19 Letters to Poetry

i

Dear Poetry,
                     
I have held you up to the light
And seen inside your birdcage lungs.
Did you know your skin is made of paper?

letters to poetry: 2 of 19by ~dreadful-star

ii

Oh Poetry,

At night I can swear I hear you choking on a broken metaphor, and I wonder if I should push it back down your throat or let nature take its course
By waiting until the phrase is stuck in just the right way so they can hear you whispering a true meaning,
Before you slip back

into a self-induced ink coma.

iii

Poetry! My Poetry,

What will you pull from me next?

iv

Poetry?,

I haven't heard from you in days.
Whisper through my pores and tell me another lie.

v

Poetry,

You are a strange creature with nine pretty legs,
The kind that everyone wants,
But pretty legs need pretty bones.

vi

I love you, Poetry,
You have shown me the meaning of long sleeves
And how destruction can be a form of creation.
You have created entire worlds-
Beautiful worlds..
                Filled with ugly people.

vii

Poetry!
I want you inside out
Between my fingers and at the brim of my lips.

Let me tear you apart and
De-format you

Because everything beautiful is never perfect
and my sex
is
        freeverse

vii

You're beautiful, Poetry,
Even after I have deflowered you and twisted your paper face..

You bled ink like ichor and
Flashed a smile for their benefit
  As I mutilated what I found inside..

ix

Why Poetry,
Are you so submissive?
You let them do whatever they want to the structure I have perfected..

You were beautiful in knots,
But they turned you into everyone else.

x

Let me explain something, Poetry,
They will remove your outer layers until they get down to the spine
And they will beat you and
Water you down until your meaning surfaces..

They will want you to annunciate every word,
But only I know of your speech impediment and the way you stutter like there's a mothbetween your lips.
               It is an insect language, written first by the god of liars. [i] 
[/i][i]
[/i]xi

Oh lost Poetry,
You have arms like mine.
Shining bruises
Tied to a chair with wrists crossed over a synthetic spine.
Just the type of virgin to mirror the moon
And like her you have a dark side.

xii

Speak Poetry,
I want to hear your many
(screeching)
voices. Like waves being scraped against the shore of your shoulder blade.

xiii

Poetry… shut up,
I'm tried of you whining over lost love and your addiction to self mutilation.

xiv

I hate you Poetry,
You have become ugly and
Can no longer use that excuse that it is art.

xv

They've fucked you you, Poetry,
You are the pre-incarnate whore of god.
Do you feel hollow yet?

I do.

xvi

Why must you lie, Poetry,
You speak of hideous things that you have never experienced..
"Rape" is a word much too casually thrown around.

xvii

Damnit Poetry,
You used to be the only way I could make mistakes.
You warmed my bones up to the fingernails
And I was young.

I used to care;
Now I'm just used.

iixx

You're dead, Poetry,
They've killed you.


ixx

I'm dead, Poetry,
But they couldn't identify the body.

You took my fingers and my teeth
And turned them into a clever stanza
At the sake of your creator being forgotten..

It's been hell,
Ava Pasnon

p.s. you were never worth my ashes.