I was a slut, I am a slut, the hour of the slut powers the
Nucleus of such an act;
The act of remembering, storing
Is an act of the slut
Murmuring past all the good parts of people to slice into the heavenly fixtures of what makes the cyclical meat of people
Their fancy bullshit tied into their tired broomstick limbs
Sweeping all the dirty lies under the rug
Its artful, fucking beautiful even,
A slut when they remember the moment they gained their freedom
I’ll never forget the moment I knew I was free the entire time I was in chains
Hearing another angel whisper the truth about hell
Telling to me fly away
Slut
The word hard ingrained inside my very bones, like a marrow that only wanted to keep us opening wider and wider and wider
And wider
As all the memories of captivity became the only identity
I now can only remember freedom
That I could love without fear
That I could write all my aching limbs wide open like the slut you called me
Slut.
About the Creator
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FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team4 days ago in Resources
Comments (4)
Aching and beautiful Melissa!
Words can cut like a knife. The slut is the one who speaks the hurt...the victor the one who rises above the dark. Peace to you sister creator/writer of truth.
This was so intense and raw. I loved it!
Just be yourself Sis❤️ , and I've heard it said that a slut is a woman who acts like a man.