Self portrait, 2017. (c) Malicia Frost (Henna)
Isn’t it easier to be
so cruelly defeated?
To beat the world to stabbing you in
the fucking guts?
The hospital says the won’t have me.
No one will strike against an open wound, no, no one will reach their fingers trough a steady blood flow to see if there’s a pulse.
Suffering is a shield, I decide, and I will wed it if I have to.
I’m a virgin in the art of asking for mercy.
I’d rather lay flat, speechless, talking to no one.
It seems strange, you say, that a person so obviously in love with words would know no other way of saying
“Would you stop it?”
than displaying slashes as exhibits in a showcase. I was never art until I learned how to hurt.
Now, it seems rather unfair, I say,
that wings should grow out backwards, penetrating lungs from within.
Why learn to fly when you can learn how to breathe again?
I won’t complain. I’m an attentive student or so they say. I lick the words I eject, to see if they still taste of you, The flavor of Revenge: sickly sweet.
I grew up in a dumpster East of my aorta.
Preachers kept coming to my house to tell me that love will cure me.
Years later, I wrote my priest a letter. Telling him to go **ck himself
I stopped trying to make everyone love me.
Instead I assembled my demons for a nice gathering in my garden over a cup of lavender-infused tea.
He told me things no one ever said before; that I was strong and could overthrow the world if I wanted to. I leaned forward and whispered, silently, my breath stroking his fangs: “I think I’m in love with you”
This seem unlikely?
I confess – I’m making parts of it up. Imagination is my weapon of choice, and it’s hard to shout into a storm without losing your breath and drying out your tongue.
I need no angel to look after me, I’ve got one of my own making; he eats painful thoughts and drinks regret. People say our story is one about love.
I say it’s about survival. What’s the difference? Well, you see. Survival is about a choice. And mine was to, in the end, save myself.
the person I hope to become someday
This has a style somewhat different to what I’ve written before. I don’t really know how it came to be, except I was inspired by Delain’s song “Suckerpunch”. And a bunch of other things. Most of all, I just wanted an excuse to post my new drawing. So here it is.