The hard as fuck girls – Candice louisa Daquin

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The hard as fuck girls

with their leopard eyes and sepia lips

set in twisted, pigtail granite

painted their hides with waterproofing

like the kind you put in the bottom of swimming pools

the muscles in their cheeks set so tight

they’d break a gobstopper with one bite

eating pickles like they were candy

no sour stomach, no need of remedy

the hard as fuck girls

survived asbestos, pinching boys and ant hills

broke their arms, laughed about the plaster itching

used youths rubber band as catapult

to get everything they required

including your heart and the french pleat dresses

my waist was too thick to fit into

they were Scarlet O’Hara before Rhett left her open-mouthed

Shirley MacLaine after she saw angels & demons

Lauren Bacall had their arching face

Katherine Hepburn the gamine grace

they didn’t like me much

I was a bleeding heart with too little guts

in fact they had no mercy for any girl

who didn’t seize the moment and say

this is what I want

FUCK the fear I’m on top

this is my day I don’t want a slice, I’ll take it all

and with lusty grinning glance ate

the cherry and the whip cream

with their little red tongues

licking the glass, round and

round til nothing more

was left

 

 

Disciple of love – Candice Daquin

When I met you, I had no tears

When you left me, I had too many

They didn’t stop

Though all the experts

On saline tear production

Proclaimed they would

Miss Daquin do not fear, they said

You will simply dry up, just wait

For a hot flash

Or a cold night

I told them

I have both

As for the cold night

That is now etched in ivy crept stone

Who thought before middle age

I’d be an old maid searching shelves for other parts of thrown-away women?

With no touch, no kiss, no arms wrapped around this

Hurt and lonely soul of water and menses

Snap out of it, my dance teacher said

You can

Have sex with cigarette smoking strangers

Learn self emulation

Or eat hot chili sauce with three layers of lipstick

And if you dance as gracefully as you talk

Well … Whose to stop the admirers?

She

Was a bird-like creature

Who would be tap dancing at ninety

But I

Was a disciple of love

And so the idea of swapping bodily fluids

With a thin-lipped voodoo stranger

Found on matchmaker site

Or a familiar face

Sitting by me in coffee shop sharing saucer as ashtray

Or lonely friend

Turning acquaintance to waxy want

Did not appeal

I had no more desire than if

I were asked to receive a house guest

Who didn’t wash

I was already

In my mouth of youth

An island of one woman

Yes I said

How did you know I am smarting? Convulsing?

Even I wasn’t aware

Except afterward thinking

When the school playground tasted of coal

And red fences were unchallenged

The way other children were already sulphur and minerals

How I seemed to be

Strange and boneless in comparison

Considering that great gendered emptiness

Swallowed in partial payment for not fitting jelly mould

I’ll take the rest of you, when you succumb

Did I mention I was a disciple of love?

And you, my ruination, supplied exact temperature

In everything you didn’t know you did

Filling the yelling bones of my chest

How could I have let you?

When I knew you were bred on cruel

Because cruelty I was used to

It seemed a still, varnished, normal

I trusted it more

Than kindness which would be snatched

Away like a lacquer fan

Broken into its false pieces

Only to take another form and try again

I think of those times

They are thicker than my fidgeting blood

All the answers were there

Blatant and dripping

And still I walked into you

Still I walked into you

Still I walked into you

Stepping Off the Spiral Path- Christine Ray

No longer virginal maiden

lips like ripe peach

no longer fertile earth mother

babe at breast

I have fallen out of memory

fallen out of myth

Filled with the wisdom

of time

experience

I reject the title crone

I am decades from being wise woman

alone in the woods

Is there no place

on the spiral of life

in a society obsessed with youth

beauty

for midlife woman

come into her own

comfortable in her own skin

in her own sexuality

sharp of mind

no longer defined solely

by relationships to others?

My vibrancy undimmed

my ambition awakened

I refuse the mantle

of invisibility

only sanctioned option offered me

I choose instead my naked soul

blaze my own trail

in a world unprepared for smart

passionate

confident

hungry women

who do not fit in a rigid mold

who belong solely

to themselves

 

Image of Helen Mirren courtesy of Pinterest

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

Flinch- Megha Sood

flinch

My soul flinches at the

very mention of your name

My fingers tremble in the night

as I recall the nightmare

recursively

like a bad movie

stuck on the reels

I want to scrape the

memory of yours

want to mask it with the

empty memories of

my life

the stench of your

sickening presence

has suffocated me

for so long

has left an abyss in my soul

even if I’m blinded

by the goodness

of the light surrounding me

you still can manage

to cast a shadow

and eclipse my heart

with all the pain

I have been

hiding all along

the shivering, trembling

and those seizures of

incessant pain

never seems to slow down

the gut-wrenching

feel of your touch

which scarred my soul

has left a deep impression

which I so want to ignore

Not a single day passes

when I wish your

existence should

be a glitch

in nature

fixing the mistake of

an excuse for a human you are

and everything I hope for

becomes pure and true again

and I forever wake up from the

the bad dream that you are.

