Cards Contra Me

Confessionalism

The cake is boiling

It`s like Oliver Wilde

Writing stories in his brother`s grave-sweet demise, grainy madness

 

I`ve defaulted into a deliberate shawl- cold and unfamiliar

 

My mother proved me at risk again-

Always nobody`s daughter

Always considered a victim,

Always talked about when gods are involved with her oneness and idiosyncrasies.

 

He claimed the demon was “I”.

Yes, her deos,

  Yet a lily like me spots stones from miles away

I smelled the milk of regret when I walked from my car, a sixth sense ice-picked into me spiritually,

When I strode into the house.

           The frigid hellos,

           The sting in my knees from ten hours of straight work

           Their looks of plotting against me

Going to sleep I can taste their lies

 

Matrise meae

 

It`s as if I want to conjure the she-devil and tell her she was right.

Possessionem familiae meae disgraced me.  

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

man! ..reading puts such a heaviness on me Kleio ... confessional poetry can be a big risk but this is so pure and will haunt me ..especially during these Holidays .. my daughters (like many fathers) are my special angels ..it is simply so ..and this poem squeezes blood tears deep inside ... the Latin you used is just close enough to understand without looking it up .. a big hug going to you right now my friend ...really happy to see you posting :)
E.