Wednesday’s Child

I was not born to be happy…

No bright star shone down on me
When I was dropped headfirst into the world
Red-faced, kicking, screaming
And placed in my mother’s arms—
The only true home I’ve ever known

Instead, a dark star witnessed my birth
Stepped out of hell’s black hole
Took me in its cold bony hands
And christened me “Wednesday’s Child”
Damning me to a life of woe

Not for me fair of face or full of grace
A clumsy witch with frizzy red hair
Who mounts her broom
And beneath an alabaster moon
Runs wild with the night

Night understands, night knows
What beats inside my heart
What tangles and twists my soul
It doesn’t question, doesn’t judge
Night is my beloved familiar

There’s a certain comfort in failure
A happiness inside misery
A pleasure in absent feelings
For a Wednesday’s Child
Who has serenely accepted her fate

For…
I was not born to be happy

Originally published on the Literati Mafia

Image via Pixabay

Crow

crow comes at night
invisible in the darkness
slips in the window
while she sleeps
burrows its sharp beak
into her seasoned flesh
and tears at
the most tender morsels…
doubts
insecurities
fears
savors the sour flavors
of being hurt
of being fooled
of being played
again…
she learns not to sleep
stays ever vigilant
least crow
swallow everything
her pride
her independence
her reason
her life…
in the morning light
sometimes she wonders
if crow is real
is a force without
or instead
lives within
a black cancer
of bone and blood
cawing chaos, while
beating sharp wings
within each breath
scraping claws
through fragile capillaries
frantic to escape
its self-made
prison…

Image via Pixabay

Black Is

Originally published on the Literati Mafia

black is…
the color of the ocean floor
the color of the deepest well
the color of a witch’s cat
the color of a lover’s spell

black is…
the color of infinity
the color of a new-moon night
the color of secrecy
the color of a dream that never takes flight

black is…
the color of a broken heart
the color of a demented mind
the color of an empty life
the color left behind

black is…
the color I breathe
the color I see
the color I taste
the color that owns me

for black is…me

Photo via Pixabay

Unwind

Originally published on the Literati Mafia

I’m tired, so very tired
of love, of so-called life
of all the countless heartaches
and years of endless strife

can’t undo what been done
too late to re-roll the dice
time to pay the penurious piper
but can’t afford the price

the velvet black void beckons
sweetly calls my secret name
offering silence I can rest in
tranquil and godless, free of pain

an endless, empty nothing
to pillow my weary mind
hopes and dreams fizzle out
as I blissfully, beautifully unwind

 

Photo via Pixabay

Confirmation

She’s not good enough
Someone told her so
Dripped poison in her ear
A long time ago

The mirror confirms
Shows dull frizzy hair
A nose too long
Ugly body when bare

The paper confirms
When she scrawls with pen
Mediocre writing
No contest it’d win

The past confirms
No good deeds were done
No sacrifices made
No battles won

The present confirms
A dull empty life
No one’s darling
No one’s wife

The future confirms
What she already knows
Nothing will change
Down that long dark road

Photo via Pixabay