers off

What if I undressed your soul

Instead, this pleasant talk

Yet here we are again, my friend

Amidst unspoken Want

Sitting heavy in-between us here

Adult masks on top

You’ve settled in my head my dear

As I type these words you read

I wonder….are you brave enough

To choose what’s Underneath?

 

 

 

Life

icaniwill

 

I will write in spite of that black cement wall son-of-a-bitch writer’s block

I will dream, let them come — the demonic, the erotic, the night sea journeys, the sirens, the earthquakes and alchemical pools of lakes and hot tubs, and the way I can always fly up and across the sky — get there quicker than the rest of them

I will paint – my modest, laughable pieces of art

Art that does not come easy like that one girl you can’t forget for precisely that reason

But art that comes, nonetheless, because it means something to me

Some young, simple, eager expression of my soul

I will do – because my soul Calls to me to do – to create to develop and yes,

I will be

Still, with eyes closed feeling the vibrations of the Universe shiver through my body as it circles gently and only ever so slightly, round and round and round…

I will dance, not like nobody’s watching because, hello! people are fucking watching – but I will do it anyway because that is my brave

I will kiss. I will kiss with passion and abandon and suck in that lower lip just a little bit if he lets me, and then soft, stop. Barely touching my lips to his, a whisper of a kiss…to see what he will…

I will breathe from the bottom of my spine up past the crown of my head; I will let the life force ride on my breath expanding in me like oceans of air cleansing my broken, cynical soul

I will shop. Online shop.

Because fuck, once in a while, I do like to shop online. And “mall energy” is the worst.

I will ride the waves of my vast emotions as if they were made from wings of gold I could fly upon; I will honor the highs and lows as equals because — ego aside – they are

I will love

I will love with these warm feelings that wrap their joy and compassion around me and then move outward so that they may reach you. I hope they reach you.

I will accept life as She is. There can be no other way. None of us are spared getting fucked over by Verizon at some point in life. Or AT&T. Or…eh, just pick a company.

And of course, so very, very much worse. But I will be unspared with you.

I will Open…so that I may let a love like mine find me

I will explore, and wonder, and try, and feel, and hope, and cry, and listen, sacredly

And in all of this…

I will live.

 

Answer to Rejection

You want some robot “poetry voice” to come out of me

Knowing about things like stanzas and haiku

How can she, like, not know haiku and call herself a poet?!

But I can only write using This voice

And that fake shit don’t fly here

Maybe it’s Real to you –

“shimmering lakes” and clichéd-a-million-ways-to-say autumn leaves –

and that’s ok

But Real to me is just…

being free enough to be me

To let out my truth

Imperfectly

This is my poetry.

This is my art.

This is my voice.

You can reject it for its lack of “poetry-ness”

Or say anything you wish, really

I’ll just float along with the smile I feel forming on the inside

Because, well…

I don’t write for you.