I don’t know how to write a poem, not a good one at least

But I can feel one

Trapped in the darkness between my lungs and ribs

It echos like a storm, until my bones rattle and splinter

Until flesh is torn, again and again and again

My body wasn’t made to handle hurricanes

My hands can only hold on for so long until they tire

I can’t write a poem, but I can feel one

In my wrists and fingers

Vibrations from inside my chest cavity that fill up the absence

And ripple out like water

It’s the just the aftermath, wrecked homes that look like splints from up above

But that’s the closet you’ll ever get to the storm

March was the swelling, the cracking, grey clouds on the horizon ready to swallow

April was the storm that washed us under, held our heads down and told us to count to ten

May is the aftermath, the leftovers, the flood and rain have passed, but what now

What do we do with all the scraps and broken bits

Do we make fires and wait

Like Noah in his boat

Watching the looming clouds

And counting to ten

How do we take control of our story once we’re dead?

How do we write the wrongs that men have written

Over and over and over again

Seared into our minds like a brand

You see, we don’t see you for what you were

We only see you as how you were told

Just another hedonistic woman in history whose own downfall was herself

Its all out of your control now

Your image is wrecked and ruined

You’ve been forgotten and damned

By both the gods and the people

And the worst part is

Is that no one can ever truly fix that

And it makes you think

How many times has this happened

Again and again and again?

I can’t help but be a child of Cain

My hands too bloody to be holy

Too stained to be washed clean

I was once told we are our own thoughts and actions

So does that make me a murderer for being a bad person?

Is that all I’ll ever be?

The sin is strong in me

It’s the sin of not getting better

Of continuing the hurt

Past down, man upon man, wife upon husband, parent upon child, stranger upon stranger

Blood you keep coughing back up

That won’t leave your body

We touch so many people in our lives

But how many do we scar?

It’s human nature to both love and to maul

Especially on those close to us

Especially when we aren’t aware we’re doing it

Now, I don’t believe in God

This isn’t a religious poem in the slightest

But if I met him I would ask

Is Hell the last destination?

Will our hands ever learn to be tender and to hold instead of trying to choke one another?

Is there still salvation for us, for people like me?

I don’t know what his answer would be

And I don’t think I’d want to find out

Most of the time, I don’t even think of you

Maybe it’s because of your age

Maybe it’s because we’ve moved on

Or maybe it’s because I live in always-sunny California

But when that sky eventually does darken

And the rain comes down

I can hear you

Like some primordial call, dug up from the Earth or my bones

Sometimes-I’ll even see you, but just for a moment

By now I’ve forgotten what your face looks like

But I can’t ever unlearn that power

It’s no wonder you used to be called the king of gods

There’s no better time than now to celebrate

Even when it feels like the world is ending, rejoice

Rejoice for life, rejoice for living, never forget

That we will always be able to fill our cups

Our sorrows will always be replaced by happiness

We will always be here after the storm

I’m the dog

Sharp of tooth and tongue

That bits every hand

And snarls at all

That walk by it

I’m the dog

With deep and long lungs

That howls at night

For a pull in their chest

That they can’t name

I’m the dog

That doesn’t know

How to belong

And is always sitting

In the corner, alone

I’m the dog

The vicious dog

The loud dog

The lonely dog

The scared dog

The weeping dog

The dog

That dog

Sitting in your corner

Always staring at you

Waiting

For you to give in

So it can eat you

Whole

I am a wolf

And I am hungry

I stalk through the night

And I look up at you

A white eye

Watching like some god

I’ve worshipped you

For my entire, grounded life

But you’ve given nothing

Only a coldness

An ache so deep

I’ll never dig it out

But one day, you’ll fall

Out from your palace

Of starry dust and wind

And I’ll be there

Ready to catch you

Between my fangs

And swallow you whole

My life may have been taken from me

My name just a shadow of another

But these hands can still hold a knife

And take a man’s life

I can crown myself

And become my own god

Of blood, of sacrifice, of vengeance

And if I fall

Let it be by my own hands

Let them slit my throat

Let no man even dare

To touch me

Ophelia was only remembered for being dead

Floating daintily in the river, flowers surrounding her

A spectacle for all eyes to see and drink up hungrily

But one day she will breath again and rise up from her grave

White dress sodden, makeup askew, long hair soaked and tangled

And she will realize who she is a break free from that image

The one that held her dead for so long, drowned and lifeless

And for once in her life, her short-written life, she will breath with ease