War Dances

Sneaker Waves (Poem)

Isolation consumes my thoughts. It swallows me whole when I get too close.
If I act up I go back inside. Inside where anxiety covers me, depression traps me in its cage. I can’t get out.
So, I won’t sleep. No, I can’t sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, my thoughts decide to wander and the voices get louder and it won’t stop until they get me to founder how to use a knife.
Insomnia's a bitch.
I’ve never been a good swimmer. Well, I really can’t swim. Water terrifies me. I try to learn while part of me doesn’t want to. Its danger lures me in. So many secrets whispering underneath, so many questions yet I’m afraid to ask. I fear their answers are too strong for me.
I stay unaware and fragile.
The waves just keep getting higher and taller and I grow smaller and sink deeper until I can’t see. I’m blinded by the thing I wish didn’t have a hold of me.
I guess you could call them sneaker waves...

Isolation taunts my name, magnifies my pain. I fear they feel it’s the best place for me to be. But they don’t see,
Isolation will be the death of me.
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Anatomy (Narrative poem (somewhat))

In school, teachers teach students to respect each other with amiable voices and soft touch. Teachers give lessons about hands, arms, eyes, tongues, lips. Showing how to use them. Telling us we best not disguise our pain behind out lips, that “it will only put blades in your own chest.” To speak how you feel.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining room, a male teaches looks his students over. Studying their figure. Watching their moves. As a girl runs her hands through her hair out of habit and her bright eyes start to flicker, he feels it's a sexual praise. Informing him she is his to touch. Mentor and leader, she’s confused by his ever so soft graze of his skin on her skin. Starting with the hand, then arm, then cheek, then leg. Ignoring how she feels. Violated and miscommunicated. Misunderstood and manipulated. She was instructed to stay behind.
“Body language is your greatest weapon.”
The body is an amazing masterpiece, but the flaws we see are magnified by a clock, saying it only gets worse with age.
When I look at the human body, I see every limb as a grenade waiting to erupt.

Eyes: The gateway to the soul. A timer constantly ticking away. Hidden by a veil, when will the hatred be reviled?

Ears: Every voice lingering, telling me I’m...I’m tired of repeating it.

Mouth: “From the mouth, the heart speaks.” Holding dirty secrets everyone desires. The truth of the heart revealed at every hidden masquerade.

Tongue: Letters, forming words, wanting to escape my lips. The letters “L.O.V.E” has a bitter hangover after being misused too many times.

Lips: Soft, calming frames turn to fire once cracked open to show the empty desire painted within, yet so many long for the taste.

Throat: Well all I know is your tongue, sir, does NOT belong here. My gasping for air does not need to be solved with your hand pressing against my skin, I am gasping for air so the lies will learn to only pull tighter.

Arms: Every fall showing more fractions of bone left to hold my heavyweight.

Hands: The ultimate shapeshifters. How can something so gentle be so hurtful? Clenched fist shooting pain into everything it touches, yet revealing affection as gliding down one's body.
Your hands, sir, do NOT own my identity, sir, do not get to sweep me up and dip in the warm sensation of deceiving stability.

Breasts: A label one should be proud of. A unique design made different for each chosen one. Given as a gift but treated as a flaw. A burden. What the opposite sex feels they “deserve” to see and taught by society that they are “theirs” to keep. Too many young girls have forgotten how to say no.
The body is a work of art, flaws and all. My painting is worth so much more than the price tag that is presented. Each scar showing a battle that was overcome. And a giant that has fallen. My heart has been manipulated and broken time and time again and mended back together. Becoming stronger. So I continue to fight for the ones who can’t. The kids who fear the hands and lips of others because they have caused their own to crack and peel.
Fire pumping through my veins, oozing with passion and unconditional love. For our bodies are beautiful! Don’t harm them. Were not plastic. We are powerful in our darkness and made within a breath. Yet, people try and steal your breath.
Your voice.
Our no.
So please. Teachers, teach out of
passion and
love and
warning.
This human body is not yours to trophy.