lesson

[Amanita Mary]

still working on it... suggestions very welcome and much appreciated.

black clothing grips my twisted back
tangled plump with weighted knots and demons offerings
and the opaque hose that twine up my misery thighs
shine bleak and my eyes sulk deeper
than crimson and raven's cries.
they enshroud a Doomsday foreshadow
shrugged and fucked and feeble coward sighs
~on this Black Tuesday
pointy-toed witch shoes hold my
unfolding vulnerability * teetering *
and the shiny world inside the stiletto heel
sparkles the glum surrounding me
reflects as hollow dull doldrums
making up the walls around.
all the while, she the drowning who cannot breathe
---is screaming--- I am screaming
flailing daggers and fiery flapping fairy wings
spreading the disease of my entrapment
i scorn and turn my flourescent cheeks
to the black dress and floor beneath squished feet
--- i lament --
and pour this negative energy out of me
give it back to the room from which it first invaded me
and resolve to realize that this place, this moment in space
- is raw and pure-standing
saving me from not knowing the lessons and size in everything
i will stack new wishes and dreams
and light upon this time
spent writhing and sighing and fighting
the divine.

 

[jameslovesyou]

"mother mary
can you sleep tonight?
i know you bear the burden
as your babies fight
their own light"

a quote from a friends song.

it is obvious to me that you do understand the size in everything...if not then...for sure now. i love the way this piece starts so dark and ends so light....somehow keeping the darkness.

you are so loved.

 

[(Wordy)]

Yeah, the ending really hits the core of what (it seems) you're saying:

i will stack new wishes and dreams
and light upon this time
spent writhing and sighing and fighting
the divine.

i love the way this piece starts so dark and ends so light....somehow keeping the darkness

Likewise. And the description of clothing really grounds the darkness, conjuring a vivid femme fatale figure. The language used speaks of witchery.

This phrase jumped out at me too; it's one of those with unusual expression, a kind of dreamlike logic to it:

she the drowning who cannot breathe

As a suggestion, maybe the 'divine' in the poem needs more of an embodiment, something more concrete that the protagonist is fighting against? Or perhaps you could describe the situation a bit more explicitly - why is darkness challenged by the divine in this case? At the moment it seems to be happening in a bit of a vacuum? You could consider involving a sexually charged real-world situation to create more of a sense of drama / cause and effect? Maybe you had such a situation in mind when writing this, but if so, I think we need to hear more about it...