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Literature Text
Daddy likes to make me
Eat my words.
I see him hit Mommy
And I know she hurts.
So I tell him, to get her
He has to go through me.
And, well, I can no longer walk
And I can no longer see.
Daddy makes me eat my words
And reality starts to flood.
Yes, Daddy makes me eat my words…
And my words taste like blood.
Eat my words.
I see him hit Mommy
And I know she hurts.
So I tell him, to get her
He has to go through me.
And, well, I can no longer walk
And I can no longer see.
Daddy makes me eat my words
And reality starts to flood.
Yes, Daddy makes me eat my words…
And my words taste like blood.
Literature
To be a writer
You taste like decaying leaves
and October's bad habits-
when it’s halfway through February
that still haunts these bones.
I have allowed you to
claw your love
into my arms
and chant into my
uninterested ears
for much too long.
I wish I was one of those girls
who could say wild flowers
grow up through my nooks
and my crannies just to tear
through my skin, screaming.
I’m just that dead eyed deer
on the side of the road dreaming
of shoving a pen down my throat
and writing these verses inside out.
I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster.
I know it.
My skin knows it.
My pen knows it too.
Years and years
from now
my mind will d
Literature
R.I.P.
Did anyone notice that she winced if you raised your arm?
Did anyone notice that her eyes were wide with alarm?
Did anyone notice that she never looked you in the eye?
Did anyone notice that her voice was but a sigh?
Did anyone notice that her skin was always bruised?
Did anyone question whether she might be abused?
Did anyone question why she walked in obvious fear?
Did anyone question why one day she did not appear?
Did anyone recognize her face on the six-o’clock news?
Did anyone see her remains pulled from the river refuse?
Did anyone care that this quiet girl no longer exists?
No. No one did. And she will never even be missed.
R.I
Literature
Therapists, I don't like their taste.
i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through
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Not sure if i like this one, but i LOVE the idea, simply because I got the idea from this amazing artist : 
Thank you for letting me use this idea!
Check out my facebook... to help me finish my poems, or to see photos, or to give me poetry ideas, or just to chat [link]
Thank you for letting me use this idea!
Check out my facebook... to help me finish my poems, or to see photos, or to give me poetry ideas, or just to chat
[link] © 2013 - 2024 MikkiMarie
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Wow, this is really powerful. Brilliant job, like usual. ;D