I Destroy Myself Making Up For You

featured in the poetry forum April 7, 2019  :: 0 comments

For me to paint my nails
For you
I have to pluck them out
Paint the beds
All red
Hide the bloodstains
And then stick
The hazy nails
Back on

For me to contour my face
For you
I have to scrape the scalpel
On the knife
Wield it to the bones
Of my cheek
Drag along the lines
Of my jaw
And then pat on some cream
To mask the pain

For me to enhance my eyes
For you
I have to leave on quests
In the forest
For the best shades
For my lids
Line them with the ash
Of my own burns
And then pick out the lens
To blur the day

For me to colour my lips
For you
I have to light a matchstick
And bring the flame
To warm till the blood rushed
Up to the surface
Longer in the corners
To line it darker
And then coat on the gloss
To exaggerate the reality

editors note:

Oof! With so much sacrifice to look nice (to go out), might just as well stay in (no doubt). (We welcome Swagi to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Sugarcoating a Burnt Loaf Doesn’t Work

featured in the poetry forum January 15, 2019  :: 0 comments

Dark Circles

I wish saying that
We got these wounds
Because the dark night
Likes to leave its mark
On those who fight its dear friend sleep
Makes them glorious
But it doesn’t


I wish saying that
We blew pixie dust
From moist, little rolls of ivory
Dusted with burnt gold
Makes it magical
But it doesn’t


I wish saying that
We sipped on the souls
Of the gems that adorn a vine
From sand frozen from heat
Makes it fantastical
But it doesn’t


editors note:

Glorious, magical, fantastical fails; sweet in the trying, blameless in the lying. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 4, 2018  :: 0 comments

I tend to pick some souvenirs
From not only the places I travel to
A memoir of the time spent
A miniature of that awesome monument,
But also from the strangers I meet
A smooth glide to make more space
A smart solution aiding a swift escape

Their bodies are their own worlds
Immersed and inclined in themselves
If it’s a world, it’s a place to visit
If it’s a place to visit, they have a gift shop
Showing all they had in store for the day
All memories that were stimulated
All philosophies that were ready-made
All gestures that were hand-led
I bet you most of it surprised even them

I surreptitiously grab these souvenirs
For no price is asked for them in exchange
But taking them does seem a tad bit discomforting

I go home and stuff them in my jammed jar
Sift through, and inject in my veins the ones
Those that add up to my ideal behavior

editors note:

It’s nurture when nature drives us to take from all we meet. – mh clay