DramurRaylene

I’d never heard sirens come from the mouth of a girl tall and flushed like the beer she’d drink to calm her nerves before it was her turn. and I’d never seen past blurred lyrics on a screen her fluent hand hold the mic impassioned as the final line of “Baby Come Back”, revised into one extended vowel, left her open mouth and met me where I sunk, like a submarine in choppy waters, away from her vocal wobble and into the beaten sofa.

      I had a man who hit me. He was the father of my siblings, the husband of my mother, the force which drove me down onto my back in trembling fear. From the floor of my room I wrote him pleading letters. He crinkled his nose at my chicken scrawl. He crinkled the loose leaf in his palm. He demanded I rewrite them because a good girl writes well. A good girl practices. A good girl rewrites, rewrites, is rewritten to do things the right way. His way.      I had a man who owned me. He was the looming image of leather lingering before I slept. His hands were broad to hold the belt, yet I once saw them toss my sister to the air and catch her

the world tightens in my chest “think of the suns submergence           – it never falters” below it sinks to admire the horizon, catch its breath, you push my head from your shoulders to rest it on the day. is it certainty we take for granted? floundering after the unknown, when facts are opinion after time, nature in their specifics mourning, obscuring, sending the same tasks to lie at your feet day after day. the world expands inside my mouth ”think of the moon as it has risen           – never lacking” above it ascends to embellish our faults release a sigh, you rush to the corners of the doorstep

          She ran her fingers through the water, disrupting the moon-reflecting glitter which graced the waves. Drops of luminescence clung to her eyelids as she floated and gazed at the auroral stars she dedicated her life to. The universe beamed into her through the dark of her iris and gathered somewhere amongst her mind to be remembered in vivid image. Every few moments of recollection she moved smoothly across the shimmering sea in a flick of motion. The hue of her tail was a deep mahogany like the wood of the telescope she grasped gently in her hand. Opaque collections of bokeh color adorned the curves of her scales. Mint green, baby bl

the ocean moves crashing like the soul in her flesh, the soft wood, devoured by flame. you can see her in the mossy rock feel her in salt which coats your skin speak her name with wet tongue into mute skies dripping with her absence. take petals from her mouth slip note under nose, smell blood of many years. you can hold her chilled hand as spring shudders on the pathway blows winds past the sea to witness loss at his prime beneath the pitted grass.

he said to her, “not every man is the same” yet she recounts feeling the same touch through different hands the same kiss through different mouths the same lucid exclamation of infatuation leave the mind of each who bedded her who traced her who slipped familiar fingers inside to explore a wet tundra of dream. not every man is the same, yet they all crave her body. the same longing buried below the surface of their stare the same begging crystallized in word the same disregard for her emotion for her love for the tender which makes her. not every man is the same, but they begin to blend like paint water. muddled and murky too

she could feel confusion lapping up her jaw coating her tongue settling timidly in the pit of her throat like a few splashed droplets before the turbulent storm rather than anger she worried for the health of him for the happiness of him for reconstruction’s success her own progress somewhere stalled waiting to be watered as she sipped tea from the mug which warmed her hand, stared past leaves at dragging sunlight, and absorbed the vastness of empty sky, she quietly urged for an era where frightened hearts would be allowed to face the fears they run from.

she wants to live, her brain restricts her like clutter blocks her path. she lies in the remnants of dust and whisper exhales frustration through bone-dry lips. lack of moisture reminds her as she endures to sprinkle water over succulents for she is determined to nurture the color of something even if she cannot drag herself from the gray.

heart ripe with tremor eyes sealed yearning breath of a lover, infinite it echoes through the hum worn in our truth boundless in myth. lips dilute his name muddled spell wearied linger near tips of teeth it slumbers in the crook under tongue diminished when spoken overflowing in silence. yet still, in the drought of summer, his absence shakes me like a vowed tempest kept under his thumb

do not fear gods hand for his palm is smooth it is moonstone resting beneath lake. do not fear the wrath of disciples lead astray down paths searing in flame into mouth of evils keeper. do not fear inevitable end solitude beyond reach astray from the salvation you were promised. but you may fear, down the depths of your being, lack of trust in thyself the preached indifference leaving fathers lips for what is the purpose of ownership if ones life belongs to god?