Category Archives: Confessional

Confession

I got the results of my x-ray back today,

there are roses growing in me,

and it seems they can never die,

they found butterflies on the thorns

where they made cocoons,

only our lovemaking can heal these wounds.

[~C]

14075154_10154534419732664_1604789613_o

There are roses growing in you;

I will always remember that August morning when you told me that there were roses growing in you.

Since that day, when they need light, I give them the sparkle of my eyes transformed into sunlight.

When they are thirsty, I empty my body of blood and I become their dew.

When they feel lonely, I serenade them under the full moon

When they are hungry, I offer them my tenderness,

and I cut my arms so they can keep my caresses.

Today, I have a secret to reveal to you; there are roses growing in me too.

Only my roses can live in your garden and yours are always welcome in mine,

but never offer roses to a stranger and never accept roses from someone else’s garden,

because the pain in my soul will provoke thorns to tear my skin off

and a rain of petals will cover my empty & naked body

that lies lost on a pyramid of thorns amid a sea of blood.

[~M]

Written by Crystal Kinistino & Mada Rose

13909008_1218307021533801_2442953837177201473_o

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Beauty, Bleed, Bondage, Confessional, Dark Romanticism, Dedication, Love, Poem, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Mad girls love

I dreamt you up inside my head as Sylvia said and you bewitched me just the same, and

then the world dropped dead, and a bird fell from the sky.

I wanted to kiss you, but I found an urn, filled with the ashes of all our burned hope,

stricken by a terror & vitality greater than my ability to contain it,

I swore I’d hold it as a memorial to the love I would never know.

At 21 my therapist told me that real love for me would likely be impossible,

her words, like a curse haunted my existence.

Who gave her such right? To predict my heart’s abilities based on the fickle readings of a

mercurial mind, as elusive and hard to pin down as a butterfly..

That night I rode out to the prairies, surrounded by marshes and countless miles of isolated nature, where I drank as much alcohol as I could and turned on the carbon monoxide, hoping to forget love as it seemed an invention made solely for torturing the psyches of those whose hearts were wild and wide as the prairie sky, too much for any one body to hold, or any one mind to occupy.

It had to be annihilated.

It survived in spite of the poison. In spite of the toxins,

in spite of the way you withdrew from me that day.

I would find a way to outlive it I told you, I’d be inhuman if I had to, but I’d endure this life of lovelessness.

Then I woke up from a very bad dream, and I was in that place known as the afterlife. People think I still exist here. But I died in the café, where you asked me if I wanted you.

I became 3 years old again. My mom was holding my small hand, she took me on a bus ride, and I carried a small bag filled with all my worldly belongings, (everything that ever mattered in my three year old world,) but when we departed, to my horror, my bag was gone, I forgot it on the bus, and it was never to be found again.

When you asked if I might have you, I felt this way, so small and afraid, thinking I lost my world.

I learned to exist so long without it.

When you sat there in the café, with stars in your eyes, It’s like you were this simple, uncomplicated, child with pure virgin eyes, asking me if I wanted the world back again, only the way you asked it was so humble, and you put this strange accentuation at the end of your sentence, as if it were a question.

This antithetical statement “you will love, in spite of it.”

“You will live for the first time in your life, you will defy modern medicine. You will feel true elation, true joy as it was meant to be felt.”

In my bag there were books in which to colour, and girly things, that’s what I recall. And when you came you brought these to me again. You painted my eyes and gave me perfume, you surrounded me with beauty and endless sweetness.

I became 3 again, and the ladies on the bus who seemed so old to me then, remarked “what an adorable child, she has such deep, dark eyes,” and I hid shyly away from their gaze.

When you offered me a new life, in that simple yet amazing way, that is so you, I cried, and I covered my eyes with sunglasses, but you told me, I didn’t have to hide anymore, then you came home with me, where you “sung me moonstruck, and kissed me quite insane, “ and somehow in the most natural & effortless way, you rearranged the constellations.

2 Comments

Filed under Beauty, Bird, Butterfly, Confessional, dreams, Poem, poetry, travel, writing

the ghosts of the one’s who were wanted

You see all the things I am, see this radiant image glowing, I want to burn my wings slowly in the sun, become earthbound, trip over a stone and fall in the water, cut myself on my own reflection, I want these silver scars, don’t want to tell you how the shine of them, carried me through the darkest moments, but you came to me in a dream, so it seems we were fated to believe the unimaginable. You don’t want to see me sad, like it’s your new occupation to make me smile. You say I should sleep, should eat well, should care about myself. I feel I want to, I know these are words of kindness, not like before, not leashes, or latches fastened. If ever I wanted a leash, it would be a way to the moon again, before I burned out the belief of so many good days, days when the potential was in me. I would take it, take that gasoline, take back the pleural inhalation. Evoke a strength, envision a way to unlatch the fingers which interlocked, the one’s that made time stop. The smash of a glass, the way human’s hands can become as savage as beasts, tiger claws, and poison eyes, snake venom love, the kind that dissolves you, and leaves you paralyzed. I have smoked the biggest crystal, lit it up, watched the ghosts of the one’s who were wanted, hurting to be touched, unable to even sense it.

4 Comments

Filed under Confessional, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing

the way the sun betrays

5a.m broken inner clock, the way time stops you dead in the night, and feeds you the light of the morning, but it’s a force feeding session, and in your deepest depression, you lost your appetite. Hurting yourself was a way to control the pain. I understand that. I did that too. It’s like being immortal, only to be told you will die. You think it’s a lie, they all must lie. When the one’s who were meant to protect you have all hurt you, you lose the desire to be protected. Someone comes along and says they love you as much as a flower in fall, that forgot that summer ended, that kept growing in spite of the cold. They tell you they will always protect you, and you think of the way chlorophyll fades, the way the sun betrays.

2 Comments

Filed under Confessional, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Everest

I need to hold you, need to be held, then you empty out like a dark cloud, and the sky is always falling on our dreams. It’s falling on our dreams, as it bleeds into the streets, crowds with surgical vision, cut an incision between us. I can’t feel anything, must be the anesthetic, maybe I am pathetic for wanting, for needing anything, but it isn’t that, it’s the way your arm is held back in the past, by someone who fed your need to be conquered. Now you’re like Everest, climbed and forgotten, a peak, a climax, that lasts only in photographs, long ago burned.

This poem should have ended where it began…

“I need to hold you.”

2 Comments

Filed under Confessional, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing