March 15, 2015

I deal in diction, in dried ink

words finely chopped into

a stew of sentence structure and

a plot, should you find yourself

needing a little reprieve.


Though what I convey is

concrete and moist with life

your eager eyes enlighten it

to a heavenly post of the most

innocent belief.

You make me feel like dancing.

Child, do not worry about

the thorns at the corner of every page,

slitting the red berry juice from your

trembling appendages.

Just don’t let your blood

obscure my precious words.


My dry limbs are instructions to living,

a monologue deprived of stage directions.

You, however, can melt my words

into that salty gray fluid which makes

your tongue curl and your fingers twitch.


I have been dead a long time.  But you

dutifully uphold the illusion, propping me

into the wet, churning world.  Your only advantage lies

in which body part you were born from.


Even while being slowly eaten on the shelf,

I remain stained to you, another victim

of the virus.

“Mine” is a possessive pronoun.

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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

JRaye This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Mar. 23, 2015 at 6:32 pm
Whoa...well, now, this is something else. How do I put it in words...It felt like this poem was a witch casting a spell on me, you turned classic literature into an evil sorceress, does that make sense? You personified it so cleverly! Favorite line: "slitting the red berry juice from your trembling appendages/Just don't let your blood obscure my words". I'm SO surprised this did not get an editors choice :)
readaholic This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Mar. 24, 2015 at 11:43 am
Thank you very much! My English teacher actually didn't understand the "red berry juice" line, so it's nice to hear that someone did!!
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