Athena

Athena Jan 2022

Grass grew through concrete edges
of the parking lot
like the hard edges forming around my heart -
calcium deposits of emotional damage
that build up over time -
Corrosive and self-destructive.

Athena Jan 2022

Insufficient Funds

Your face is supposed to make me feel safe
Your smell is supposed to remind me of milk and warmth
Your voice is supposed to be soothing
But everything about your presence brings me anxiety
and it's your fault.
I can't sleep at night
because I toss and turn with memories
running through my head
like the methodical twisting and turning of
the French braids you used to put my hair into -
Memories of times when you failed to protect me
and when you helped hurt me
and denied I was ever hurt to begin with.
I see you attempting to atone, and I feel guilty for not
seeing things your way
I want to forgive you as easily as I forgive the cat
for watching me cry
The difference is that the cat is a cat,
blameless without morals or human sentience
and you were my mother.

Athena Dec 2021

The Respect of the Modern Man

When do we get respect?
We're told from a young age
to respect our elders,
to obey - not just listen
We're told we don't know better
because we're kids
Then we become adults
and still, we're treated as less.
What is respect to the modern man?
Is it blind obedience
and a fear of arguments
in all forms,
or is it the sensation I get when I see women supporting women?
But you don't respect that.
Actually, the idea of respect that I've been taught versus
the reality I have experienced
is showing me more and more
that when older people
demand 'respect'
they usually mean fear
and complacency.
But I'm not afraid anymore.
I know what respect is.
You do, too, or else you wouldn't spend
so much time teaching us
that respect is synonymous with terror.
And I think that you spend so much time
demanding our fear
because you are afraid of us.
You are terrified of
the girl with colored hair,
the boy who wears a dress,
the woman who demands autonomy,
the man who stays home with his kids,
the artist who sings about the abuse you dished out,
the little babies sleeping in their gender-neutral rooms.
You are afraid, and we're not.
But it's basic respect, isn't it?

Athena Dec 2021

Eat Your Words

Once upon a night I wandered
Queried deeply, questioned, pondered
Lay awake in bed, not dreaming -
All the while, seeming, seeming
to hold this letter in my palm
A thorny tongue with many prongs
I ask myself what none had before
all the while staring at a closed, blackened door
I ask if life is a series of notes
left under the door, the blackened door
Oh, if it is, I crave, yearn, live for more
The door handle, burnt amber, twists and turns
I stare as it opens
and my bedroom burns
Leaving only my skeleton, crisp and hallow
with the note on my tongue, ready to swallow
the words that were written so sweetly, simply
Even as my heart beats not and my wrists hang limply
I spy through these eyes that aren't turning, turning
a man in the door that was burn, burn, burning
He is cloaked all in red, not black, nor white
And I do see his face - with my half-melted eye
He does not reassure me, he lures me in
and I follow, words eaten, and question again.

Athena Dec 2021

Objection

Life did not always feel this way;
like death with expanding lungs
The girl could remember brighter things
as sunlight on burned skin
and laughter
and contentment, if not happiness
Such things that roosted in the loft
of hair and skin and bone -
like quiet
and hatred
and sadness;
winged creatures that refused to fly
and left footprints
like scars on her brain
She lived; her skin itched with it
This girl made of paper
with a heart made of water
who faced a truth that was subjective -
and on this night as light as sun
she held the stars in her palms
and wished for dark
She asked herself why words,
like glass
needed to be concise and clear
when feelings are never such
and faces never so stark
Could the ink of her thoughts
be destroyed by the water of her love
that spoke in tongues
and waged one-sided war with her face?
Where was the self she sought to keep,
the riches she was taught to reap?
The garden meant to be her life;
instead grew up a barren sky
She asked these questions no one heard
to the shadow of a bird
who took flight at once
and sang her grief to the trees,
taking credit for her spoken pain.

This work may not be shared or otherwise used/repurposed without my written consent.

Athena Dec 2021

Blue

Blue
They call it the color of sorrow
and use it to depict
deepest sadness and mournful
sentiments
:::
Blue
The color of tears
The color of the stormy sea
The color of veins in ice cold skin
:::
I say that Blue is not the color of sorrow
It is the color of the dress
she wore to her first date
It is the color of her eyes;
and don't they look like the sea?
:::
And the sea isn't sad - it's beautiful
and full of life, like her smile
when she sees her favorite flower;
Bluebells

Athena Dec 2021

Interlude

It's nighttime in this new place
where everyone feels at home.
In the dark, the lights of the city prosper
and laughter fills the streets
as bars empty out
and their patrons go home
You follow her;
not for a particular reason
You don't know her
none of her features strike you as familiar
or interesting
She was just there, where you were
and now you're going
to where she will be
She goes into her home
Safe, supposedly
You enter after her
unseen, unheard
until you strike
You are killing her
and she begs you to stay
so that she doesn't die
alone
...
You Leave