I guess you could be my Kronos. You saved me out of all my siblings, and sent me away to orphanages, swallowing the rest of them with addiction.
If I gave you the same herb Zeus gave his father, would you still consider me lucky? Or would you throw the rest of my siblings up, just like the myth, and shove their insecurities onto me?
My mother could be The Fates. With all her obscure personalities, unable to be wrong but questions herself when she's right. You weave the thread of my destiny, assign the length and path of each string, until you get the product you desire.
But yet, I feel like Pandora. I am the epitome of curiosity, unable to stay still, longing for more.
Am I the reason that famine, pain, and sickness exist? I am discord and death, the tarnished oracle in our family.
I'm sorry.
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
what makes a house a home? is it the fireplace, and how the flames twirl off the wooden logs, like dancers in a ballet? Or is home where family is, the need to feel wanted and secure? Like marriage but, not quite. Is it the carpet that's been in your house for, generations and bloodlines, passed along like stones skipped on a lake? Or maybe, it's the sound of children's laughter, the pure mitigations of past traumas endured?
To her, home is sacred. It's the place where heartstrings are tied, into little bunny ears, one loop after the other, until it creates a giant knot that holds everything, and everyone, together.
To her, home is lively. It's the place where generations are born, where morals are taught, and where gifts are given.
To her, home is safe. Like the first aid kit in the broom closet, waiting to be opened and used for sudden emergencies.
What is home, to you?
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
To her, home is sacred. It's the place where heartstrings are tied, into little bunny ears, one loop after the other, until it creates a giant knot that holds everything, and everyone, together.
* Rated 18+ TW: Wordplay on Drugs, heavy mention of drugs*
increase my dopamine, like amphetamines, i am a stimulant, so addictive that you cant go one day, without me.
you are my depressant, like benzodiazpines, my neurotransmitter cant handle, your switching moods.
im so addicted to you, xanax has nothing on my baby. you are the newest drug, i even forgot what alcohol was, when i met you.
lysergic acid and, diethylamide, like LSD you are magical, thank you for transmitting your vivid colors, and hazy aura onto my irises.
but i think i'm more so psilogcybin, you have to eat me to feel me, but once you do, im more than effective.
we are like nicotine, we can't go without eachother, and when we stop it's like withdrawals, sweating, insomnia, and pain.
my addiction to you is treated with methadone, although sometimes i don't feel it. and i wish we were more like ketamine, a heavy anesthetic that just puts us to sleep.
like ecstacy, thats how it feels when we conjoin, a million stars, bursting into a million, pieces.
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
Tagging @RavenAkuma for giving me this awesome idea. This poem references Harmonia's thoughts while dealing with her sister, Josephine.
18.
I Will Put You Back Together
Harmonia
*Rated 16+: Dark themes*
I watch you kill yourself.
Not literally but, I watch as you stab yourself in the heart, over and over again until you're bleeding out.
And honestly, there's not much I can do. I can only sit by you and hope that you heal, because that's what sisters do, right?
I grab the bandages, spread the ointment, and rub your shoulders as you die slowly.
Mother doesn't care enough about us. She never did. So, I play the part of our mother, teaching, demonstrating, and loving you so that you feel, wanted.
And you were taught the wrong things. That love is a sign of weakness, that women should obey their husbands, that you are divine, and cannot get hurt.
But if that were true, you wouldn't be bleeding out right now. Again, not literally, but I watch as your heart disconnects from your chest, and I cringe as you yank your gorgeous hair out of your head in, frustration.
But still, I'm always the one that puts your heart back where it belongs, I'm the only one that puts each strand of hair back until you're better. How do you think killing yourself effects me?
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
Fear me because I'm stronger. I am a woman, the true definition of brave. I am the stars, and I outshine you so often that, sometimes I feel like you're just insecure.
Fear me because I am deadly. I am the posion that runs through your veins, purple, thick, and untrustworthy. I am the venus fly trap in your garden, eating those who dare enter my path.
Fear me because I am lost. And not the bad kind of lost, for I am nagivation, treading your tides, as if I know exactly where I'm going. But the funny thing is, I don't.
But I act like I do, and that scares you, doesn't it?
Fear me because of my nature, I am more than the ovaries in my abdomen, or the breasts that grew from my chest.
Fear me because I am not you.
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
her arms cradle mountains,valleys, and streams, from the whispering forest to the deepest depths of the ocean, her heart aches, and her tears flow like waterfalls, as humanity ruins what she worked so hard to build.
her children, her animals and creatures, their homes torn apart by war and famine, our cries echo through her, breaking her pristine heart, yet she still helps with love and grace.
for she is our mother, the creator of life, but fragile, like petals on a wind-swept willow tree, she hopes that her children would one day understand, that she is not infinite and boundless.
but as war continues, she still intertwines her fingers with ours, pleading, begging for us to remain pure, and as she protects the innocent, the strife and destruction shall burn.
so let us remember the vows we once gave, when the world was brand new and polished, to honor her beauty and to protect and cherish her, for in honoring Mother Earth, we honor our own existence.
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
primordial god of vice and sin, born from disobedience, their whispers spread, where darkness swells and where shadows reign, a titan born from a void, from its formless depth, to its churning abyss.
from corruption's womb, the cosmos were born, a tapestry of stars, it devours all with unyeilding force, and in it's madness energies collide, for corruption knows no mercy, no remorse.
we are mere puppets on display, dancing to the tune of corruption's aura, controlled by threads and vows. let us pray for dawn, to bring us back.
entwining hearts, where virtues sleep, where the wicked play and the innocent falter, a place where honor withers and morality stings, like a stab to the heart, corruption infects us all.
oh, god of twisted desire, extend me your hand, so that corruption does not ruin me.
“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.” ― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
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