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Thursday, July 27, 2017

Cheerleader (A poem about the dangers of vanity)



A cheerleader is...

One who chants patriarchal inspired syllables throughout the atmosphere.
One who's confidence is concocted from pure vanity.
Their appearance is up to societal code
Beautiful...
Mediocre...
Youthful...
Thin...
The four attributes which presume you worthy.
No real talent is needed.
Your mothers and fathers are proud.
Your neighbors love you and fear you.

Until your precious cheerleader becomes ugly and withered...

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Glass Cinderella

                                                                               
Artwork by Anthony Clarkson


There once was a girl I called Cinderella.
She paints herself in darkness and crimson dresses.
Her hair is as black as the midnight sky
Her skin scarred from distress
But no one knows the real her for she hides behind her porcelain mask.
She seems so normal and so sane
And she's loved for her beauty and enigmatic ways.
But when the clock strikes 12
She's all alone
And is safe to reveal her true self.
She wastes away into sadness and shame as she runs the razor across her alabaster skin.
She then hears the slurred speech and heavy footsteps of her drunken father
So she runs to the corner of her room trembling in fear.
But before she knew anyone
Her father had tainted her
Corrupted her
Poisoned the little bit of innocence she had left.
She lies there disturbed and nearly blind
Sheets wet from the blood that slithers down her arms and thighs.
Her mind flashes with intensity and rage.
All the sudden she lost all control
And let the sickness swallow her whole.
With all her hate and all her might
She took the kitchen knife and forever told daddy dearest
Goodnight.

Artwork by Anthony Clarkson

Sunday, July 23, 2017

A Somber Feeling


Emotional pain
whether it be loss or rejection
It often feels as if I'm being disemboweled
Like sulfuric acid is slowly being poured over my chest
Exposing my heart
Burning me from the inside out
I can't take it!
So I hide...
I disconnect myself
I'd rather feel the sting of loneliness
For it is a particular flavor of suffering that I have learned to endure.