Shards-of-Shame

'Out of the ashes of her tragedy will grow a great happiness'. That is the first thing she could remember. Her mother's words to her father, a promise of her future. A promise of happiness. It was the only time her mother had spoken to her father without anger in her voice. That was one of the things apparently special about her. She could remember words spoken over her when she was just fourteen days old. Akinna was forever being told she was special. She could understand why others would say that. The daughter of a powerful witch and an even more powerful wizard, magic came easily to her. She didn't have to study it hard like her mother,

Night. The moon's so far And yet so near. The stars are looking from the sky. Scorching hot and deadly cold. I look at you But I don't seem to see. Your lips are moving But I don't hear a sound. Is this a dream Or is it real? I don't seem to make out.

I'm scared to go to sleep For every second that passes Draws me closer to tomorrow With my eyes open Time goes slower I fear tomorrow For I know what will come He will come for me Like he does everyday And I shall feel the pain again They took our joy away Our kites, our music, our dancing He feels he must find joy Hidden in young children For anywhere else there is none I'm not the only one The only child to live in fear At least my scars don't show too clear In my mind they are settled deeper On the outside I can hide them My parents are dead And when I see myself I am glad I am dirty, so dirty I wouldn't want them t

Warm, Like the golden sun Cold but a nice cold like a summers breeze It wraps me up in sheets of linen And makes me look forward to everyday In chance that I may see or hear or taste or touch or feel That in which I search And i think..... I found it In you

A plate fragments like a dream Of spiraling colors; angry words Thrown across the room, shatter too. A body falls, darkness creeps Across the eyes. A cold smile as the bruised face lifts. A cold smile at the red, shaking man standing. A whisper, “you’re so weak.” The eyes close, a final victory.

You used to draw butterflies on my hand You'd run your fingers over them delicately like they were the real thing You called me your little butterfly Yesterday I found a butterfly on the pavement Its wings were broken and its body smashed I touched the tiny wings, feeling sad I nearly brought it home to show you I wondered if I was that fragile If you left, would I look like that too? I don't like it anymore when you draw butterflies on my hand But I'm too scared to tell you why I think you'd destroy me

they met in summer, if only to complete the heartbreaking cliche. she remembers complaining about the heat and how it wasn't like this back at home and how she never wanted to come out to camp if it hadn't been for her parents. he told her that his family didn't eat meat and his mother took up a cleaning job to pay the three hundred he needed to come. and she knows that that was the first time anyone had ever silenced her. -- they aren't perfect, the two of them. one could point out flaws in a minute, a small cluster of freckles on his nose, her hunch when she walked, the higher-than-average pitch when he talked, little things like that t

A cup of tea promise starts, watered down lies and coffee depression. We take a breath, inhale the aroma of the mug, accept what we find, we drink to our own distaste. Between bitter sips warmed chests, clutched hands, we sit in comfort of this liquid-- as if an elixir of life snuck into the drink. Despite cups with cracks and chips we grip our mugs for comfort and smile.

don’tlookdown don’t look down         don’t                  look                           down. She’s hiding her heart behind the fortress walls of her tightly compressed skin stretched over her love starved skeleton; she’s begging for redemption. She lives on leftover wishes that have been thrown away and rejected by shallow girls who have it all. don

Resolution at the End of the tunnel I said I had gotten used to Missing you and believed it. But that was a lie I told myself To survive the winter That broke loose inside me when we had to part And threatened to freeze my heart. I don’t want to lie to myself any more. I don’t want to lie to you any more. But giving in to the emptiness Will kill me And Us. Ugly plants were growing in my head Fed from a million confused tears Stillborn vultures, Waiting, prying. Soon it will be too late to rip them out! Whispers my ice-encrusted heart. So after long sleepless nights I decided to accept The deep longing for you.

Serenely, my mind made music; Dancing with beauty, forgetting the tragic. A Siren sang, softly, to the silvery sea, Accompanied by a magical melody of a grand Black piano in majestic major key. My piano mind was soothed by sweet memoir, As the succubus music let her silk peignoir Succumb smoothly to the granite ground. I could indulge in her pristine voluptuousness, And smile under unharnessed caress. The key creaked and catherine-wheeled, and opened the gate To the vast wilderness of the plains of fate. A siren blared, harshly, to the shrieking skies, Accompanied by a roaring requiem of a grand Black piano in mournful minor key

I'm eight years old sitting on the back step of the yard with my little sister, fingers aching slightly from all of the coconut I'd just grated, my mouth watering in anticipation as I wait for my mom to finish making sugar cakes.  Smoke wafts up from the smoldering coals beneath the big coal pot that mommy is using to make the treats, along with the smell of the nutmeg and cinnamon and caramelizing sugar and it's almost too tantalizing to bear.  Mommy's got her big wooden spoon, stirring occasionally.  Sweat runs down her temples and makes her house dress stick to her back and she asks me to bring her a glass of