micro-poem : the breaking.

and it ended

less like a whimper / bang / the bite of the knife the weakness of a blade on steel skin and more nothing upon nothing and goodbye

upon

i wish i’d never met you.
the breaking | talia b. ; @raggedhearts 

 

poem : you’re alive / whether you like it or not

haven’t you heard?

they dont love you anymore they dont talk about you in the school halls you are not fifteen and you will never be the girl you wanted to be
because you live
and all you wanted to be at 15 and 16 and the yawning pit of 17 summer-winters old
was dead.

– talia b. @raggedhearts

poem: a new age

we write of syrup-blood and broken bones

on the streets of sunless cities. there is nothing left to pray for; yet, 

and still, 

and always 

you drink from a liar’s fountain – the chorus kneels, sways, chanting love and devotion to an unseeing god, as if this world remembers the word communion

– t. bennett ; @raggedhearts 

poem: siren

her chest unfolded, a puzzle

(made no more logical by the time of its solving) / orchids, and lily-petals tumbling from nowhere, and everywhere, and trembling against

the frantic, fevered beating of her heart / soft, naked – the muscle, wet – a wicked, unforgivable red – a scarlet, tantalising / and a taste of it undid

you, as if

you had never been

at all.

– talia b. ; @raggedhearts

poem: when you analyse what’s left of me / tell the coroner i was as good as i could’ve been

IMG_20170307_144128_424.jpg

come, weep,

wail and streak forgiveness across swollen cheeks that will turn to a raised hand – a tongue

that’ll lie for the sake of a distant master and knees that ache from crawling

always, crawling, for hope

is in your gut

around the aching and bloody bruising, blooming –

i promise

(they say

and because they believe it, believe me, you will not breathe the word liar)

 

you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me

i l o v e you (and your duplicity, your dumb and complicit patchwork persona of everybody

that has taught you

to watch what you say, sometimes.)

 

plant your feet on the shattered

glass track i crafted for you

and thank me for the privilege of breaking

mirrors,

so you could live to see seven years of bad luck binding your feet to becoming

every statistic you promised

you would never be.

(i’d show you my bruises / but i have hidden them so well i could not find them if i turned myself inside out.)

– t. bennett ; @raggedhearts

poem: blood + science

you are another rotten thing in the mouth of the monsters and the early morning sun

illuminates all, except the truth.

your c grade in science

didn’t prepare you for the stench of syrupy blood on black tiles

or the taste of your own death on your tongue.

talia b. ; @raggedhearts

poem: i taste Fate / a Fate worse than death

somewhere above and below and around

the world is Real and turning,

burning, living, and breathing

here,

time is melting like sugar paper flowers on my tongue. on my life

i swear i am unfolding. the words aren’t flowing like i think they should be but on my

heart i place a hand and flinch at the

chill of the touch

but it’s enough to know

that it beats.

blessed am i

to bleed and

bay at the moon and hasten my breath

like all the rest.

– talia b. @raggedhearts

 

 

 

poem : exorcism 

i glow where you broke me

filled in the cracks

with gold and cement

told my ribs to heal faster

dragged my feet across blades

and walked on ocean waves to hurl

my cursed heart over the edge of the earth

to make space for the new, the good and the glorious

blooming where you

once lay.

t. bennett @raggedhearts

a note on this particular piece:

this was inspired, in part, by a video by nerdwriter1 on kintsugi – the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery “with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum” / “as a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.”

it’s a beautiful practice, and a wonderful philosophy that, since I learned of it, has helped me to think of myself as something more beautiful for what I’ve been through, rather than something lesser, for the scars I bear.

poem: yield / your mouth reeks of surrender

i have known the ecstasy of

your hands on secret places

hidden walkways (my thigh skin)

tandem beginnings, tandem kisses

and oh

if this is not what i prayed for

then it is must be what i will fall for

to yield to a temptation

is not to rid your wasted gut of its

poisoned waters

but to become its master-servant / mother-daughter / lover, lover, in all tongues and slippery seasons will pass through us like water over flesh and we will be new in its embrace,

older, in our riverbed copses / corpses, closeted.

to yield to a temptation

is to know your kiss

and to taste the vivid flavour

of missing it.

– t. bennett ; @raggedhearts

 

poem: caution – this is Love / as none other will tell it

eat his stone-heart

and if the blood is grey

and the veins are bitter

and you leave that place with the taste of

gravel sitting hard in your mouth,

you will know that your gut

told no lies when it mouthed into your pillow

that he loved no-one

his door was shut

his house was windowless

every opening was the path to an orphaned cave

and he is not yours / he is not yours, sweet thing, most dearest, most beaten, broken and most blessed,

he is is the beginning of something you are already forgetting,

a story you will, in a dim sometime, remember to tell.

– t. bennett ; @raggedhearts