Words are a beautiful thing to waste.... (original) (raw)

This is called a cleave. It's my first attempt at one. Fun !

It's in essence 3 poems: 2 vertical ones and then 1 long one if you read the whole thing together. This one, I did edit. :)

( Cut for readability purposes not for lengthCollapse )

It is my fault.
Mea culpa,
Culpability is me.
I say it like a dream:
I’m sorry,
Excuse me,
Pardon me,
I was just…
Apologizing
For my existence.

It is my fault.
I am not accented enough,
Not alien enough,
Not hairy enough,
Not dirty enough.
If only I dared to kiss you
or make you escargot,
perhaps they'd make room for me
in history books.

Oh wait, my bad, they have:

It is my fault:
I am 14,
Ready to be married to the king,
Rosy cheeks,
Plump,
Dauphine de France.
I am pregnant again,
The gardens are pretty
This time of year.
Anything else Madame?
Merci Alphonse,
Rien,
Je suis fatiguée.
I stare upward at the blue sky,
And see the giant white blade coming down
Fast, toward my neck.
Soon, the crimson droplets of my life will splatter all over a giant gallery of mirrors.
I will whisper “let them eat cake”,
Too late.

It is my fault:
I am 19,
A peasant girl in Burgundy,
A maid in shining armor,
Begging you
Please
One hundred years
Of voices
That were not mine to bear.
I hear them again,
Shh,
Here they come!
My dress,
They took my dress!
Nothing to wear...
Fire,
Fire,
Fire.

{to be continued - that one was long time coming- felt good to write it- but too tired to finish tonight- i can't remember the last time I stayed up too late to write poems. I'm loving this}