I had ten siblings.
My dad killed eight of them.
How many siblings do I have left?
A friend told me today.
My parents don’t love me either.
And some people I know were killed by their parents.
Are we human
Or are we daughters or sons?
Are we manufactured
Or are we illegitimate?
Are we flesh-and-blood dolls
Or are we insubordinate?

Thank you mother
For making me
Hate myself
Fear for my life
Keep secrets

I had ten siblings.
My dad killed eight of them.
How many siblings do I have left?

Many cultures have existed
Many colorful expressions of Love
Many beautiful customs and dances
All gone

Different shades of genuine faces
Different tapestries of folklore
Different facets of global light
A rainbow

Killed off
Murdered
Desecrated
Dead

The Love is gone
But you can find a substitute in a green glass bottle
Or a plastic white container
Or a syringe
Until you are
Dead

The beautiful cultures are
Dead

You do not even know about them
The history is
Lost

So it remains
Dead

But

They dance in their rainbow colors in Sacred Beauty on the Other Side
When no one can see

I wish you could see it with me

She looked back

She looked back and saw that things were less bad than they are now

And she missed those days

She missed the corporate shlock and she missed the insincere plasticine smiles that pervaded the media more frequently back then because

she was familiar with it,

she was accustomed to it,

and it was less damaging and less toxic than what she has today.

She loves the decaying memories that pain her because they damage her less than the novelties that chew her up from the inside.

She loves the monsters of the past because

They are familiar friends.

And they hurt a lot less than the new monsters of today.

She misses the old monsters.

So the old monsters are sold back to her and the cycle continues.

I once saw a man
In a decorated coat
Fabricated ideations
Admired by all

Underneath that coat
Lay cold ugly truths
But no one could see
Beyond that façade

Dazzled by the colors of fabricated tales
A tapestry of false experiences
Cloaking over malicious intents
A veil concealing abrasive truths

“I loved who I thought you were,” she said, as the ostentatious coat was burned.
“I wish you would come back because I miss you,” she said, but she never left.

And the man destroyed what was left of her, once she started to see how the coat prevented her from seeing his destruction.