Mother is Foam

January 13, 2010 on 2:32 am | In Everything | No Comments

Hovering beneath the frail skin of lupines.
The bubbles from some unknown foam
Misplaced earth or misshaped tongue
Mothers stretch delicately from
Our sides. Drops of dew
Beading on our stems.
Until she evaporates into the sun
But this mother is no dew. No flame of thought
That simmers until we
stop
When rivers are angry. or hurt
They foam.
When peace receives them
They are wet and slick again.
When devils
blind pigs
They foam.
Their mouths and cankered cheeks. White and running.
I’m running. Away from the
Voice of the foam. Crackling and popping
Fizzing and shifting.
Rainbows swirling in each bubbled eye.
This mother has too many eyes
To see
Me. Whom she still grasps
Because Nature is a sadist.
But her eyes gaze within her eyes.
Fails to see the streaks
On my frail skin.
Overtly gleaming under the
Tangerine sun
Red and running.

jenna awaddawa annej

Torture Is Not Poetry. It’s Torture.

January 9, 2010 on 2:25 am | In Everything | No Comments

My regression is my cocoon. I smell the dust on the walls. Hold them close. My dolls. My mind has become a room I have been enveloped in. Heart is pounding at the door. Go away. This is our secret place. Where I think and think. And think. And never. Never feel. You keep saying you’ll soon be gone. So go.
I have learned. Strength will not tread upon fear. What we need will never become irrelevant. Life will continue to be irreverent. Brutalizing masters with the snap of their own whips.
Human connections are suffocation.
I will always be afraid. I will. I will always be afraid of you. Faceless demon. Ominous and marred. It’s irreversible.
Life is irreversible. Damn.
‘Sliding down the slippery wings of softer birds who plunge into blacker skies.’ Torture is not poetry. It’s torture. Your pain will never float on lily white clouds. Your sorrow will always succumb to pain. Your tears will never soak the clouds and cleanse the world. You offend the moon because you will not revel in the pearly milk of his light.
You keep saying you’ll soon be gone. So go.
I’m returning. Regressing. Embracing. My cocoon.

-jenna awad. is my name.

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