The Staining of Our Souls

 

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Dedication

To every breathlessly talented writer and poet I am fortunate enough to call my friends and companions - you inspire me beyond compare and I am forever grateful for your advice, encouragement, and love. Thank you all so much. 

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Woman Kings

Oh, the crown cuts deep
into my scalp, bruising with 
the weight of words, 
of wars,
of worlds. 

How can it be divine right if sin 
gave it to me?

And yes, my hands still turn 
red with their blood late at 
night, their screams echoing
through my empty thoughts,
but it makes no difference.

Unbent knees will break.

“Semper fidelis!” they cry out to me.
Always faithful.

As they should be.
As they must be. 

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Girls Who Run With Wolves

When the night opens up with the glowing 
of the moon don’t be surprised when you see 
me standing there, neck craned and fingers
curling and uncurling, my eyes as wide
as the moon is large.

For there in the toothpick forests of 
pine needles upon needles my empty
heart can drown in peace, filled to the 
brim with their howling, their crying, the 
raw and the visceral and the based. 

There I am the girl you said you always
knew I was - stronger and faster and 
never afraid.

Never afraid. 

But when I am not there I draw
back into myself, tighter and 
tighter, until the paper of my 
heart cannot be folded up 
anymore. 

And their cries start to fade away, receding
like waves that cannot drag me back into
the forest of the sea. 

Because of this I know that, despite 
everything, the moonlight on my 
cheeks will always feel cooler than 
the brush of your fingertips.

So don’t be surprised when you still see 
me standing there, neck craned and fingers
curling and uncurling, my eyes closed as the 
waning moon fades away.

My heart still longs to drown in trees. 
Forgive me. 

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Fire and Burning

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Codependent Aristocratic Royal Siblings

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Devils That Love Being Bad

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The Sins of the Father

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