Saturday, December 13, 2014

Cynical girl, cynical whore by Amanda Cathleen Peterson



Someday someone will appreciate me for more then just my body, 
and I'm not saying I'm that pretty, but I can't help it if you think so..
Or thought so. Maybe my pretty is a type of pretty that fades with time, 
maybe the more you saw of my bare soul, the less appealing my bare body became, the less you were able to look me in the face. 

Someday someone will appreciate me, all my scars and all my words. The next time I give someone my body, I'll make sure I can fully give them my mind first.  And I'm sorry that my words,  are seething in your throat, 
clawing their way out,  the way I clawed at your neck that day when I wanted you so bad. The day you wanted me, too.  

Maybe in 10 years, I'll look back and this all won't seem so bad. Maybe in 10 years, I'll be happier then I ever imagined I would be now. And maybe, just maybe, I'll make someone happy for longer then it takes for them to get off...

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

ME: I won't think of it tomorrow


A flight –
It wasn’t – just a dream.
I didn’t burn my wings
Reaching to the sun!
I drowned them in the mud –
The ground I never even left…

I thought of it today,
I’ll think of it tomorrow,
How was I the last to know
How far you’ve gone?

I thought of it today,
I won’t think of it tomorrow,
Enough of this –
I’m all drained of my sorrow!


Still Falls the Rain by Edith Sitwell



Still falls the Rain---
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss---
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.

Still falls the Rain
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer-beat
In the Potter's Field, and the sound of the impious feet

On the Tomb:
Still falls the Rain

In the Field of Blood where the small hopes breed and the human brain
Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain.

Still falls the Rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us---
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the Rain the sore and the gold are as one.

Still falls the Rain---
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,---those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark,
The wounds of the baited bear---
The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat
On his helpless flesh... the tears of the hunted hare.

Still falls the Rain---
Then--- O Ile leape up to my God: who pulles me doune---
See, see where Christ's blood streames in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree

Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart
That holds the fires of the world,---dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar's laurel crown.

Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man
Was once a child who among beasts has lain---
"Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee."