There is some kind of madness in the mundane.

We sleep together, have sex together, grocery shop together, drink

coffee together, sit side by side while we work on our passions,

dreams, careers… We put our babies to sleep; you take her and

I take him… while our oldest watches fresh prince in the living room.

We laugh and eat together; argue and cry. Yet through all of the routine,

all of the stress, all of the silly that is me and that is you… we love.

We love and it never seems to run out or become boring.

It never stops “fitting.” It’s not always full of passion or lust or brilliant

excitement but you make a joke and I laugh, I cry and you hold me,

you worry and I order our favorite take out…We love.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than a Flower

#poetry #poet #poem #poems #prose #love #lovestories #lovepoems #writer #amwriting #writing

Its a strange thing, knowing that you’re going to lose your mind; you can’t fight inevitability.

Its a strange thing, knowing that you’re going to lose your mind; you can’t fight inevitability. You can feel it, watch it, experience every last bit of it as your sanity crumbles, and its so torturously slow.

The giggles that leave my scratchy throat sound like baby soft skin rubbing against sandpaper, feels about like that as well, but I don’t particularly care considering my brain is leaking from my ears in chunks and globs.

It’s a bit sad, not for you, but for all those who watch. For some odd reason they feel that choice is the only way to truly be human. What am I, then? An animal?

But animals can choose.

Something inanimate, then? Or have I simply ceased to exist?

You regret agreeing to this. Everything happening is your own fault... but a part of you knows this is the only way. If you hadn’t agreed to the torture, Amyah would be here, in your place. The blood pooling on the ground would be hers.

You close your eyes, and she is there, instead, the ends of her dress trailing through the blood, and you regret having wished for anything different, because it is your burden to bear. And while people are the only animals to ignore instinct, humans, she believes, are the (It cut off there, I don't know what they meant to say lol)

If you tune out the pounding footsteps, you can almost hear the whisper of wind chimes beyond her bedroom window, feel the warm press of a coffee mug against your smile. Amyah always forgot the sugar. You would wrinkle your nose and she would laugh until you smiled, too. Every morning, when I wake up, I feel a bit more beffudled, and the confusion lasts longer. The lasting effects, following me all day, take up more room in my mind, and take the place that holds all rational thought for their own.

I stop myself before I think anymore. That will trap me into this spiraling world of nothingness I call my head and my mind.

Stop myself from thinking because the only way to get through this is to become crazy. I will lose my head by my own free will. But not right now, when they aren’t here I like to pretend to be normal.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Sparkles flew through the air, lights dazzled the windows and blinded my eyes, the air was still with expectation, and time seemed to stop.

For a moment, I was struck with the beauty of it.

But then the world exploded, and it all became ugly

Suddenly, the sparkles turned into window shards that pierced my skin, the lights were the other cars that were swerving to miss us, the air became heavy with the realization of what was happening, and time seemed to be moving faster and faster but I was frozen in place.

At last, it all stopped, and everything became silent once again.

“Help,” I called out feebly. I tried to move, but couldn’t find the strength to lift myself. I gripped the handle on the roof of the car, but only succeeded in letting out a gasp as pain exploded in my wrist.

I held my hand gingerly against my bruised side, and it was only then that I saw the mark I had left on the handle.

A perfect handprint, soaked in dark red blood.

I couldn’t hold back my whimper as I finally looked around the car.

So much blood.

It was everywhere.

On the dash, seats, steering wheel, seatbelts, and on the little pieces of glass. It was on my face, tightening up my skin as it dried; and in my hair, making it heavy and reeking with a smell that was making me sick.

“Please,” I croaked again. A scream was building in my chest as my hysteria grew but it somehow stayed lodged in my throat.

Rain and blood fell to the same beat, dripping down on every exposed surface. A sigh escaped my lips, turning into the gaspings of a sob.

I was going to die here; scared, cold, alone..

Alone.

Was I alone?

Some hazy part of my mind could remember a hand gripping mine, moments before everything shattered.

I glanced over - and there they were; a shadowed form crumpled down in the driver's seat. I couldn't see their face and it was making my heart race once again.

Gritting my teeth, I gathered what was left of my fleeting strength to pull myself over to the form. I gripped a hand on their shoulder, already so cold to the touch, and turned them towards me.

Horror and bile rose up my throat as the face caught in the moonlight.

It was my own.

I spent my

youth screaming

“I am not a child!”

When all I

really meant was,

“I matter.”

Sometimes I feel like I’m still screaming, like my throat is still raw from trying to explain in broken breathing vocals why I am sad, why I am angry, why I am still unsure when it comes to what love looks like. I’m still just trying to find the validity in my feelings, in the sobs caught in my chest, in the nightmares that still haunt me.. I’m still trying to teach myself that I matter.⁣

⁣

ReBecca DeFazio⁣

More Than a Flower

#poetry #childhood #trauma #poem #poet #writer #amwriting #writing

There were blue skies today, I think.

Somewhere, high behind the grey-on-grey.

I see a rain starting that won’t end,

And darkness, from which there will be no reprieve.

Where the streetlights will become our suns,

And the passing headlights our moons,

For all that shines will soon be washed away.

The southbound bird knows,

As he takes upon his leisurely flight.

But all these words are wings of wax,

And each time the poem ends

I find that day has surrendered freshly

To that cruel night.

_____________________________

Gadriel sighed, looking at the cards in his hand. It was his bet: two to call. His hand was undoubtedly shit, yet he hated the thought of letting Yarochk win.

"Five," Gadriel stated, and pushed the chips into the center of the table.

Damien tossed his cards aside, refusing to join the hand.

"Melandre?" asked the silvery, seductive tongue of Yarochk. It was clear she wanted to play.

Gadriel found himself enamored by the starlight dress Melandre had worn to the game. The black fabric twinkled as the small points of light orbited clockwise. By the time Gadriel had composed himself, Melandre had also folded her cards.

Yarochk turned to Gadriel and offered a honeyed smile laced with poisonous intent. "Five it is."

As more cards were revealed, neither Gadriel nor Yarochk placed further bets. It had reached the last round of betting when Gadriel decided to muscle Yarochk out of the hand. "Three more," he said, and pushed the chips into the center of the table.

"Three?" Yarochk repeated, picking up her cards to survey them once more. She quickly focused her emerald eyes on Gadriel, studying his emotionless face. "I will raise you to ten." Yarochk simply separated out the ten chips into a smaller pile in front of her main stack of currency.

Gadriel pressed his fingers against his bearded chin to ponder the game state. He rarely saw Yarochk raise a bet the way she did this late in a hand; it was the kind of move that stumped him. After a few moments of agonizing over the decision, brazen animosity got the best of him. Gadriel shoved seven more chips into the pot as he grunted, "Call."

The cards instantly turned face up and Gadriel's caught fire, quickly burning to ash; Yarochk had goaded him into playing a weaker hand. As Gadriel glared at his rival, the chips in the center of the table turned into silvery ribbons as they snaked through the air in Yarochk's direction, appearing to pass into her body to be absorbed. She turned to Gadriel with a large smirk on her face. "I relish the taste of your collection of souls. They're always so... filling."

Gadriel slammed the table over his frustration.

"Oh, honey," whispered Melandre to Gadriel. "Don't worry, there's billions more to play with."