Poetry: Jack Faery

The neon pink hand beckons the night

as the clock sways to midnight blue.

His time has come to assume a disguise, puckering cherry

lips and setting the wig on his head. Glitter

dances across the golden ringlets, velvet

hugs his silicone bosom like a faery.

Jack piles more makeup on his face, with faery

eyes that shimmers night,

he grabs his red velvet

bag as he closes the door to the blue

feelings that he’s left inside. For the glitter

emotions dipped in cherry

wine and spread across pallid thighs, convert to cherry

cream resting on ethereal faery

wings that covet glitter

dreams of passionate nights

spent in burning bliss. The blue

tears no longer dripping on the velvet.

Drinking champagne from cupped hands, velvet

scarves pin his lover to the cherry

bed, until he begs for more. The blue

emotions disappear like unchained faeries.

Flying into the lusty night

dusting his lover’s eyes with Star Dust glitter.

Sensuous fingers trace over glittered

flesh, pouring scalding wax from velvet

candles. His lover whimpers into the night

as Jack toys with a candied cherry.

He now has the power of faeries

to kiss away the broken blues.

The clock has struck. It’s time for the blue

veils to fall upon the glittered

fantasies of his soul, his faery

wings have been singed, his red velvet

bag carries the remains of his cherry

pits, to remind him of sadistic nights.

The hour has come to assume the blue disguise until tomorrow night

When he can douse himself with glitter, fill his palms with cherries,

And transform into a lovely faery that whispers poetry in ears like velvet.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Zura’s Hysterical Realm Kills the Innocent

I warned you near the brook.

I’ve seen her evil smile and piercing look.

The gushing of a red drop

That never ceases to stop.

She tastes of poison beams

Her scarlet passion steams.

Those brown eyes and locks of auburn

Causes your head to turn.

I’m sick of this neglect

You make me feel like a worthless reject.

She keeps diamonds in her eyes

Tries to covet secret spies.

Drink in her beauty and sacred stars

She’s bound to burst your mortal bars.

Have you ever hear of her woeful tale?

Of how she’s been left with a tormented bale?

Her lover killed her fragile heart

Leaving it to become a mass of tart.

She bears the crown of outcast queen,

But I’ll bet this side you’ve never seen.

Little Miss Perfection down to the bone

You’d never imagine how she feels so alone.

Stop trying to force her into love

Her past isn’t as pure as a dove.

Scars of former lovers adorn her shorn

Depicting just how savagely she’s been torn.

I warned you all along

She’s like a creepy Turin fog.

Don’t fall into her delicate hands

For soon, you too, will no longer stand.

She’s full of anger and violent stems

She wears thorns as diadems.

I will not ask of you to kill

As she most certainly will,

Your deepest purest emotions

To be replaced by her evil notions.

Runaway innocent boy, before you’re caught

For pretty soon she’ll invade your thoughts.

***

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: A Mother’s Love by Erica Ruhe

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com

Withered, wasted, wanted, but not for lack of sleep

This heart has known no trail but that of defeat.

Wanted, wasted, weathered in this place of self-loathing and despair

I know not what life has to offer me outside the joy of my own

Wallowing.

What have I given in this life?

What is the purpose of this strife?

Where is the joy that I wish to see in my world?

I have not yet given it life in this day, this week, this year.

I have donned a selfish fishbowl on the lenses of my eyes

And need neither my wants nor my selfish desires of the heart.

I need only love of self, of my neighbor, and my mother who supports my feet.

She is my foundation.

She is of earth and water and fire and water.

She is all I have longed for in my own desires.

How I have taken her for granted, this loving mother

Who feeds and clothes me and puts me to sleep

Each night under a blanket of stars and willowed darkness.

I have appreciated her with only half my heart but as I lie here

In this grass and count the clouds I am comforted by

The Love

I’ve never seen in myself

Reflected her skies.

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: Insomniac

Some nights I wish I could simply sleep soundly

Clutching nothing but your photo

But some nights

The fact that you’re only a photograph for me

Now

Is enough to keep me up all night.

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Lost Girls Go Everywhere: Poetry & Prose on Amazon!

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: A HOME IN THE WORDS

smiling woman using laptop

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Home, in spite of the house.

Home, in spite of the neighborhood.

By the fourth grade, the many homes I’d had

Could be counted on two hands.

Make new friends, be social,

Strike up conversations to be normal.

I talked with words,

Hoping to find another

Who would talk similar words at me

So we would have some words in common

To talk about.

Report cards chastised my love of words—

“She talks a lot.”

“She talks too much.”

“She talks in class.”

Little girl, hush!

Home, in spite of the city.

Home, in spite of the state.

The state lines blurred and swirled in my head

Class clown or introvert?

But the truth is, when the talking came

To a merciful stop,

That was home.

School bus rides spent in solitude,

Left to my thoughts.

An inconspicuous corner in the park

To people-watch.

Quietly learning things

That can’t be taught.

Silently yearning

To accompany none.

To simply be

In the comforting company of one.

Alone.

Talk is tiresome.

