By Mena Oktariyana
Here,
I’m dancing with my shadows
forget about my battle against yesterday
bury all sadness
that I hope can fly away
I,
follow the rhythm you play
and keep dancing with devils inside me
whispering and whispering
loud, not gentle
I hear their anger
taking my body
give a gripping cold
give a gripping pain
Genres : sadness, painful, life, hurt
You should be scared
Scared of symmetrical smiles
of mystical eyes
white teeth
breath purified
Of have a nice days
the month of May
Everything okay?
Yeah, everything’s okay
Of positive thinkers
steady blinkers
gnomes in gardens
clean-cut shavers
Of old ragged flags
of I love you shags
of trend-setters
in trendy rags
Of the hopers
the delayers
these slayers
of evildoers
Of I wish you were heres
of the small-talkers
the how’s the family
the licenced stalkers
Of nice tattoos
of blue suede shoes
of decorative punks
with baby cunts
Of happy parents
at children’s parties
of bored housewives
who dreams of hippies
Of A graders
degraded B graders
pissed off C graders
and the maybeers
Of sofa violence
on Mary Jane
comedies
of hobby pain
Of live and let live
it’s all the same
just stay out of my fucking garden
and play the game
Of polished lines that seem to know
that points away towards the foe
Rhymes that time perfectly
Yeah, you should be scared of me
I’m just kidding
have a nice day
First of all, it is difficult to express
how much I hate this crappy store
plus facing so many sour looks.
Can only purchase a few things
because of all those stairs I must
climb getting to my apartment.
First I walk around in a trance
trying to find my few items.
Next comes the horrible part.
No matter how great my effort, it is
impossible to keep up with cashiers.
They rush us through like cattle.
The conveyor belt is too fast for words.
I just put my groceries out and they
are priced. Next comes my debit card.
Some places also want their special
store card. This is to take advantage
of their measly sales. Thrilling.
Where is my debit card? O there it is,
but it is hard to get the sequence of keys
right. How many people are behind me?
Of course, they would like me to bag
my own stuff. I HAVE NEVER DONE
THAT even in my more youthful days.
Always have to repack everything anyway.
Some items can be left in my car but
most must be lugged up to my kitchen.
Leaving the store with the sinking
sensation of being too slow. Tramping
down to my vehicle with some wobbly cart.
What is this “have a nice day” bull?
Boy, am glad that is over and don’t care
if their cart lands up in Siberia.
Categories: Love, Hurt, Painful
The Darkest heart of winter’s chill
chokes out the hollow monstrous day,
its tendrils slithering to fill.
Rapacious, snaking, gasping gill,
in waters deep where wicked prey,
the Darkest heart of winter’s chill.
Its teeth plunge, victim’s cries so shrill
with lurching, wheezing, rending play,
its tendrils slithering to fill.
Her movement stops, it has its swill
the nasty piper sucks its pay,
the Darkest heart of winter’s chill.
Vestigial quarry’s heat distill,
blood’s dulling red becoming gray,
its tendrils slithering to fill.
Her hope to wed, its gleeful kill,
this Valentine’s, fourteenth long day,
the Darkest heart of winter’s chill,
its tendrils slithering to fill.
Villanelle
Rhyme: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2
Meter: iambic tetrameter
Stealing along a darkened road; it’s path crooked
Fleeting around trees, leaves shivering in its wake, grass frozen mid-bow in homage
Inspecting, watchful, it’s purpose clear
A lone traveler comes; hungry for warmth
A house in the darkness; to the porch, peeking into windows; a door ajar
Cold sees an opportunity
Leaning in like a party guest offering unwanted advice, seizing the moment to enter
Quickly occupying every nook and cranny; nesting, rooting,
Inching forward through every carelessly cracked window, down every open chimney flue
Seeping along the floor, hugging corners
Inspecting cupboards, trying on boots and gloves
Filling closets and testing bed sheets; searching
Halting in a darkened corner, cold utters a sigh; glittery breath frosting windows in the vacant night
Uninvited visitor, unwelcome guest in the quiet
Faintly, the sound of voices tug at the fringes of its weary consciousness;
Lights flicker on interrupting its blue reverie; the rising sound of laughter assaults it’s crude senses
Suddenly feeling exposed, resolve melting, Cold hurriedly gathers it’s things, shoulder’s its frosty rucksack, and dissolves into the baseboards and walls, hiding
Whispering down halls, tendrils collecting its belongings along the way, cold escapes out the door as a warm body enters, door shut rudely at it’s back
Indignant and disheveled, Cold collects itself, shrugs its pack into place, and starts once again down the road trailing winter behind it
Title: Can’t you see?
