Mudpie This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

January 20, 2011
Sad, masochistic human,
cutting yourself to pieces
to derive rapture
the rapture we used to feel
from watching butterflies
making mud pies
lying face up in the water
we could be flying
with the butterflies
we so gleefully watched
flitting freely
above the mudpie oven
a few boards
and a screen
set in the sun to allow them dry
before we placed them on leaf plates
and presented them to parents who praised with mock enthusiasm
Don’t try to forget the years we spent
promising “Till death do us part”
The fake marriages we played at,
me wearing moms veil
you wearing dads fancy dress top hat
You always kissed me sweetly on the cheek
when time to say goodnight had come
and then we’d use our walkie-talkie’s
to talk until even the moon had set
I sung you lullabies,
you told me of the things we would do
when we really were married
how we would travel the world
selling mudpies everywhere we stopped
collecting butterflies
so we could lay out in the sun
on the porch
at our house by the lake
and watch them in the sky above us
At my 9th birthday
you gave me a pair of wings
painted with pink, orange, and yellow
a rainbow strapped to my back
as I ran around the yard
you pushed me on the swing
we would imagine
that I was flying.
That was when you began to change
you no longer ran about with me
you wouldn’t talk to me at night
The sound of dead static
on my walkie talkie
scared me half to death
I started to notice more changes
you were wearing black too often
you were smiling
not often enough
You gave me a CD
for my 12th birthday
Yelling and screaming blasted through my speakers
when I was 14,
I noticed you had scars on your arms
when I was cold
and you still had enough heart to lend me your coat
You thought you were draining your problems
when you made the cuts
but you were only draining your soul
I tried to help you
but I didn’t know what to do
I felt so useless
When you had been there
for every little problem in my life
you had guided me through
I wasn’t sure how I could help you
wasn’t sure what to do about your tears
and suffering
When we were 15,
you told me it made you happy
it helped you feel good
and that you didn’t do it that often
only when you really felt bad
you said it made you feel in control
I was so devoted
I stayed by you
each time you cut yourself
held your hand
looking away from the blood
using my jacket to stop the flow
wrapped gauze around your arms
and then bit my tongue
as I had to punch you in the eye
so it looked like you were in a fight
at your funeral
they say
“And Carrie, her best friend died when she was 16,”
I said no,
my best friend died when I was 9

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This article has 8 comments. Post your own now!

bambam said...
May 6, 2011 at 11:52 am
the flow is a bit odd in places, but it just helps describe the akwardness that must insue between the girl and her friend as things get worse and worse with him.
poprox said...
May 6, 2011 at 11:50 am
O.........M..........GREATNESS!!!!!  You are absolutely a prolific writer, I've read your other works and they are all amazing.  I dream I had just a fraction of your talent... alas....  you are truly gifted.... I connect very well to this poem.
Sally Sunshine said...
Mar. 28, 2011 at 3:06 pm


I connected immediately with this work even though I have never been through something like this

You are truly a gifted writer, keep writing :)

mariacasanova said...
Mar. 9, 2011 at 11:29 am
OMG I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!!!!  
coriewoods said...
Mar. 9, 2011 at 11:18 am
This is absolutely brilliant and beautiful, I would love to read this at a slam if I may?
NestingDoll said...
Mar. 2, 2011 at 11:33 am

(I meant god)

This is truely beautiful

gaga4president replied...
Mar. 4, 2011 at 10:30 am

oH my goodness thank you,

I honestly thought this poem would be ill recieved, 

it sounds very good when you slam it, you can check it out on youtube soon under microwavemacaronni

NestingDoll said...
Mar. 2, 2011 at 11:32 am
O gog this poem just about made me cry
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