 

Photo by Borna Bevanda on Unsplash


I’m an avid reader, loves to sing, an ardent lover of poetry and sometimes can scribble few lines too. Loves to dance in the rain, have an undying love for nature, can watch the beautiful sunset for hours. I have worked in the IT field for almost a decade as a manager, worked crazy hours and traveled around the world. In that busy schedule, I never got the time to creatively express my thoughts. Now every time I finish a poem, free verse anything it fills me with so much happiness and excitement and a feeling to have created something of my own.  I blog at Megha’s World – A potpourri of emotions.

Maggot Memoirs- Aurora Phoenix

maggot memories

(A response poem to the collaborative piece ‘Shoo, Fly‘ by the amazing Kindra M. Austin and Samantha Lucero, on Sudden Denouement. Be sure to read this stunning piece.)

 

I recall the apparition.

they squirmed a nauseating mess,

a poltergeist steak on the garage floor.

I puzzle on the number

of maggots that have crawled upon me.

 

I knew they were flies – in bars and in dorms rooms.

I swatted at the buzz of their egos

in Greek chorus. I was that girl

with the grades and the holey swatter.

I was that girl, brilliant and slightly awkward,

attracting flies as brilliantine

greases fashionista disasters.

I was that girl with fierce four-eyed intent

and dismal coordination, that girl

who looked in the mirror

with inverted beer goggles.

when flies buzzed habitual lies

of beauty and breaktakability

I was entangled in gossamer webs

spun of red perfumed roses,

trips to Paris and hot air

balloon rides. my flyswatter

matted in the webbing.

 

flies or not, I learned.

I learned control was a pulled down

zipper and me wriggling my way

down the bed and control

was how I wrought their finish

while I still wore my clothes

if not my dignity. I 80’s teased

my hair, not their cocks.

 

I have no doubt those flies

nestled in Aqua Net nests

leaving me their seed.

I am left maggoty

lo these many years

in the stale beer and hazy afters.

I can feel them crawling on me-

the maggots of those lost girl nights.

 

some nights I am swarmed

by the maggots that silent whisper

buzzing lies anew, across

generations of girls

Tie your hair up girls

and earn some respect.

 

I scoop the maggots from my ears

ferret them out

from dark warm mind corners.

I see now the rest of that vision

the hose pulverizing

the quivering worm morass.

it is a fire hose, now,

instrument of salvation, not a grandiose

phallic substitute –

as if, boys! –

and I loose it on the maggot

memories.


Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”

This too shall pass- Sabrina Escorcio

 

This too shall pass

This too shall pass

on these, my worst days

when scarlet blood memories
dry thick over wax mesh minutes
oxidized words once shouted
now whisper healing remedies
furtive broken flesh tilled like soil
rebirth coagulating thoughts
that stick mercilessly to old wounds
soft flesh blooms through death
this, self inflicted treatment
becomes consolation, prized
as I attempt redemption
tearing off bandages too quickly
to avoid more pain

this too shall pass

this too shall pass


She grew up with a love for nature, the dramatic arts, music, as well as books and literature. After years of journaling Sabrina came to know poetry, as an adult this became an avenue of self-expression during a time of personal strife.

This hunger for poetry was insatiable, leading her to scour second hand book stores for more inspiration. There she found classic authors such as Percy Shelley, Tennyson, and Sylvia Plath, as well as many obscure poets; She began to transform her journaling into the realm of confessional poetry.

One of her favourite pieces is titled “Dark Pines Under Water” written by the Canadian poet Gwendolyn Mac Ewen. Sabrina hopes to feature her poetry in print one day, she can be found on WordPress at Una Zingara, Tumblr at MyCrumpledNotebook, as well as Instagram as una_zingara.

Jesus Died for Somebody’s Sins

Mother Mary

the sinners pray to me

asking me to forgive

their transgressions

their sins

as though I am holy

consecrated by the fire

washed clean in the blood

But Jesus and I never

ran in the same crowd

we didn’t pass a bottle of cheap

schnapps while parked in the Catholic  cemetery

shooting the shit in a rusty Chevy Nova

making out under small town stars

I never found god in the cardboard wafer

placed upon my tongue

by priests with too-tight white collars

who looked down on me

called me illegitimate

offspring of a whore

audacious enough

to marry a divorced Presbyterian

their own vices

alcoholism

adultery

pedophilia

lust

throwing the first stone

gossiped openly about in the parking lot after Mass

do what I say, not as I do hypocrisy

still ringing in my ears as clearly as the amens

and halleluiahs

Don’t come looking to me

for your absolution

I am no virgin in white

visited by an angel

graced by the god of gods

I was a barefoot wild child

finding the Goddess in the silver light of the moon

the Green Man in the sun-dappled clearings

where I had my first orgasms

fingers dug deep in the earth

ants crawling upon my bare fourteen year old legs

I cannot offer you the grace you seek

only my humanity

my empathy

my deeply flawed soul

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved


Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a member of Sudden Denouement.  She is also curator at Blood Into Ink and barista at Go Dog Go Cafe.  She is an aspiring badass.