I was raised by broken glass Momma smashed against the wall. She told me bottles taste like fire, Slapped a promise on my cheek With love her open palm. When I shrieked sobriety Her tears gently wrapped my bones. But Daddy liked to dance with fire, Spluttered nasty ash until the night He never came back home. Daddy left us picture frames, Left Momma screaming at my eyes, So they would not turn green as his, As bruises that she kissed, and Left burning just like fire. Streets tugged at my feet one day. Truth and I scraped knees. But streetlights turned her skin so red, Frightened me with yellowed words, I hid in memories. Flashbacks glinting on a glass, Shards biting smiling lips. Seemed Momma never told me Fire warms a beaten heart, Tastes of love with each sip. Fire guided me to gnarled trees, Broke bottles on their trunk. When they asked, “Why smell of flames?” I laughed, “Oh, to forget I am a drunk.” Momma found me in the gutter The day I turned nineteen. I spluttered out her promises, And as she left, I heard her weep, “My god, your eyes are green.” Absolutely overjoyed to hear this piece earned international publication in Teen Ink's print magazine! Editor's Choice Award and viewed by over half a million subscribed readers!
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AuthorWith ink dripping in my veins & stories dancing in my head, I spend my time untangling poetry & getting perfectly lost Archives
April 2017
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