I’m a kept woman
Relegated to this modest life
On the outskirts of town
A prisoner behind a white picket fence
Desperately in love with a man
Who wears his rage on his sleeve
A Medic-Alert bracelet
And an ankle monitor
Well accessorized, but restless
And forced to sit still
For us
These long days of winter
Feel like murder
Stretching long beneath a steely sky
Nothing here is immediate
Not even my death
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll get a taste of what it’s like
To travel to the other side
A tourist of the ever-after
The only proof I’ve been here
This poorly executed pot roast
And the spray of blood, like confetti
On the white
Linen
Tablecloth
About the Creator
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More stories from Angelique Torres and writers in Poets and other communities.
Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️3 days ago in Fiction
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