The Innocence of Monsters

When I was younger, I didn't know any better than to be exactly who I was, and it confused me when this course of action rarely worked out in my favor. Why should I pretend to be something I was not?

I was very self-possessed, and extremely self-aware - I had confidence to burn. What I lacked was guile, and an understanding that others would happily build my pyre from the kindling I provided. I was a monster who hadn't yet figured out that she was to be feared.

My ignorance made me vulnerable.

I won't say I was cast out of Eden - I never lived in such a place. But, for a time, I was innocent enough to believe that I had a place there.

Worship

My claws are terrible and sharp,
Glinting gold in candlelight,
Darkened blood shimmering with slick, sick
       Promises.

Your lips part,
Gaze swimming upwards toward my eyes.
My fangs bared cruel white -
       Yes, prostrate yourself before me,
       Worship my gilded curves,
       Pray to that which disregards you -
I straddle your lap,
And look right through you.

I will dig my claws into your chest,
Hear your sharp intake of breath before you scream,
Take your vocal cords between my teeth,
Bite off your sounds before they echo,
Admire the harmonies of your gurgles
As liquid heat splatters my chest.

I will eat your heart someday.

You
       will love it.

Serpent and Child

I have been small -
miniscule -
staring down a serpent roughly seven times my size,
discussing with her
the nature of lies.

"Tell me a story,"
says she in my mind.
"Tell me a story
of futures and timelines."

"Truth is construction,
and your wings don't give flight.
You've been larger before,
smaller inside.
Don't tell me you've never thought you could fly -"
This serpent is honest as she spins her lies.

I've tasted colors,
pole danced for pixies,
slept with incubi -
"Don't tell me you've never thought you could fly."

I stare myself down,
Wonder why I'm roughly seven times my size.
I gaze up with trust and wide child's eyes -
"Please tell me you'll be my guide."

Bad Dreams

I hate being alone. I remember a time when that was my biggest fear, when I had nightmares about standing in a concrete courtyard watching a crumpled napkin toss end over end, an urban tumbleweed. I wouldn't even scream, because I knew, with all the logic of dreaming, there was no one around to hear me, not even if I screamed with all the volume of dragon lungs.

I would wake to the stumbling panic of my pulse.

I don't fear being alone so much now - at least, not in the same way. I lay awake in my bed feeling the crack and pull of my joints, the way a recently dislocated finger burns, and my shoulders ache ominously. It is a loud and dark way to be alone, aware of every way in which my body is falling apart. My body has become a courtyard, my pain a series of crumpled napkins.

I do not scream now, either. My pulse may stutter and stumble into the storm winds of eternity - I will not wake up from reality.

Burden of Proof

     Sometimes
I want to crawl out of my skin,
wrap myself around you,
purr into your ear -

It will be okay.

I can prove it to you
with the warm, wet embrace
of my conviction.

My tears are salt-lines on my face
because you are far away,
and there are little barbs
     hooking
me into my flesh.

I have only words to show you
how safe you should be.

That is something worth crying about.