#melissarose

[melissarosepoetry]

For Millie

There needs to be a place where invoking your name is not taboo. I shout it into the pillow of my throat so no one else can hear. It is like dropping a pebble off a chasm; it barely makes a sound.

The anniversary of your death would not be as memorable if death was not what you were destined for from the start. It is no surprise I miscarried you on Halloween so you would be close enough to pass through me easily

like a ghost

and you are still haunting me.

Every pregnancy leaves behind the DNA of the child in the mother maybe I still feel you because you never really left.

Because somehow you survive in my organs In the quiet places I hide The dark warm world that was the only home you knew

Millie I won’t pretend I was the mother anyone deserved That I wasn’t spending my life burying everything I loved but I don’t know where to stuff the memories I’ve run out of places to hide them. I’ve planted too many secrets and they always grow back stronger than before.

[melissarosepoetry]

Death Wish

I have always wanted to be mummified. To have my pieces preserved and kept in jars, but how useful would I be in stasis? When I am stiff and dry and hollow This is my will. Take my eyes and let them sit on your mantel.Let me see every happy moment you experience when I am gone. I am always watching. Always have been Take my heart. Use it as a diagram of scientific wonder. A map of the places you shouldn’t travel. A path to avoid. Pull my throat through a cord and hang it as a choker hovering over your neck. Let me stick my neck out for you, as I always did Make my mouth into a tooth-filled wine glass you can kiss every time you feel the buzz upon your lips Take my skull and fill it with all of the things I wished to own. To remember. Your wedding ring. Your poetry books. Your bouquets. Make my ribs into a bird cage, but never trap a life inside of it. Make it only a symbol. Like I was. Only an empty space. A blank slate. Pieces without a place To call home.

[melissarosepoetry]

Mirror

Prompt: Go through old family photographs and find one of yourself, taken at least five years ago. Describe the person in the photograph what he or she did, thought, said, or hoped. How is that person like or unlike the person you are now?

The smile is fake They all are lately When I was 5 my mom could always tell when I faked a smile These days She can’t tell the difference Between a corpse And her daughter. I have been practicing normality While I force myself into a box Too tight to hold the flood Inside of me Like a dress Two sizes too small I fool myself into smoking Thinking it will kills me faster If the cigarettes burns quickly Dear Melissa If you survive 2012 it will be a surprise to Everyone around you Too caught up with the photograph To notice what lurks beneath The need to know How far the spiral goes How deep the ocean really gets Behind your eyes.

[melissarosepoetry]

When you crave cigarettes and no one realizes you’re battling the urge to kill yourself:

This isn’t your bottom.

This isn’t the start of it.

And only you get to decide

if you swim for the surface.

I will tell you to watch for the signs:

When the coffee becomes routine.

When the TV is always on.

When distraction

is mandatory.

Sitting with it

is the only way to clean the wound

that never heals

Take walks in wild places

climb a mountain

get perspective.

Get lost.

Pray to colorful gods.

Sing the songs you loved as a child.

Make someone else hold you.

Swallow herbs

Be grateful.

You may not reach the surface

but don’t stop swimming.

You might only be a moment

from the breath that will save you.

[melissarosepoetry]

[melissarosepoetry]

                                                            *

Mom says I was built stronger than her. Maybe that’s why she was never able to find me when I broke. When the cracks showed. When I begged for her help. I am strong. Strong is what you are when you don’t have a choice.

                                                             *

For two years I self medicate. Only a 10 hour drive from her. Call her in the middle of the night, her voice full of impatience. My life not as important as the job she chooses to drown in.

                                                            *

No one showed me how to be broken. That being broken does not make your weak. That weak is not the opposite of strong. That they are not two sides of a spectrum, but a fluid interchange of humanity. I am strong. I don’t want to be.

                                                           *

The pills don’t kill me. I chase the whole handful with two bottles of wine hoping to never wake up, but I do. I go to work the next day as if nothing had happened. Feeling more disappointed than ever. I don’t want to be strong anymore. Why can’t someone just hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright?

                                                          *

I still don’t know how to ask for help, but I know when I need it. I know when it’s ok to be soft. When weakness is the only shell to crawl into in order to breathe.

[melissarosepoetry]

[melissarosepoetry]