Tag Archives: poems

Good Girl

Do not call me a good girl.

It’s a name programmed in my brain.
It activates pain, it pushes me to perform
to the point that I go insane.
Else I’d catch a snowy storm
and raging hurricanes.

But I was so devoted. So hungry for validation,
for being doted on, and drowned in adoration.
So committed to gain approval.
Submitted myself, at every beck and call.
Just to feel safely small.
To float in a constellation of emotions.

But then free fall.
Like a rag doll.
After all
Left alone.

So do not call me a good girl.
Or baby girl,
or sweet little girl.
Or any girl at all–I’m a woman.

But
Do not call me YOUR woman.
I am not yours.
Nor do I want to be.
For I was his.
And look where that got me.

Ashes

She stood silently, watching her castle roared into a blaze.
Not by war, nor betrayal. She had brought the fire herself.
The flames danced before her, mesmerizing so,
despite the ruin in their wake.

No more banquets shall be held in this hall.
All wine evaporated into the air.

Why would a Queen burn her own throne, one may ask.
She stared, teary eyed.
I was cold, she said.

Gone were the cherry pies and rosemary lamb,
for all she could taste was ash.
And her clothes were frayed, but who fucking cares,
when the cinders keep her bare feet warm.

And on, the fire crackles, filling the night with its echoes.
She raised her face and gazed at the ashes of her crown,
flying up, up, up in the air.
Then she whispered a question.

Is this all there is?

The fire hissed,
but it did not answer.

Echoes

He came into my life like a fiery tornado I never saw coming. I thought I knew fire; I played with it, traced its edges, and let it flicker on my fingertips. But I guess I underestimated how much it could burn. How much I would burn.

His gaze lingered, smoldering against my skin. I could still feel it on my cheeks. His touch left embers around my neck, branding me in ways I couldn’t name. His love was like a wildfire. Feverish, unstoppable, a blaze so fierce it consumed me whole.

And fuck, wildfires don’t just burn, they roar. No. They roar, they crackle, they hiss, they fill all your senses until all your reality is them. But you know what’s worse? The deafening silence it left behind.

Cos now I walk through the ruins, haunted by the echoes of his fire. The scars on these trees. The ashed grass. The black smoke in the air. That ringing in my ears, the moment I realized I was alone.

Except, I could still hear him, loud and clear. Everywhere I look I can hear him… Or at least I wanted to.

But when I stepped forward, hoping to hear more clearly, all that answered was the echoes. Unforgiving, blaring, hollow. Remnants of something that once roared so loud.

I asked for a loud love.

Not to be left alone in the echoes.