Poetry

I surrender to her, a snake

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I surrender to her a snake it wasn’t even the markings, nor the newfound jagged edges that decorated the pieces to my innocence, nor the green tint that replaced the blue within me. the oceans emptied and the grass grew greener. it was never the coils, the constricting and the hissing, the insatiability of a … Read more

Hilda

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Hilda i was too young to keep up with time sitting in Hilda’s lap while she brushes her hair i was too deaf to care for her words my eyes on my sneakers as her whispers faded away my blissful hums glazed over my thoughts my mind, too naive to draw lines between dots i … Read more

Vibrancy

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Vibrancy In response to painting Yellow-Red-Blue by Wassily Kandinsky The doorway to our world  shines brightly in the overhead lights. The shapes swirl in defiance, crisscrossing over one another, blending colors like wax melting in the sun, fused by helplessness– being dragged to our world that’s filled with rage, violence, and hatred. Their world is … Read more

Compact Soul, Hollow House

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Compact Soul, Hollow House To be a compact entity is to never exist. Never to touch the glistening baseboards, Or the still wet to the touch walls, Or even the cobwebs, Not even the spiders need to know of your existence. But you? Tiny tin soul, Tarnished with rust, Sharpened by quickly thrown quarrels, Why … Read more

Simple

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simple A slow-burn, simplistic existence, unwavering in its unsteadiness. Sometimes, hours last minutes; and some minutes-hours. A book read by candlelight, a slow dance in the full-moon’s light. A red-eye flight, under star speckled night sky. A slow-burn, simplistic existence. Vinyl record on the turntable, the final minutes of a sunset, long Friday nights out, … Read more

The Poet

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The Poet To ease his ever restless nerves a neurotic writer sits at his notebook He looks to past works with dissatisfaction. a grip tightens on his chest while he looks for new ideas and new feelings, something to build on, some world to escape to. Thrashing a pen with intense strokes the poet seeks … Read more

The Big City

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The big city I went to New York a few weeks ago I didn’t have much fun there The buildings blocked the view of the sun No one cared to look at anyone else The people were all smoking the city itself exhaled cigarette fumes and spat up bile from its sewer grated lungs It … Read more

Our Colors, Their Colors

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Our COlors, Their colors Maroon passes the window and I wonder whether, for a single, miraculous moment, I have been taken to another hour, so many years earlier; to another bus, so many miles away. No. These blazers are not the same as the ones we loathed when we lived in blue. Now, the blue … Read more

Bougainvillea

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Bougainvillea bougainvillea becomes me with its shiny leaves and flamingo-tinted petals. i feel them reaching through the cuts upon my knees; their thorny bits sprout from my scalp jut from my gums, pierce my skin, and i think, what did i ever do to deserve this? but it’s the vine with its pretty outside and … Read more

we bare bloodied teeth and wish to be kissed

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we bare bloodied teeth and wish to be kissed

Mya Sweeney

5 minute read

Tune In
Tune In
Teach this 
i was born stained in red,
basking in the color of blood and furious fires,
feet charred black from dipping into the embers, licking
flames,
and smiling with viciousness seeping from the points of my
teeth.
i was born not to be a lover but to be a fighter,
to scream battle cries and throw insults
instead of whispering ballads and gifting compliments
the way you do to me.
i was born from a mother tired of fighting,
tired of running and tired of fighting
to preserve a youth that was ripped from her hands,
left with nothing more than stale air and poisoned water.

you were born cleansed in white,
swimming in a divine color built only for gods and snow,
your palms glued together and your tongue out
to taste a purity i never had the privilege of consuming
into a sinful bloodstream.
you were born to love and to give,
to sing your woes and kiss your thoughts goodnight
instead of burning those who wronged you
the way i have done my entire life.
you were born from a mother ready to fight,
a mother who said yes when she wanted so desperately to say 
no.
when she wanted to scream her midnight words and let her 
throat run raw
but instead gifted you the fire that was put out within her so 
long ago.

we were born in both sin and prayers,
water and fire, repelling and compelling,
wishing we had everything our eyes wandered to,
but knowing that it is a butterfly.
a thing so majestic to a chipped eye
but too quick for our tired hands to catch.
but we were birthed with red for teeth,
blood and rage growing and biting what we want most.

so we bare our bloodied teeth and wish to be kissed,
while knowing we are about to feast on a butterfly,
yearn for the white in a person’s teeth and the purity
we lack deep in our bones.
we bare our bloodied teeth and wish to be kissed,
using iron fists instead of velvet gloves,
hit rather than caress,
push because we cannot pull what our eyes wander to,
what our hearts beat so mercilessly for.

but we bare our bloodied teeth and wish to be kissed
by one another because we both have what we want.
and blood may mingle with blood,
sin may mix with sin,
but we have each other’s prayers on the tips of our tongues
and purity is in the eye of the beholder,
but sin mixed with blood is tasted in our lips.

but i think we were born
longing to taste that scarlet metal
on the skin of our lips
and the tips of our tongues
because who else is born with red for teeth
and wishes to be kissed?