YOU WIN! YOU ALONE ARE VISITOR
Vanilla Sundays your moist breath warms my neck awakening me and the bed is rumpled where you lay with your arm around me i turn to face you and i look into those gold-green eyes i know so well and your face is questioning, your smile revealing your question "can it be now?" i decide to answer with a kiss instead of words mouths entwined, lips one... your fingernails cruise my stomach, your curved fingers teasing me and i respond the only way i know how --- with the sunlight in from the window patterns...bars on the bed remind me of prison, far from it... jailed by your love i won't try to escape, i only ask for a life sentence --- i want to know you in ways i never knew anyone you were my first you are my only and i smile at you and a quiet laugh to a gentle moan as your fingers touch a vulnerable spot --- sunday morning the cat watches knowing, absorbing all not ashamed of love between us but as the feline princess purring at the end of the bed she enjoys the love of her mothers --- i wrap your cinnamon locks around my hands, drawing them through lacing my fingers into your hair and remember the union ceremony handfasting, as long as the love shall last, in the eyes of the goddess, her consort, the god, and know this is the love she offered just as she intended. i am not ashamed. ---------------------------------------------------- Self-Mutilation, as a symptom of DID cutting the skin of my arm flayed open like a captured trout on the grill at the restaurant burned charred spots appear on my leg burned by a your "love" with a little help from a cigarette bruised beaten by my fist purple, blue, black, yellow a self-imposed rainbow of liberation bleeding like my soul skewered on a fashion model's ribcage the blood drips... drips... drips... small red stains on the snow my life slowly ends... ---------------------------------------------------- What About Now? Once You told me I was beautiful. Now, Heart bleeding Tears ruining my makeup Face contorted By shame, hate, rage, fear, pain, despair, My features are twisted as I Scream to the sky And I ask--- Am I Beautiful Still? ---------------------------------------------------- The Interview Fatso Slob Big Bertha Fat Troll Huge 'n Hairy Fuckedupfatwhore You're so fat, you sat on a quarter and squeezed a booger out of George Washington's nose Fatten Smelly Would you like some coffee with those rolls? They are staring at me again They think it's funny I am a joke A dumb, ugly, fat joke. A walking laugh track. And then I was a success. Everyone wanted to be my friend. Everyone wanted an interview. They asked me which was the biggest influence on my life-- being fat or being raped at age 11? That took a lot to answer, I thought and I thought and I thought. And I said Being fat. Why? they asked. John only raped me once. Being fat is having your soul raped Every Fucking Day. ---------------------------------------------------- To My Angel On Her Sixth Birthday i see you standing under a tree, laughing, you are six years old today, and i say happy birthday, and you run to me, arms stretched wide for a hug coming closer than i ever dreamed possible before you inevitable fade into the mist of memory because the you you were on this earthly plane never reached your birthday and i wonder if every mother who has loved and lost does as i do and will-- hearing your cries echoing in every baby's tears, seeing your laughter in their eyes, noticing your unfulfilled dreams and promises in every child's face and on your birthday lighting candles for you in my head (For Kasey. I love you) ---------------------------------------------------- To The Psychiatrists now your white-coated arms grab mine hold tight relax relax stop fighting a needle of diazepam tears into my leg scream then their red and black robed arms grab mine forcing me down hold tight stop fighting stop fighting relax a needle of whoknowswhat tore into my breast now a bed, leather straps, rough restraint alone a room white, small with no windows to see blue sustaining skies then a table, braided rope, rough restraint encircled a room dark, small, with only candles to see images i can never forget now a child comes Jason, his name to sit. just sit. he learned his task and learned it well and you say the medicine is working. then a child came Jason, his name to sit. just sit. learning quickly, learning well and they say their lessons are taught. now you don't know can't know why i react as i do can't see inside my mind nor do you want to, preferring instead the well-behaved zombie compliant and quiet but not so inside. then they don't care they cant' care why i want to run can't see inside my life nor do they want to preferring instead the well-behaved zombie compliant and quiet but not so inside. now listen to me i scream for your help and you offer only trauma on trauma i am not insane i am afraid i am hurt look closely don’t be so quick to decide the false labels don't worship your false god and his false bible psychiatry and the DSM-IV see who i am now and know i react to you not seeing you only seeing then. see me hear me HELP ME. ---------------------------------------------------- The poems on this website are original, copyrighted works of Sapphyre Aria McCallister. Please do not use these poems without the express consent of the author. If you wish to use this writing, or anything on this page, please contact me at mjmisu01@homer.louisville.edu OR mjmisu01@athena.louisville.edu
Kasey Marie McCallister--Mommy Loves You Bryan Brian Kook Rae Lynn Athena Andrea Lynn Karen Anne Aria Mercy HopeMarie Sarah Melissa Anne Janette And all the children around the world who never made it to the good parts.