Shadow Poetry

Swan Song

love

is exposing

the soft

fragile

fleshy

belly


and hoping they don’t

tear into it

it is a mad dash

to expose your throat

before your head reminds you

you’re made of paper machet

all it takes

is a tiny little

blade

to open your throat

bleed you out

again.


love

is knowing better

handing them your secrets

anyway

heart throwing down

that gauntlet

head standing on the breaks

when you’re alreading

in the fast lane

afraid

it might be too late

to slow down

now

you might cause a head on collision

getting in the car

shrugging


love

is unzipping the skin

from your bones

while standing

in a live minefield

abruptly aware

your neck is on the line


moments to decide

moments to decide


but your thoughts

are not

thinking right

lungs can’t remember

the best way to

breathe

trying to paint you nails

in a sling

on a bus

in an unfamiliar country

where no one

speaks your langauge


love

is splashes

of paint

linking the cemetery

you

keep

visiting

almost a silent prayer

don’t leave my heart here

again.


waiting just under

the over hang

one person’s smile

making your umbrella

seem ridiculous


stepping into the rain

faith that the rain will

stop before

your courage runs

only

now you find

it’s not rain

it’s hail

the size

of fists

opening the cardboard boxes

you duct taped

into your closet

but funny you should ask

my closet never had any

water

damage


and i’m saying

you

again

instead of me


love is like that

new neural network

which you thought came with schematics

blueprints

an idea

a plan

scribbled onto a napkin

at the very least

something


a smile

into the vast

void

simmering underneath

your eyelashes

in between your joints

settled in muscle tissue

and decorating

or maybe love isn’t decorating at all

it might be

it could be

perhaps love

is raking desperate claws

down your

wallpaper

exposing the canker

and pus

so you

can pull it out

finding all your seems

picking at the ends

until the

mismatching thread

becomes

obvious

so you can buy

some new colors

let the old ones go

taking all the dust

in your vaccum

making a pillow fight

out of it

so you can sweep it outside

this

time

breaking the ugly dishes

you don’t know

why

you kept

they have cracks and memories

in them anyway

now you can

make new ones

from star dust

and black and white stills

burning all your trophies

so you can finally

see they were chains

flaxen cords

oxen’s yoke

keeping you tied

bound to ghosts

causing cold spots

and nightmares


it’s okay

love states

i killed them for you

they cannot stalk

cannot hook your collarbone

to grave markers

cannot stuff your comforter

with lead

not anymore

i removed them for you

they cannot stain

cannot moan into your ear

while you drift into slumber

cannot speak your name

and pull you under

not ever again

i will guard the

holes in your armour


it’s okay

love declares

they will never own your

sobs

again


now you can

wipe them away

I will sit in the

expanse of unknown

right beside you

and when they bring their

pitchforks

and reason

i will hand you

your heart

from within my chest

so you can battle

your demons

with the truth in your gun

one in the chamber.


love is

trying to forget

what love is

because hug it close

now

and you might

have to sew

its dead jaw shut

put it in a box

in the ground

again


love is

creation and decay

and the moment

the moment

you recognize

love’s seed

you have

a moment to decide


a moment to decide


ironic little moments

they

never tell the

full

truth

love

is

the moment

the very moment

you flatline

and the

forever

you wake up to


By Daphne Shadows

Shadow Poetry

Love

Eyes that shine blood red

In the dark

Watching

Waiting

For the underbelly to be exposed

Fangs to know

Claws to reason

 

Run, they said

But the creatures

Lurking in the hollows of our nightmares

They are so very hard to break

And my hands are already so dirty

Necromance me

 

Stream of Consciousness

dusk

I was lying on my back on the kitchen floor.

staring up.

it smelled like warm cinnamon rolls. the day was beginnings and endings knit together. starting and ending. over and over again. little pieces of life, slices of emotion. it had been an odd day. a good day.

the evening lulled into a comfortable, languid, happiness.

she cleaned the cutting board, wiped it off with a blue fuzzy towel.

a small portion of bubbles crawled under the cutting board, where she couldn’t see it.

i could.

i didn’t say anything. just watched as they traveled beneath, preparing to drip onto the floor. stubbornly, they held on for quite a while before she swiped once more, the towel falling over the edge of the cutting board just enough to wipe away the escapees.

 

and i got to wondering.

what don’t we see? what goes on beneath? under? into the places where we don’t typically peer inside. what don’t we know is just below us, out of sight?

 

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Stream of Consciousness

I Don’t Think They Understand What “Weakness” Means

I feel and that makes me human.

I feel and that keeps me human.

And yet, the world spews all its ignorance and brainwashing, plasticness and fake oxygen, telling me that to feel is weakness.

I don’t think the evil in this world understands what weakness really means.

 

To live is to genuinely, authentically be human, humane, honestly who and what we are.

We are emotion and reason.

Primal needs and desires balanced by compassion, empathy, and knowing better.

