"they said she was only fourteen"
she sang to me
from a broken pedestal in Queens
leaving notes in my text inbox that weren't
quite so musical
she wrote:
"C needs you"
and my eyes rolled at
the audacity of another one
of my ex's flings
relaying her new lover's
message from behind bars
where he always seems to be
a caged bird
never free;
C, i am tired of finding
your broken wings on my doorstep
i am tired of telling your
stress-aged grandmother
of your whereabouts
asking if she could bring
the discarded halo from the
back of your bedroom closet
next to your innocence
i found them there
at sixteen
hiding from the parents
who weren't expected
to be home so early
the games were fun then
but you're 23
and still playing
i was there
when you re-opened your wounds
to show me who resided within them
your dead child on your sleeve
and neglectful mother on your heart
when your family
stripped their legacy from your spine
and left you on your knees
when the isolated girls
who carried your soul
in their wombs
begged for comfort
thinking they could find a piece of you
in me
they know i wear your burden heavy
the only person who's heart you could
never allow yourself to break
i never praised who you were
only what you could have been
but who are you now?
broken limbs and
insanity pleas
bullet holes and
padded rooms
statistics and
numbers
much like the ten
you've given this girl to relay this message
to me
i ask her:
"what is it this time?"
and when attempted murder
rolled off her tongue
the respect i had for you
evaporated in thin air
and i hope it condensates on your
jail cell
because a phone call from me
never will
i can overlook
the petty theft
the lovestruck girls
you've littered New York with
carelessly
the goons you run with
as for trying to take someones life
you can rot in hell
the bullet holes riddled in your back
can reoccur in your worst nightmares
may the trigger mark
on your pointer finger burn bright
to remind you of the breath you tried to steal
allow the padded rooms to
whisper your every past mistake
most importantly,
i hope your ass waits....
waits....
while time whirlwinds those you've left
dangling from their broken pedestals,
while your family erases you from their memory
and while I take your broken wings
mend them
and fly the hell away
from you.
-riv-
(wing photo via google images) *made it larger, for jewel who didn't see it lol*
PS- I've just completed part of my journal collection. All made in China and produced by Barnes & Nobles Inc. I own every last one of their flexi-lined, binded, tile pattern series. Woohoo! Now MAKE ME more! These are my favorite journals in my whole collection. I wrote this poem in the Orange-Indigo one. :-) (Yeah, yeah...I know i'm a bit cheesy.)
(btw, this photo is mine. hehe.)
