-ButterflyCuts-• Show poetry

                           

I love-hearrt you

 

 

 

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If it cries, does that make it woman? Huddled in the corner, don't you know that in pain you find the only truth, little girl? He makes the tears in factories where he reigns king of heartache king of the broken; you are but a shipment of splinters and your uncaged breasts scare him-- (can't let them win) your breath fogs the air around you- you try to disappear, girl with the fairy tattooed upon your heart. I can watch you curl, over the mist of watered miles and my soul starves in the brutality that broke into your safe. I could hand you tissues but they never clean up the blood. Spilled from the rips, the goddamn hole that gapes opened mouthed with stillborn babies-- You, who wanted to split apart the world with just the (echo) of your voice and even if all the bent kneed women that came before could cry those tears beside you, would it create anything more than just an orchastrated madness of bloody wombs, heaving chests? The void is universal, my darling one- and from within it you shall come bursting out banshee voiced and the strength of a million Liliths riding your soul. (Rest, dear child- the hurt shall fold neatly in a corner pocket-- someday)     Written for me by Meli, it means the world to me.

                       

 you trip me out ...

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