How was I to know the dark fire within me

How was I to know the dark fire within me

had permission to come out and play

with permissive, sanctified toys

set aside by silent, torn tribunal

judging for not indulging in subjugation

in tearing apart pretty, breathing dolls —

.

Dolled up same as them,

branded heretic and heathen

by a culture not my own;

unable to be either or

— expected to be dead.

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Thank you for reading, thank you for supporting.

A tip is never expected, but always appreciated.

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Read some of my other, loosely related works — also poetry:

Heed Dorian Gray: a faustian bargain

Excerpt:

Whose face is it she sees — hers or the Other which lurks between?

Of too many mirrors in too many rooms, this one shows decay:

grey skin so thin the remaining muscle and sinew migrate through,

hollows slipping into the abyss pressing in from behind.

Synchronized, their hands slide across the smooth surface,

ignoring edge’s chips which drip, stench growing day by day.

Small deaths of the shores

Excerpt:

Cetacean’s sun bleached bones beached on exposed intertidal’s floor,

waiting to be washed whence it came; invoking old lore and old tales.

Polymer rope, bright and yellow toxic, wrapping cervical vertebrate

belying the image of untouched wilds, despoiled coasts

—our hubris, mistakes, fatigue, neglect quietly on display.