Author: Mary V. Saenko
Genre(s): dark, long, sad, painful, hurt, life
I want to be liked.
When I look at myself in the mirror,
All I feel is shame.
I am ashamed of what I look like,
But more than anything,
I am ashamed of who I’ve always been on the inside.
I am ashamed when I open my mouth,
Why do I have to speak?
Can’t you see?
I, too, don’t want to be this annoying!
I can’t help but say stupid things,
Why can’t I shut up?
Why can’t I just be like everyone else?
I don’t want to be me.
I want to be someone else, somebody just like everyone.
You can tell, can’t you?
That I really want you to like me,
Really want you to like me so I can like me too.
This desperation is pathetic,
Irritating,
Repelling,
Appalling,
Disgusting.
Let’s stick two fingers down my throat,
So that maybe yesterday’s bottled up regrets after yet another failed conversation
Will come out
Along with today’s special course:
18-years-worth-of-self-loathing mucus
Clogging my throat and my ears and my head and you,
Do you gag like me?
My tragic attempt to be friendly and likable
Does nothing but highlight my obnoxiousness.
Its filthy.
Does it make you gag, too?
Just say it already!
You hate me, don’t you?
Your words can’t hurt me.
You see, the overwhelming desire to dissapear
Is already my dearest companion;
Its hobbies are joining clubs
Just to feel like you don’t fit in,
Listening to sad songs
Just to cry,
Attending events
Just to feel unwelcome,
And by far, my favorite,
Talking to people who you hope are your friends,
Who you want to connect to,
Who you wish you were,
Just to feel unwanted,
Just to be unwanted,
Just to be alone.
Just to always approach others to start a conversation.
Just to go home by yourself on the last day of school.
Just to squeeze right in the corner of that group photo.
Just to avert eye contact knowing you will always be picked last for a project.
Just to know that if you weren’t here, everyone would be happier.
You ruin everything.
“Why did you show up?”
Can’t you read the room?
Nobody wants you here.
I don’t want to be here.
I just want to be liked.
Will someone else ever like me
When even I don’t like myself?
I can already tell what you are thinking,
Don’t worry, I won’t make you say it out loud.
But it doesn’t bother me,
I think this is something we can both agree on.
And if you say “I don’t like you,”
I will laugh
“Check mate!”
Because in this game, I always have the high ground.
And if you say “I hate you,”
I will exclaim
“Me too!”
If hating yourself is an art,
Well then call me Picasso,
For nobody can hate me
As much as I hate myself.
My neighbor was a member
of a gang, the Latin Kings.
My neighbor sits to my right,
but had lived downstairs.
My neighbor reminds me
of Junior, real country folk,
who attended my great-uncle’s wake
back in Bama, some twenty years.
He wore overalls, Big Country,
to raised eyebrows, even there,
a reunion, though teary
as with this shabby funeral home
that I now attend
a wake for a mutual friend
my neighbor and I, catching up
a good guy, someone said.
But Victor wore a bandana,
and liked to say yo.
It was known that he’d killed someone,
back in Quitó.
He stayed but a few minutes
but his bandana remains with me
just as Junior’s denim
too remains with me.
I crunch-step through frost to the train
in Spanish-soaked Queens,
thinking of tonight’s dusty parlor
and that ancient Southern evening.
I shiver, thinking Victor
is okay, going to make it.
And I wonder if Junior is still alive.
Come wander with me,
In these hallowed
halls of endless night.
Where I will show you,
Many things
of horror and delight.
Faint whispers hiss while
Shadows shift
and flit behind your back.
Tattered curtains sigh
Those swaying
shades of lovely black.
Candle flames flicker,
As we haunt
rooms dusty and decayed.
Eyes ever watching
From paintings
whose colors start to fade.
Mournful howls from wolves
Who prowl woods
Below a rising moon.
Hear them, the children
Of the night,
How beautiful they croon.
You smell so lovely,
We embrace
Before the windowsill.
These hands may be cold
But my dear,
My lips are colder still.
There is no darkness when we want to see
There is no tiredness when our will wants to continue the road ahead
I have come to realized that years are days
And that a lifetime can be summarized in a short story…
I believed you were the one,
I believed we were meant to be eternal,
But you are just a short story…
You are just a day.
Marisabel Park, 2002
Performed by Carina Cojeen
At ocean’s edge
I pledge
a solemn oath
to both
the sea and sky
that I
shall be as true
with you
in harmony
with me.
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