The Cradle

Promising Young Woman

Baby wrapped in leaves of gold
As many gifts a child can hold
A mother who asked for relief
Bore herself a remedy

Over-fed and starved to death
Each one gets just half a breath
Pedestals then sticks and stones
Who said words won’t break my bones

You’ll go far child, run don’t crawl
Can’t stop until you’ve pleased them all
Promising young woman on a wall
Hanging like a portrait of Van Gogh

And now the crew is screaming
As she’s floating down the well
She was a promising young woman –
How’d she slip off of the rails

Running shoes

In my twenty years of age 
I have finally grown teeth
They cary all my ugly
And anger underneath

In my gut a pit flourished
Some type of heavy quartz
It’s bloom and rot I nourished
Until my breath ran short

Blood stains of a fallen saint
A promising young woman
Riddled in shame
Holiness only gets you so far
Until you ran the miles
But you don’t know who you are

Marigold

I’m the marigold
Rotting away
In the folds of your diary
Tainting the pages
I’m the dormant scream
In the back of your throat