And I’ve talked for too many years.

Home, in spite of society.

Home, in spite of deity.

I covet, I desire, I lust to communicate.

It’s a sin to have waited this long.

To let these words languish,

Unused and unloved.

Herds of unwritten pages

Penned and left silent

Under the varnish of a social façade,

Confused and shoved aside.

The words that aim to hit a woman’s heart,

Not her eardrum.

The words that pull laughter from a man

Residing in the slum of his despair.

The words that inspire the inner child,

Not to give way to fear,

But to demand fear bows at their feet.

Smiling, no matter how many tears scroll down their cheeks.

Surviving collateral damage in the years they toil to be unique.

Braving the verbal batter all the peers who scold their defeat.

Home is right where I write.

Home is right where I think.

Home lies in the honesty of humor, humanity, honor and humility.

Home is in the words

That haunt and transcend language.

And they linger, patient

In the periphery

Needing no translation.

It is the holy dialect of our motherland.

That is the tongue I long to speak.

By: Erica Ruhe 

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: Fire Effects

We are of Taraxacum.

A volatile genus in duress.

Our heads disseminate, blown from our stems.

Rash thoughts ignite into words and whirl

On the wind,

Take seed in a flash of tongue and slice of eye.

In the young, loamy soils

We till fears deep.

They spring up from the ground and

Spark into being.

Fractured fragments of the whole,

Born from friction, this contempt consumes.

And it is like a wildfire.

Thick, fiery vines twist and coil.

Flowers, stoked to an angry bloom, blaze and burst,

Throwing open petals wide with the backdraft of odium.

It scorches and scars the skin of the earth.

We are barbaric in this unnatural state.

Hearts sterilized by the heat of hate.

Hearts full of bitter sap and brambled embers.

Roiling smoke stings and blinds us,

Chokes away our empathy.

This fury lashes through our humanity

Until there are only blackened sticks and

Smoking patches of ashy dirt.

The afterglow of spent, searing sentiments

Fade from the carpel.

Here, a pistil of arrogance and one of defeat,

And here, a pistil of disgust

And another of ignorant nostalgia.

Fear singes the last delicate cell walls

In a red, luminescent squall line.

And finally, fully charred,

The spent bloom wilts and crumbles.

But their fire has not left me infertile.

In this crackling, wild prairie,

There is a budding, a delicate anticipation

That the rains of my sorrows will sprout new growth.

I must germinate, cultivate

A bright breath of compassion,

Lest the world around me burn out and

Smolder into cold nothingness.

 

By: Erica Ruhe

woman in red lipstick near green plant

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: California Wildfire

fire

Our first kiss was in the depths of a

Fetish Room

It was summer, the time of year

For love to blossom like wild daisies

We burned bright and dangerous

A forest fire gone rogue

Suddenly, I felt more daring

Not thinking about tomorrow

The killer of passion

All I wanted to think about

Was how your kisses

Ignited fireworks in me

Exploding into the brightest colors

Whenever we were in the same room

We transformed into a danger zone

Our flames devouring the walls

And although our hearts had

No fire escape to lead us out

We kept on playing Russian roulette

Loading our guns with six bullets

Because death by love

Was ultimately better than

A slow, tedious death.

***

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

Celebrate National Poetry Month!

White and Pink Strikeout Cosmetics Beauty Logo

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: The Lessons We’re Taught

lavinia2

Men are taught to take what they please

Women are taught to relinquish their treasures with a smile.

It’s why women mistake brutality for love

And men believe a woman’s body is for them

to seize without consequences.

***

lavinia

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

White and Pink Strikeout Cosmetics Beauty Logo

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY!

Poetry: Not Missed If Not Departed

bloodgirl

The bathwater is turning scarlet red.

I wonder what you will think

when you will find me dead.

Never would’ve missed you if you hadn’t left.

Never would’ve loved you if you hadn’t said goodbye.

But very soon you will wonder why,

you abandoned me here to die.

One of these days,

One of these days.

The scent of blood lingers in the room.

Will my death bring you possible doom?

Never would’ve been obsessed if you hadn’t left.

Never would’ve loved you if you hadn’t said goodbye.

But very soon you will wonder why,

you abandoned me here to die.

One of these days,

One of these days.

This scalding blanket of vulnerability

Is giving me more security.

Never would’ve adored you if you hadn’t left.

Never would’ve loved you if you hadn’t said goodbye.

But very soon you will wonder why,

you abandoned me here to die.

One of these days.

One of these days,

You will miss me.

***

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

White and Pink Strikeout Cosmetics Beauty Logo

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY

Poetry: The Way You Left Me

cry

I housed dreams in my heart

You used razor blades to tear them out.

Hope lingered on my lips

You bit down hard till they bled.

You left me bloody and empty.

In a world that wants us to be whole and pristine.

***

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

White and Pink Strikeout Cosmetics Beauty Logo

DID YOU ENJOY WHAT YOU JUST READ? IF YES, THEN SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG, GIVE THE POST A LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT! NEW POSTS ARE UP EVERY TUESDAY & THURSDAY