The Crimson A Collection Of Poems by Marta Wiley/ 2014'
I know from which you came that dreary, dreary name.
That fame killed starlet that drove all men insane.
That fairy call, that siren stall, the male disposition.
But I am of another friend and foes are made of my desicion.
The place does not call the other "that place of blame".
We know there is no other, we shutter'.
So why do we bother to point these fingers
These mangled and tangled fingers?
WE think it is so we do not feel alone, so we can grind the blade of blame to the bone.
And then as to say you did this to me, instead of taking responsibility.
It happens to us all and I have seen it's tallons,
it breaks the flesh of reason and we soar above our prey.
We are the inhumane.
These crimson tides are not to be spoken lightly, the dreamer dreads the truth.
That we ourselves are calling god a liar, god a liar.
We want to be special and by all means, we want that attention that bleeds at the seems.
We want recognition that much we all share but we forget to find ourselves already there.
That source of unhappy lot, that bite that does not heal,
We weild our will so well that we forget to feel.
I know, I know you say this is not me.
These things you speak are not what I see.
But in these hollow eyes, these pickled lips, these tongue tied words are a slip of the whip.
They harness a feeling we all to often know.
That place where we bind and blame our foes.
And this by far is the placiest-place of shame, to think you are blaming the blame.
To know you are the enemy and this by far is the strangest frienenmy.
You my merry, merry girl, you are the one who has to unfurl.
No one can hurt you if you do not let them so, why the hell wouldn't you go.
Why the hell wouldn't you go?
So what are you saying to me? That I am creating this all?
That I am to blame for the stalliest-stall?
That there is no enemy unless they are in us all?
That friendliest-friend isn't an enemy at all?
What we are saying my girly, girl-friend
is that there is no deadly foe in the end, than that which we owe.
That we owe this other is really ours to own, and that is why
we caution hatred at all'
That hatred that penetrates that crimson crawl, that wall of flesh we call.
That river of vein that feeds our foes
is the bloodiest-blood that we need for ourselves.
You don't understand and this is your lot.
Never a stupidist-stupid there stood and fought.
What we are saying my furly-furl is that you are the friend of an enemy girl.