Straws' Poems

Till death do us part
Those were the words that leaked from your mouth as i stared into your warm eyes
Your white gown flowed in the wind as we shared our eternal kiss
You promised we would take on life together so why
Why did you break that promise my love
Why is it that I'm still here, still clinging onto the life you gave me and you get to rest so peacefully
That day i saw you
Had i known it would be our last i would have made you stay
Had i just tried harder to stop you from getting in the car
Maybe then would i still hear your laughter echo throughout our home
I can't live like this anymore
Haunted by my what if, my regrets
Unable to see the world as you left it, i've gone colorblind to it
I have nothing left in this world if not you
And yet
You broke your promise
The words you would tell me still ring in my ear
To live a life unhappy is to live a life without love
And then i remember
Till death do us part
My love, soon i will see you again
Soon i can be happy
I want to see your face again
Forgive me for my selfishness
But i just can't stop because we made a promise that day
Till death do us part

Why do they hate me
What have I done
When will the voices stop

I pressed myself into the earth
like a dying root,

my skin torn,
flesh blooming with welts,

and still
they came,

their torches lighting the bones of my village
like stars.

The ashes cling to my arms
like children.

They weep for me,

and I am too hollow
to hush them.

I heard them coming,

their iron boots,
their cruel laughter,

men who sing songs of god
but speak in hunger.

They found me
beneath the dead tree,

where my mother used to braid songs
into my hair.

“Monster,” they said.

Their eyes did not ask who I was,
only

what I could be used for.

I begged them
with the little breath I had.

I said,
I am not like them.

I said,
I still remember
how to love.

They answered me
with silence,

and the tearing
of cloth.

It is cold now.

Colder than the river
I was born beside.

Colder than the blade
in my brother’s ribs.

My legs won’t move.

My arms are heavy
with shame.

And still
I whisper,

to whatever god
might pity me:

Was I not a daughter?

Was I not meant
to dance?

Why then
did you make me beautiful

in a world like this?

Tell them, please,

that I did not scream
out of hatred,

but because
I had once been held gently.

That the bruises on my hips
are not signs of evil,

but proof
that no one came
to save me.

Let me sleep now.

Let the moss take me.

Let the roots carry my name
somewhere

it will not be spat on.

I was not a monster.

I was just a girl.

And I am so tired
of running.

Being human is being able to feel.
To cry without shame.
To laugh without fear.
To love and be loved.

Being human is choosing softness,
even when the world taught you to be hard.

Being human is waking up,
and wanting to stay.

Being human is being free.