“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”
Artwork by Quynbi Ada
Tag: writing
Frail Folds
silly self
involved
destructive
rests within walls that wind in
curves that roll
crumble where the body begins
folds wail as they wilt
frivolous and frail
words limp out of lips
chewed
chapped
stale
Artwork by Rick Stoller
Inadequate Me
I am left
to steep
in the vast sea
of my inadequacies
“Inadequate Me” by Meaghan Merrifield
Artwork by Wharton
The Mean Scars of Summer
our bruised and battered sky
weeps–
suspended
in scars
from the passionate strikes of
a relentless summer heat.
She
is all that remains of a day
too cruel to be unseen.
“Marked” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: “Brain Ticket” by Richard Vergez
http://society6.com/RichardVergez/Brain-Ticket_Print
She’s Done
I feel the dull but insistent teeth of your dinner fork
tugging at moth holes
in my sun dress
asking for me to be more bare
for you
more raw
for you
and so I let them needle away
until the threads are unknotted
and the cloth falls to the floor, and
I am
all that you want me to be
“Your Toy” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: “Sleep When You Die” by Kieran Sperring
Cry of the Wicked
Folded up
in this wrath that
flows like
a river from my lonely gut,
is a purple wound–
unhealed–
that cries and cowers with your children,
pleading for the pain
to die.
“In Me” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: “She” by Steven Quinn
Pleasantly Objectified
You see
her apricot shoulders
dressed with auburn wisps
that —drift—- drift
like feathers into the clouds above.
Hovering over your
hungry stares,
delighted,
she parts her plum, puckered lips
to free a stirring sigh
that breaks your body
and blurs your mind.
She
is the most heavenly dessert
you will never
taste.
“The Voyeurs” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork by Alicia Ortiz
The Grim
A necrotized
claw has sprouted from the
neck of my favorite lace gown.
At first, it was a pool
of strawberry syrup
as bright and red
as a freshly skinned knee–
And then,
under the hanging tangerine fog of a Sunday afternoon,
it melted upward
into a
nagging,
sickled flower
of bloodless quiet
anticipating its reflection
in me.
“The Grim” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork by Sarah Cruce
The Show Tell Project 