solemnity suits you, dear, like sweetness and spirit;
cycling the motions– searching, still, then back again.
when the sun sets and the moon moves,
i am sworn to stay by your side, satisfied
no matter the setback. no matter the serendipity.
so string me into a thread of your smiles and sorrows,
and sew yourself into mine.
save the stardust, and still the seconds.
but should the sea cease to crash,
in the skies, we will sail off
safe in the uncertainty of chance.
i have forgotten the sound of your name on my lips. the sound of mine on yours. the ridges on your fingertips tracing trenches on my palms. the dreams we chased down bottles of wine, your voice a shooting star. sparks running down a power line.
i have forgotten the rink, the skates, the gleam in your eyes as you held my hand for the first time. the looks we shared, the promises.
‘i’d part the skies for you, love. start revolutions in your name. stay, stay, stay.’
you didn’t.
i have forgotten how it feels to be loved by you.
remind me.
She watched and she crumbled
as broken glass fell to the ground.
Stepmother laughed evilly;
while she didn’t make a sound.
A large shard made it’s way
to the poor maiden’s palm.
She gripped, red blood dripped.
She tried her best to stay calm.
Red shoes are in her vision
stepmother stared her down.
Then memories of pain,
and her mother’s torn up gown.
Ella stood, there was a blur
of broken glass and angry lashing.
Dear stepmother’s throat
took quite a bit of slashing.
A/N: final installation to the twisted fairy tales series for a while.
Once upon a time
in the deepest darkest sea
there lived a girl
as human and fishy as can be.
She swam to the shore,
one stormy fateful night
and fell in love with a man
what a beautiful sight.
A wonderful life she imagined
living on land with him.
They’d love each other unconditionally,
true love from deep within.
Her heart raced at the thought
of spending an eternity
loving and being loved
without any uncertainty.
So she swam up their ship
to catch his attention
he turned around and saw her
as his circus’ main attraction.
A/N: part two of reposting from my old blog! hope you guys enjoy xx
The witch knocked, knocked, knocked
on the maiden’s door,
laden with jewelry and satin
that fell to the floor.
The dress was strewn
with stars from the night sky.
The witch waited seconds.
The door opened with a sigh
The princess gasped
at the sight of such luxury,
so she reached out and touched
not understanding the witch’s fury.
Enchanted, the dress was
poison ran through the fine thread.
Like a needle prick Snow White
felt a splitting pain in her head.
Her lips were as pale
as her skin should have been.
This was the ending
no one has ever seen.
Snow White’s skin,
became ashen
and grey
her corpse lies forgotten
up to this day.
i.
My sister is in her room again, spilling tears on her diary pages.
Its leaves shake in fear as it receives lashes of anger and frustration.
We both know it listens more than our parents ever would.
I am filled to the neck
with secrets that are not mine to keep,
because people are so selfish of my solace.
People push and shove to seek refuge
in my suggestions.
It is brutal.
My shoulders are fractured into
a thousand tiny pieces
given away like trophies for comfort.
I am not your therapist.
It is not my job to cushion your trauma.
It is not my job to shield you from your monsters
while mine tear my wounds open and feed on me alive.
The constellations have conspired
to make me the mistress of manic panic pacification/
the love child of internal conflict and Lady Justice.
I am battered and bloodied.
I am broken and bruised.
I’m sorry for your issues
but
take me off the mailing list.
i.
Your grandmother tells you the story
of how the hauntings start eight minutes after midnight
(the time of her mother’s death and
apparently your grandfather’s too).
How guttural moans shake her lids open
just when the spirits start seeking revenge.
How screeches send her back to sleep
just when the hauntings end and
the spirits take their leave.
(They are afraid of sunlight, she always advised.)
ii.
Your uncle tells you not to look
at the family portrait on the sala corner table.
In it your cousin stood next to you,
before she was replaced by empty space,
and died of heat stroke the very next day.
iii.
You laugh, and mock, and judge.
But at night, in the solitude of your room,
you put your headphones on, and never let silence settle.
You never look directly at the corner table.
You never go searching in empty rooms.
You never reach for slippers stuck under your bed.
Because all the pictures are watching you,
while you are watching all the dark corners
waiting for movement.
You don’t know when the hauntings start,
but they never really end.
when tears and sweat
their tolls they’ve dealt
when fears have reached new forms.
when blood and pain
have caused much strain
and buds have drowned in storms.
i’ll pack my bags
say “i’ll be back”
to what i’ve come to know.
back home is where
it all began
back home is where i’ll go.
These borrowed words I write,
do beg to be returned.
From ash to ash again,
they never shall be heard.
The first time is a tragedy,
the second time’s a sin.
My ever avaricious muse,
hears voices it could spin.
The Unspoken Words Worth Writing Down
Brett Kristian
"Writing isn’t the same as speaking, I struggle with conversation"
Novelist, Poet, Wordsmith
Shortness of Breadth
sa gunita 