Mythy1Mythy by ~AndromedaRising
When I was six
I watched the mothers of my street
dress their little girls in white dresses
for an introduction to religion.
Warning them not to stain the
stark white satin
burgundy blood of church wine
as if chasity was their only worth.
My mother never dressed me
but she held my hand
as I waved good bye
and when my friends all left to be blessed,
my brother and I played Scrabble
for no god on rainy Sundays.
I remember when
I asked my father too many questions
and I watched as he transformed into
the dragon of our household
hallways edged with fire and brimstone
impatient and barely there at best.
Six feet of man shaking the walls
with his every step
for nothing was ever sacred in my home.
But if I woke up just early enough
for the tile and floorboards to still be cold
he would make me toast
with sweet warm orange marmalade
and we would watch the sun
slowly show the world the meaning of color
with beams of crepuscular brightness
a barely there go
all the things i wish i had known in seventh gradei was in seventh grade when sheall the things i wish i had known in seventh grade by ~AndromedaRising
told me about the rape
how he had touched her
when she said ‘no’.
and i remember
how she shook
how she sputtered like fire eating at too short candlewicks
breaking down fast and hard
twisting my guts and cracking circuits
her smiles were torn at all the wrong angles.
and when she ran
i ran after her even though i knew
i couldn’t ever help her.
so i sat beside her and sand stuck to my thighs
as watched her tears drip from her nose
like suicidal children jumping
from the wires of the golden gate bridge to the waters below.
with mosquitoes on my bare skin i was
trying to find some sort of god
to help her.
it was too humid of a night for religion
and i never really believed in being saved
and she would be the first of far too many
broken girls in my life.
two years later my first kiss
would be forced down my throat
rough and harsh
there was nothing benign about the way
his fingers pressed themselves into my jaw
like he was doing me
Swearing at StrangersI grew up with my mother’s words tugging at my hemlineSwearing at Strangers by ~AndromedaRising
twirling the grace in her poise into some sort of victory
to drape across my shoulders like a cape I never wanted
but wore anyways as I led legions on the playground
at age six and three quarters.
But everything’s out the window now that the gloves are off,
because I grew up brawling, picking myself up cracking bloody knuckles.
My fingers no longer pick at the loose threads of skirts like they used to.
Sneaker clad, I take the longest path to the simplest unorthodox answer,
and I only vaguely remember the first time
I swore at a stranger.
“That sort of language is not very becoming
of a young lady.” My father scolds while I scoff.
My mother tells me that my language is “Worse than a sailors.”
It's fortunate that I always did love the ocean, maybe sailors
could keep up with me. I really do like my verbal whiplash swift
and my boys just as snarky and sharp-tongued
Perhaps I am too unflinching
What We Once HadOnce upon a time you and I, placed stars inside our heartsWhat We Once Had by ~AndromedaRising
with that quiet sort of love,
and it carved itself into the branches outside my frosted windows.
We spent our time scratching opaque glass,
cold fingertips wiping away at the imaginary.
Letting ourselves believe in something beautiful.
forever is only temporary in the face of romance
and I know better than most
for it was spring in a year full of heartbreak,
I only vaguely remember watching you melt away.
The disappearance of the snow revealed nothing but fairytale mishaps
my branches finally barren of you.
your departure was soft, like worn cotton
fingertips letting you go quietly without struggle
and I grieved for you only sometimes.
Everything is temporary.
We had that maybe sort of love.
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