We are an unbelievable potential for all the best this world has to offer.

 

Don’t let the world scrub the humanity off your soul.

Don’t let cruelty make a monster out of you.

To be human is to have the right, the ability, and the responsibility to choose.

You have that strength. We all have that strength.

Don’t lose yourself to spite the world.

 

Feel. Decide.

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Stream of Consciousness

Vulnerability

We are told not to show ourselves as vulnerable because it might make us easier targets. Easier to hurt, manipulate, catfish.
Oh well.
We are all already vulnerable.
The only other option is to close ourselves off and experience nothing joyful, connected, or worth living for.

Vulnerability is the only way we can truly enjoy our lives or become anyone worth becoming. Not to mention the only way to feel satisfied in life and our relationships.

We’re going to get hurt whether we’re allowing ourselves to feel vulnerable or not.

Emotionless is not how I want to live. Vulnerable sucks. I’m only kinda good at letting myself be vulnerable. But it’s worth it.

 

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Stream of Consciousness

Arrogance

Arrogance frightens me. Not the arrogance of others. The idea that one day I could become arrogant. What horrid atrocities would that wreak in my life? Which disgusting tributes to pride would I commit? I don’t want to know.

 

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Stream of Consciousness

Skin Humanity

“We are all brothers under the skin – and, I, for one, would be willing to skin humanity to prove it”. – Ayn Rand

 

That’s what writers are supposed to do – skin humanity. But how can I be realistic in my writing, how can my novel be meaningful if I’m too afraid to be honest?

Lately I noticed that I’d started doing something I’d never done before – I found myself editing what I said or wrote so as not to step on any toes, hurt any feelings. And that’s just stupid. Everyone is going to hurt someone, piss someone off, at some point. It’s part of being human. We all think and feel differently.

I’ve never done this before, never been afraid of what others would think of me or my thoughts.

 

“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love”. – Dr. Seuss

 

Everyone is different. But underneath, we all have similar parts. We hurt. We love. We breathe and we die. We try to find hope in everything or we fall into dismay and suffer in all things. We struggle to find our place in life and then struggle to keep a hold on it, on ourselves.

Identity is such a strange thing. It sneaks up on us. Not something measured by strict parameters or rankings, but instead it’s a balanced challenge, something we fight to discover. Its ever changing because we’re always changing.

How we define ourselves is altered by others and our own thoughts and opinions, desires, weaknesses, and strengths. Our loves, our obsessions. The reasons we fight, cry, smile. Scream.

 

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.” – Cyril Connolly

 

We’re all so wrapped up in ourselves or in the social popularity we wish to achieve or impress that we forget ourselves in the process, ultimately cancelling out any “us” there is to find.

And if we’re going to “skin humanity”, regardless of how we’re going to do this, we first need to skin ourselves. Who are we? Why? Is that something we’re okay with?

Yes, if you skin yourself, flay the lies and deceptions and fake skin away, you’ll have a “you” which might hurt some feelings, might be a bit too harsh, blunt, honest. But I’d take being myself over faking it so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings.

I may be blunt, but I’m not cruel. There is a difference. You have to learn to be okay with being yourself, even if that means not everyone likes or agrees with you.

That’s the only way to write (or sing or create whatever it is you create) and have some meaning glare up from the pages and smack the reader in the heart with something that means something to them.

 

“I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone. – Bill Cosby

 

I love reading a good book, hearing a great song, finding a new artist. And for me to fall in love with them, they have to have some kind of spark that stabs me and keeps me wanting more. A good story has to touch on the truth of a subject people otherwise wouldn’t touch. People don’t like complicated, sticky subjects. Give that subject immortality and a girlfriend who likes to set things on fire, and hot damn – they won’t just love you and your work for it, they’ll think about what you really mean in the back of their minds, when no one is around, and wonder if that’s what you meant.

And that’s the other great thing about hidden truths in all great books, songs, etc. – they have more than one meaning, one truth, one thing to say. They mean what you need them to mean. They point out the harsh reality that you’ve been ignoring. They tell you something, they get under your skin and breathe life into you.

 

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.” – Elie Wiesel

 

Don’t be indifferent. Be yourself. Or else, really, what’s the point? Live for yourself or you’re not living. You’re just here, going along with others’ lives, a shadow of yourself, emaciated and struggling to exist.

I hope your ears aren’t bleeding. I love hearing a good quote and sometimes I feel like blabbering on about them. So I know that was all a bit scattered and random, and vague, but hey, that’s me in a nutshell.

Not really – but that’s my current mood. 😉 If you skinned me, you’d probably get lost in the crazy. I balance being blunt with weirdness. That’s just how I am. It’s working well so far, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have disagreements or people who don’t like me because of how I feel.

But I refuse to blow rainbows up your skirt. I am who I am and I feel how I feel. And when I write, it is to skin humanity.

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