let go. let her go away.
take away the happiness and the
pain
let her live
let her die?
try try try. didn't you ever learn?
daddy taught you that.
it never works.
failure. that is what you are
she knows the mind fuck
and you'll never know
if she ever gave a fuck
about you.
time is today's nemesis
time to get better
or worse
but you'll never know. she won't let you help her live
and you know she won't let you watch her die.
bye. those were our last words.
until we are better, we are dead.
overwhelming pain in the institution's hard walls
you will feel them close down on your head. feel the flourescent lights
rape you of your energy
as she raped your soul.
who could be worthy? certainly not us for each other.
can't forget. never forget.
what is that saying?
Never forget. Never forgive.
wear your stars and triangles
you are in the war.
what color did the codependents wear?
i give myself the symbol today.
my twisted, contorted heart
the embodiment of my suffering labeled as a disease.
you tried to help.
there is that word again
maybe daddy knew
maybe he knew she would hurt me
he always knew she hurt me, but
he never knew he hurt me, too.
like a god damn light
i am me and me
at the same time
never able to predict
particle, wave
wave, wave, wave
now it comes over me
like ocean waves
but duality never means
both
at the same time
trying to live parallel lives
in the same reality
and the light is dissipating
my mind is wandering
out of here
to a third reality
and it is black
and i'm scared
so scared.
fucked up
us
our magic
sprawled on our altar
under another master's knife
desecrated
our sanctuary
with my impure soul
i am tainted
sickness and
obsession
plague you
so if the religion doesn't matter
it's probably best
because i won't blame
God
for this one
i wanted to be cut
on the altar
to fly away
and when i hit the ground
you told me you loved me
and my master
continued the sacrifice
so i am cut
beaten
and i will never show you
how deep she cut me
because you shouldn't care
my knife was slicing
your throat
and you never asked
for the pain
not the way i do.
ripped out pictures
breaking hearts
mine
yours
who am i writing to?
it can be
too many people
you are hurt
by my hand
and my existence
and i've helped you
along the way
and many are you
who i have loved
past tense
OK
i accept that
so i couldn't love
now
or this would be
a different shade of fear
you fucked up, too.
it wasn't all in my court
i am not in my court
and you should have known
OK
is out of my reach
some wounds heal
to scars
this one looks like
yours
my body was opened
and ripped apart
they sowed me back up
but it didn't work
because the scar
can't heal
it's dead
like an artist
book in hand
stopping on a stoop
to sketch out
a poem
a fucking artist
pretending to go to school
masochistic
working in a coffee shop
what next
like a cliche
too worn out to say
overdone
waste of time
and i still think
everything
of myself
reflection
can be
narcissistic
because little in the mirror
disappoints
as i walk
my head high
springing step forward
bounding to. . .
here's where i get lost
and the music stops
but i'm an artist
book in hand
stopping to sketch
a poem.
If you have enjoyed Nehama's Poetry, then please be certain to e-mail her at nbenmos[at]emory.edu and thank her for posting her Work.
Click here for a list of all of Nehama's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
|
Sapphic Voices Main Pages: Home Adventure | Drama |
Erotica | Fan Fiction | Fantasy | General | Horror
|
Copyright © 1997-2005 Sapphic Voices. All rights reserved.
Unless otherwise noted, all site content is entirely owned and is solely maintained by Sapphic Voices.
Absolutely no portion of this page may be reproduced either electronically or otherwise without the express
and written permission of the copyright holder, except as occurs in normal browser caching and page indexing.