And here we are, another week, and another poetry piece, and I am not even sorry in the least.

It seems that Odyssey, as well as Instagram and Tumblr have been the only mediums to share my art and I intend to fully utilize them. So here we go folks, another set of poetry.

You all must remember that I have been writing- both stories and poetry- since I was thirteen, and over the course of seven years I have managed to write over 200 plus poems; it wasn't until this year that I felt even remotely comfortable to even share my pieces.

The seven years I spent feeling this secret shame for my work have been a mistake; I shouldn't have even been ashamed because my work tended to be dark and raw.

But, I think that is why it was so much easier to hide them away in the deep corners of my room and on dead poetry websites that no one ever came across because no one I knew would ever see the words that came from the most personal part of me; they couldn't see what I had hidden away. Obviously that changed this year, and I have gotten the confidence to show that part of myself with those I care about.

The poems in this particular set are very important to me, they all represent a change in my poetic style and direction; it was when I became free from conventional poetry and just wrote what I felt and thought without an regards to style; there are even several where I write in both English and French because I felt that it'd be interesting to see the two languages flow in one poem.

So, enjoy yet another glimpse into my soul. En avant!

I. moon pain

La lune cache sa douleur derrière un manteau d'ètoiles
comme je mine masquer derrière un sourire peint
the moon hides her pain behind a cloak of stars
as I hide mine behind a painted smile

II. Eccendentesiast

(n.) someone who hides pain behind a smile

You thrust your knife into my heart
ripping apart all of my veins
taking away every breath dedicated to you
and in your wake
I can only disguise the bleeding with the curling of the lips

III. dear veritas

dear veritas,
I must confess that it’s been awhile— I have been living in the deepest recesses of deceit’s manor— he has held me prisoner, you see; disguised behind a friendly smile and honeysuckle eyes.

dear veritas,
I wanted to take the time and apologize; my hubris has always been infamous; my heart, my passion screams while my reason and my head can only stand idly in the shadows.

the remorse I feel is something I hope you never do.

dear veritas,
I still have nightmares of a smile that only Lucifer could’ve bore and it scares me how much my heart aches and how much my soul weeps when I awake.

why is this happening to me?

dear veritas,
I know none of this makes up for my insolence; for my selfish behaviour— I abandoned you, in times in which I could’ve used you the most— and that shame, I will take to my grave.

dear veritas,
today I woke with no burdens
ecstasy burning from my lips
and I knew all was forgiven.

IV. revolutionary

'call me Robespierre,' you whisper in my ear before your claws tear my heart from my rib-cage, lay it bare for all to see…

the guillotine’s blade shines so bright tonight

as it descends— splitting my heart in two unequal halves

you take the bigger half, put it on display— a trophy for the destruction you left in your wake

and I lay on the ground, struggling for breath, struggling for life as I hold the decaying half close to me, whispering

'Peu on vous êtes libre

continuer à battre

ne meurent pas sur moi maintenant.’

'little one you are free

keep on beating

do not die on me now.’

“

—

you were a revolutionary of love— but like the french, you soon turned violent and I was left in the wake of your tragic ambitions

V. the day you leave

I gave you the knife,
You placed it in between my ribs,
“For safe keeping”, you whispered,
“For the day I leave.”
I gave you the gun,
And you placed it in between my lips,
And whispered, “for the day I leave.”

And when that day came,
It was a warm summer day,
And with no warning
You drove the knife right into my heart
And pulled the trigger
And walked away
Leaving me to bleed,
Leaving me…
Leaving me

VI. ache

My heart is aching
And my lips are stained with memories;
It’s hard to speak

And all I ever do is dream of you

It’s if I am living in an infinite hell
Falling face first into Lucifer’s embrace;
And you, the cunning devil,
Just spit in my face and laugh

VII. vengeance

angels sing me to sleep,
I am alone in this church
of all my unforgiven sins,
I can feel them crawling
beneath my skin;
oh the angels are killing me,
their songs are that of vengeance

VIII. tyranny

I lay bare for you
waiting, silently and submissively;
I anticipate your flesh against mine
I anticipate the moment you
devour my heart,
making me watch….

I wait for you in the silence of the night;
the moon warns me of your indiscretions,
but I refuse to listen,
for my passion and want is too great;
I simply cannot resist.

You are the sadist,
and I am your lamb;
you tear at my flesh
and adorn my bones around your neck,
you are everything I should fear
but instead, I lay willing for you
for you to destroy me…

as the Marquis de Sade once said, ‘lust’s passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes.’

forgive me
forgive me
for I am a victim of my own tyranny.

IX. seaside tragedy

I stood alone on the cliff that looked over the sea and it sung me a sad song

I stood at the mouth of hell,
in hopes of feeling something,
anything at all
but nobody was home

I stood at the Cathedral’s door
in hopes of finding redemption
but God was never home,
he was never here
he died a long time ago,
he died a long time ago.

I stood at the entrance of a dark alley
and I was hoping to be seduced
by the shadows
but they didn’t want anything to do with me
and so I wept and went along my way

I stood at edge of the world
and it was silent,
as if allowing me to mourn;
my heart was the only one screaming.

I stood at the house where you lived
in hopes of seeing the lights on
but the light has gone out
so many decades ago
and you are no longer home
and neither is my heart

L'automne s'en tient à moi

d'essayer de me rassurer

et je ne peux que pleurer

pour mon coeur

comme elle chante sa tragédie

X. I am a wolf

you might think that I am a lamb, so helpless and weak; and you might think that I bow to the lion, oh how wrong you are.

I am a wolf, I curl my lips towards the sun and I serenade my warrior song to the moon. I am wolf and I bow to no lion, instead I bare my teeth and cut deep beneath the flesh; beneath your flesh, I will leave my name.

Has no one told you the story of when Odin rides into final battle against the wolf Fenrir and he is consumed by the beast?

Maybe you are the lamb
and I laugh cruelly at your trembling lips;
how the tables have turned.
I am a wolf
I will make sure that with every step I take
and every breath I draw
the earth shakes
and all men bow before me
and whisper their prayers to their absent god
before I strike them down.

I am a wolf

and I fear no one.

the wolf will be the last one standing at the end of the world

and will sing a rebellious song into the universe’s dead lips

XI hiraeth

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

She dreamed of a place in which the cold air was a lover
she dreamed of a place in which it always snowed,
a place in which time is frozen
and she can bury her sins deep beneath the earth,
even if it’s just for a moment.
in this place, in which her broken heart forever dreams,
there is no heartache,
no bleeding, no eternal torment.
Everything is glorious
Everything is ecstasy.

instead of enemy,
a place in which the sea was a familiar
instead of a stranger.
In this place, day and night bleed into one
embracing one another
and heaven and earth are indistinguishable.

She dreamed of a place in which she could call home,
not a temporary home,
but a permanent home
a home in which friendly faces kiss her
and unfriendly faces disappear from memory.

She dreamed of a place that once meant so much to her
but she stands at a crossroad
looking nostalgia in the face;
nostalgia has always been a sadistic fiend; manipulation is her specialty.
It is with this, that all the heartache and thunder hidden behind her lips
come to pass
and the heaven in which she dreamed of for so long
no longer is heaven
but hell