I live

And breathe

inside this pink haven

A place where everything seems possible.

A person

outside of here

groans and moans

So much, I wish I could soothe her pain.

It’s hard

to be strong

for someone else.

But I try.

Because anything’s possible, right?

Right.

A tiny head bursting forth.

A loud cry held in for months.

Tiny lungs breathing. Tiny eyes squinting.

A mother's pain subsiding at the joy of holding such a babe.

And, to think, I almost never was.

A woman travailing in unknown ailment.

A doctor providing medicine that shouldn't be.

At the discovery of why, it appeared too late.

The words slid from his lips; "Abort it."

So, you see, I almost never was.

A persistent new mother and father saying: "No."

A couple embracing the idea of parenthood.

An attorney advising to hope for the worst-

To have a valid case of malpractice.

Apparently, I almost never was.

A world plotting to kill an innocent life.

A basket of fruit uneaten.

A rollercoaster ride turned down.

Budding young love fighting to protect an even younger sprout.

A shame to think I almost never was.

But, at long last, a healthy girl.

Defying killers' endeavors since fetal state.

A miracle at first breath,

And still defying odds today.

And, to think, I almost never was.

No one told me how I got here.

It's dark in here.

If I only had a flashlight.

But, I don't even know what a flashlight is.

I keep getting weird stuff pumped into me.

It tastes good though.

Need to stretch out,

but there isn't much room here.

I can hear voices.

Something about it being time.

Time for what?

Wait! Something is going on!

What is that?

Something is coming near me!!

It's grabbing my head

and my butt

(how do I know what they are called?)

This thing, whatever it is, is pulling me,

taking me out of this dark place.

I'm seeing light. Hurts my eyes.

Have to keep them closed.

OW!

This thing just slapped my butt,

and what is all this smelly, oily stuff?

It's all over me!

I need a bath, big time.

More talking.

"Isn't he beautiful, George."

"He sure is, Grace."

I'm beautiful? What does that mean?

"Let's call him George, after you."

Wow! I have a name!

Ah ... what's a name?

moonlight from the window

illuminated fingerprints

painted blood-stained glass

casted shadows intertwined

on the white concrete wall

her dark shadow i can’t erase

stone-paved road under the

bleeding soles of my bare feet

left a trail as red as her lipstick

leading to where the quiet sky

kissed the drunk waves of the

sapphire ocean under a galaxy

starlit depths of her shadow

my empty body dissolving

in cold waves crystals break

for her i’ll di s a p p e a r

dreaming in these waters

as i drown myself to life

- deathetix

Spring had awakened

before Dawn,

who was slow to slip above

her quilted spread,

having been kissed

by Winter’s spearmint lips

&

freezing temperatures

as she rested

on the cusp

of the earth’s equinox.

Like tip-toe steps

on chilled tile flooring,

she crept atop

the fertile hills

that were blanketed

with dewy grass

that stood, starched

by the bite

of the early hours,

before being warmed

in the orange-pekoe tea

poured from

Sun’s vernal carafe.

Regardless of the absence

of florid, watercolor fields

dowsing the blank canvas,

(stripped by

snow and ice

like turpentine),

the smallest of seeds

would soon blossom

with an indescribable

array of glory.

Though night

had slipped away,

quietly and without fanfare,

the unfurling colors

of sun’s morning stretch

caressed the umber hues

that had shaded

the Red Rock mountains

and flooded the canyons

below her

with glimmers of gold,

interlacing

the naked branches

of Oak and Sycamore trees

as they flanked

the riverbed between them.

Still,

day’s arrival

was cloaked in silence

equal to that

of night’s departure.

Sunrise,

given the power

to awaken life

(absent a voice

or beating heart)

scored the dust and ash

with her ethos

as a branding iron,

all without a sound,

while striking her wand

to beckon Spring’s

small beginnings,

(all that had been bound

within bud and blossom)

to play in unison,

one symphony,

The Orchestration of Life.

Summer was witness

to the blessing

of the former months

as long days

matured garden

and founts

for Fall’s bountiful blessings,

marked

by a pregnant

Harvest moon,

stalling in its ascent

so as to appear

lazily sleeping

atop beds of wheat fields

and bails of hay,

yet,

burning as a fiery flame

atop the wick

of a hurricane lamp,

fueled with oil,

as it consumed

the invisible ether

with its amber-hued appetite.

The lunar lambency

was a near likeness

to the setting Sun,

who,

being closed

beneath the casket

of cresting waves

to be laid to rest,

(buried in

horizon’s grave)

would soon

be smothered

like a candle

falling prey

to the brass snuffer.

It was in motherhood

that Autumn was born.

As her body

intuitively gave way

to the life of another,

she realized

her purpose

in that moment of time.

She was born.

For this.

The radiance

of her love and joy

was immeasurable

and

all the splendor

of nocturne

&

nature

could not compare

to the depths

of the attachment

felt

as she gazed at herself,

cradled,

in the yet to be tinted,

gibbous, onyx eyes

of her newborn babe.

An unmatched beauty

emanated

from the eternal bonds

of body and soul,

woven together,

marking the beginning

of a new season

&

coinciding

with the death

of another.

There,

nestled in her once barren arms,

she saw the tiny seed

of love;

a love so strong

that it would bear fruit

beyond her years

and in many ages

to come.

Instinctively,

enrobed in her new nature

and crowned

with gentle strength,

she quieted the cries

of her infant child

at the breast of sustenance

while dreaming

of the future days

that her daughter

would be stirred

by that same fiery passion;

one so powerful

that she could find

few words

worthy enough

for its description.

The warmth

of her bare skin,

vibrating

with the melody

of her fluttering heart

would suffice

to quell the shock

of her little one’s

translation

from the spiritual

to the temporal

in a ceremony of water

&

baptismal expression,

accompanied

with its angelic attendants,

as it also satisfied

her lack of words

to express

her newfound adoration.

