Details |
Ally Mendoza Poem
Angry shouts echo off of plaster walls,
Painting them sickening shades of despair.
She tries to block the noise out;
But nobody seems to care.
The words aren’t meant for her ears,
She is not the one who the barbs are meant to sting,
But with their searing heat and deadly edge,
Her wounded-animal soul begins to sing.
A song of loss,
A song of mourning.
A song of pain,
A song of scorning.
She can’t fight the pain.
It’s much too real.
She just needs something;
Something to heal.
To heal the pain
And heal the hurt
And to bury a hatchet in the fresh-tilled dirt.
A knife in her hands;
A heart in her throat.
A lighthouse blinking out;
She can’t stay afloat.
The pain feels good;
The wounds are what heal her.
The knife’s deadly call;
Its revelry reels her.
She finally feels something;
Something more than pain.
She’s finally gotten something;
Something she thought she would never gain.
She’s got healing,
And she’s got closure.
But her sins are dangerous;
She can’t risk exposure.
So she slips into silence,
Never uttering a word.
She’s too far gone;
The lines are blurred.
Her mind is a frosted glass,
Her mind is her playground.
Her wrist is a canvas;
Her soul has drowned.
A paintbrush is in her hands,
Gleaming in the secret moonlight.
She’s given up;
It feels so good to lose the fight.
Her skin is the stone;
Her knife is the chisel.
She feels so strong…
She feels so brittle.
Their voices are in her head;
She carries their hearts in her hand.
She is dry-eyed now;
It is only OR - no and.
The blade touches her skin;
Their screams reach her ears.
If actions speak louder than words,
How come nobody hears?
Copyright © Ally Mendoza | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Ally Mendoza Poem
“Escape from the Gilded Cage”
Its bars are made of heartache;
Its gates of pure cruelty.
Her boredom paints the walls;
To insanity she pleads her fealty.
Her skin is bleached;
It has never been kissed by the sun.
She sits in her cage and bides her time,
Waiting for captivity to become undone.
Daylight unfurls its nasty claws,
Closing in on her.
She is a slave to the rays of sun,
Hoping for the lines to blur.
The light of day pierces her soul,
Its purity stirring her hate.
The light of day waxes and wanes,
Writing and sealing her fate.
Hour by hour she waits for night.
Waits for the cool caress of dark.
The chilled breath of blackened obscurity fans her face;
Its blanket curving over her in a lazy arc.
And in the deep black velvet,
Her imagination begins to soar.
For though the light kills her,
The dark breathes life into her forevermore.
Alas! The chariot of Apollo grasps the stars;
The hazy fingers of dawn grasp at the whisp of cloud.
Her dread rises with the sun -
Her cage awaits, tall and proud.
But in light’s harsh and rakish gaze -
In its unfeeling sea,
She clings desperately to driftwood memories of night’s sweet touch;
The fragrance of night’s fantasies.
Copyright © Ally Mendoza | Year Posted 2016
|