Rheana Cherie writes fiction for the greater good of realistic, hopeless romantics and hopes to create a better world through the written word.
Red blue green
The longer you stare
The more colors you see
They blur eventually
Like everything good and bad
Until the color blends
Bleeds
And flows
Like there’s no end in sight
Just a blurry rainbow river
Running down your face
Tears flow with a light show
Too cheery for sorrow
We speak in tongues
but it's labeled PTSD
trauma
we chant
and get locked down in chains
"Witch..."
they whisper
at each
and
every
turn
As heartbreak rips
the soul from head to toe
A psychotic break
they say
based on sorrow
Saving a guilty convert
fingers point
to downtrodden glances
a romance as old as time
between
me and mine.
Face down
we grip the sheets
you make me feel
and forget
everything
I praise on high
aloud for you alone
while you pant my name
a prayer in kind
soft gasps of release
in the middle of the night.
Tie my wrists
and
bind my feet
gag my mouth
and
bruise this body
Make me feel
Like all's not lost
because everything's a blur
and
nothing is real.
I
would
give
you
the
world
if
you
would
give
me
your
name,
and
swear
to
hold
me,
as
I
do
the
same.
In
love
I'll
be
if
you'd
only
just
see,
but
it
is
what
it
is
if
you
don't
want
me.
I feel your fingers
as you lift the veil
We're not getting married
We're just stepping from hell
to joint safety
under darkness's cape
We assail the past
with the gentlest touch
with listening ears
while hiding in couches
and under the covers
Comforting inner lovers
who beg
to be set free.
Mens inability
to understand women
Body and soul
shows the respect they have
when spoken out loud:
That she can avoid her own rape
the tearing of her person to shreds
or
abort her attacker's child
and
stop her own flow
when it does not please us
fairer folk
what witchcraft
I ask
do they think us capable?
with bodies granted to us
without asking
or choosing
to be the weaker
or stronger…
sex?
For we did not choose
to be scorned so violently
for extra parts
gifted to us.