Evening drew near

&

with one final breath,

the day exhaled

and the setting sun

perfused

the Prussian sky

with a scarlet blaze

while

one crimson embolus

extinguished, forever,

Autumn’s breath of life.

She was born

the day she died —

inhaling the scent

of her new-mother’s milk

on the breath

of her precious child

&

exhaling her spirit

to the heavens

for eternity

to shine upon

her offspring:

her moon

in its fullness

fed by

a Mother’s

never ending light.

Thus,

like the delicate balance

of creation

&

seasons,

their harmony

lives on,

day to night

&

night to day,

in the reflections

of rutilant sunsets

&

morning’s auroral ambience

mirrored in

Autumn’s ethereal ember —

an infinite,

endearing

love,

rising

beyond the shores

of time

and tides,

perpetually

&

with fortitude:

the marvel

of her maternal presence

displayed in

a celestial

manifestion

of kindred bodies,

bound,

in one accord

&

serenaded

by the immortal

Moonlight Sonata.

You kicked her belly

repeatedly

after you knocked

her out.

Cramming a

wooden broom handle

in her vagina,

“IS THIS HELL?”

wanting to kill me

screaming and shouting

trying to FORCE

me out.

But I held on

to the beat

of my own

heart.

You gave me the

name

“Carla” Strong Woman,

that I AM!!!

Hear me Roar

I am Wise

No need to shout.

Peace

CJ Electra

#poetry

From the depths

Of a motherly

Amniotic sac,

With the richest

Cushions of the world-

The uterine walls,

And a mother's blood,

Rises the beats

Of a new heart.

The placenta

Holds the life,

Securely,

Feeding,

Nourishing,

Helping the life

Grow.

As joyous signals

From the little life

Trigger a flood

Of oxytocin

And a new battle

Is declared,

With each second

Valued immensely,

The birth canal yawns

To push a life

Into the world,

On the surgery table,

Under dazzling lights.

A journey of a cell,

One life-

Kick-starts

In a world

Outside the womb

As the last anchor,

The umbilical cord

Snaps.

I'm a souvenir of misplaced priorities, handed down from the miscalculation of desire and deciet.

A storm beneath sea, rising like a mountain above pierced clouds. As time rippled space. Her rain broke as she thundered for wind. Cracked the gates with lightning arcs. As the thunder decibels peaked, the mountain slowly collapsed and shrank. Stumbling forth like a rainbow that as tainted the sky, horizon. The burst of air that flooded my lungs, made me spill the secrets of tears.

It was loud.

It was wet.

It was what I didn't expect it to be.

It was... Me!

i was cut from

my mother,

ripped away from

her.

stolen away from

my dreamlike paradise,

warm, surreal,

nurturing oblivion.

the the scapel

came,

nearly kissing my face,

opening a door

that wasn’t

meant to exist.

it was my divine

intervention.

the passing into

the next world.

but the next world

was not

a

better

one.

it was frigid,

and it was loud.

i did not exist

alone,

therefore

this world was

tainted.

my lungs

swimming in

my ribcage,

jolted awake.

a breath.

so sharp.

like a knife

down my

throat.

there was another

instinct.

an urge.

to show my disgust,

to scream at them

to put me back.

so i cried.

i cried

for three months.

I was born with a curse.

No, that's not quite right. I had the curse before I was born. Now how do I know that? How do I? I don't know.

I'm probably the only person alive who remembers being born.

Maybe because it hurt so much.

It was dark, dark and warm. Quiet, too, for a little while. But then, amidst the dark and the warm and the comfort, a long, piercing wail cut through everything. I've never felt such pain. My newly formed, squishy body was being ripped apart by knives. I knew nothing but pain and loud screams.

And then a knife cut through the darkness, and bathed me in acid light.

Every breath tore through me like a hurricane, although I couldn't think that at the time, because I didn't know what breath was, or hurricanes, or metaphors. All I knew was pain and noise.

And then, all at once, there was no more pain. And the noise was silent. For a moment. But then the noise was replaced by new noise— voices, murky and distant like water, but still sharp and loud and painful.

And then all the noise stopped, except for a man in the corner who made a quiet noise— crying. And slowly my warmth faded. The body around me was cold and still. That's not right. I don't know how I knew, but even then I knew something was wrong. The air around me felt like lead.

That's my curse.

I feel what those around me feel. When a friend is sad, I am sad, but multiplied by a billion. I don't just feel sad, I feel Sad. With a capital letter.

But today it ends. Today I will have no more curse. Because now I know the truth:

My mother had the curse, too. She passed it on to me. And there's only room for one empath, so she passed on.

Now I'm relinquishing my gift. Selling it. I can't live with this curse anymore. Too much pain. Too much dark. Not enough light.

I'm sorry, my baby. I won't be around to name you, or raise you. I won't be around to help you manage your curse. But chin up, every curse can be passed on.

"Ms. Warren, push. Push! Just a little further!" I scrunch my body up like a crumpled wad of paper. Finally I experience firsthand the pain my mother went through. Then, a wail. The wail of my child. It won't be long now. Soon, my curse will be lifted.

"Ms. Warren, congratulations." Congrats? What? That's not what's supposed to happen. I shouldn't be alive. I—

"What do you want to name her?" It takes all my energy to sit up, and as I look into the blue, blue eyes of my baby, the perfect name comes to mind. It's the name of the feeling blossoming in my chest, a name that originated from my home country of Italy:

Amadora: the gift of love.

I might still carry my curse, and maybe Amadora will as well, but we will carry it together. And for all the pain it brings, she will always know the one feeling that makes it all worth it:

Love.