The Pretty Corpses of Flowers

I was about to post a rant about some woman who wanted to sell posters of one of my blackouts… without paying me. But as I reread what I wrote, my blood began to boil… So, I deleted the whole thing, and opened my “Awesome Things My Love Says” folder.

My sexy Piano Man has a way with words that reach my heart and my funny bone. The other day, he texted me after a show, to say, “Warning! I’m bringing home some flower corpses.” He knows I don’t much care for flowers that have been cut just for decoration, and he also knows that if the poor things were already mutilated, I wouldn’t want their sacrifice to be for nothing. I do my best to find a way to show them some love.

It was a big bouquet. Some of the flowers are still drying. But the roses, carnations, and some greenery and fillers (whose name I don’t know), have dried quite prettily.

I used a rose petal on this stitched poem. Some of the outer petals I offered to the moon, now sit by my typewriter in view of the window. I put together a bouquet I can glimpse while I’m writing. The leaves and other greenery went in a jar until the muse thinks of something. The fillers are in a wee bowl, in front of a sculpture of Old Man Death (you know how much the grinning Reaper loves his flowers).

By the time I was done, I was grinning as toothily as… well, as toothily as me. Playing with nature (even mildly dead nature) is good therapy, picturing the bloody things my muse thinks should happen to those who want to steal our mind-babies… not so much.

You Will Rot

“Self-love is so important. Because when you’re all alone and it’s 3 in the morning and you’re lying on the floor crying and shaking and wishing it all would end, who’s going to be there for you? You. You have to pick yourself up and find the strength to carry on. At the end of the day, you’re all you’ve got.” ~ via All Women’s Talk

.
Selfishness
was once a goddess
killed by man.
I reclaimed her might
back to life, for me.

You want me
meek, shushed at your feet?
Dumb man-child,
your dream will not be—
my tongue whips silence.

The right words
demolish dogma,
defeat lies.
Hear my wild heart roar
change, and be reborn.

“Selfish!” you
shout, and I laugh, laugh—
I love me.

You (your shouts) and your insecurities will rot before I change my Self.

.
a wee note…
– Linked to Protest and Outrage: Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, and to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Frida Kahlo and Chavela Vargas
via Pinterest

Bella in Black

“Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you…? You need to mean them… You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it—righteous anger won’t hurt me for long—I’ll show you how it is done, shall I? I’ll give you a lesson—” ~ Bellatrix Lestrange, in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling

.
Night and blood
feed the flames that scream
her hollowed soul wild,

empower
the wants marked wicked,
forbidden.

Bella in black is pure
magic madness,
sweet chaos. She is
love in lust with death
that thrives through torture…

…through wild, forbidden
chaos,

Bella is tortured.
.

a wee note…
– Rommy, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invited us to write a poem from the point of view of a fictional villain. She wants to know what makes them villainous. Are their depraved ways justified by tales we haven’t been told? Or, are they just plain rotten? I chose unstable, malicious, insane, love-starved, Bellatrix Lestrange, from the Harry Potter Series.

“Bellatrix Lestrange”, by NLMDA
via