Thorns by Valerie Parente
Thorns,
wringing my neck
hijacking my own prose
and taking my own breath.
Thorns,
tangled with my veins
I long to protect
the thing that constrains.
Thorns,
why do I wear them proud
as if their scratches
make me profound.
Thorns,
mistaken for a preference
I say I’m comfortable with them
but the discomfort is ever present.
Thorns,
such a cruel joke
because my favorite flower
has always been a rose.
Stony Brook by Valerie Parente
Words about my self are so cold
because this conscious stream is frozen.
I’m making faces under the surface
in the name of what’s unspoken.
I questioned life on solid ground,
but I never stood a chance
at clinging to the rocks
that blistered my own hands.
Underneath the ice I laid on
was an isolation I schemed
where I was swept away by the current
as the current swept by me.
I still cross that stony brook
but I know better this time
holding my own breath
in a space so traumatized.
– Valerie Parente (5-26-2023)
Nervous Habit by Valerie Parente
When I’m nervous
I draw trees.
Picture them naked
in the breeze.
– Valerie Parente (5-18-2023)
Frostbite by Valerie Parente
I don’t think peace of mind
is meant for those alive.
There’s no such thing as closure
there’s only getting older
and though I say I pray for relief
there’s a stronger part of me
that’s encased in thick ice
from the post traumatic life
and I know if I let it melt away
I won’t know who I am today.
Here I am, frozen alive
and it is not a surprise.
To live is to identify with time,
to live is to be encased in ice
and it confuses most
that it feels far from cold.
When frostbitten on the skin
it feels like perpetual burning
and I never quite let go
of the warmth in my soul.
– Valerie Parente (1-2-2023)
Not So Sweet by Valerie Parente
Everybody has a bit of a sweet tooth
looking for that candy-coated praise
you wanna call me your honey
but baby I’m an acquired taste.
Maybe I’m not so prone
to that “sweetie pie” catch phrase
I swear I care, I really do
but I’ll be damned if I’m cliche.
Love is hard but loving me is harder
past the honeymoon phase
I’m trying my damn best
but boy oh boy am I to blame.
– Valerie Parente (11-29-2022)
Caution Tape by Valerie Parente
There’s caution tape
inside my mind
a labyrinth
of words and lines
wrapped around
like ivy or twine
and I don’t know
if I’m the type
to make the most
of warning signs
or if I’m simply
one of a kind
in a maze of trickery
I accidentally cosigned.
Maybe it’s wrong
maybe it’s right
maybe caution tape
is just a means to highlight
the potential in the darkness
that I can’t see inside
so I stand here guessing
what fate might decide.
– Valerie Parente (10-8-2022)
Paint The Stars With Blood (Part I) [A Fantasy Chronicle] by Valerie Parente
Elissa painted the stars with her blood
back when she was numb
a little crimson magic
for the sky’s fabric
stained on purpose
because the creepers said it would be worth it
so she fulfilled that prophecy
when she was so damn naive
illuminating the region
with stars the shapes of demons
but the sun eventually rose
and she could see she was alone
that’s when she found the strength
to no longer identify with pain
it was the bravest thing she ever did
deciding she was more than her emotions.
– Valerie Parente (9-6-2022)
the illness that wants me all to itself by Valerie Parente
There are voices in my head
that do not belong to me
and when you ask how I feel
I can feel them speak.
There is a pattern in the language
so ripe with irony,
“To be sick is strong,
to be healthy is weak.
The pain finds a cure
when you cut skin deep.
To be sober is trapped,
to be drunk is free.
When you avoid your fears
their power depletes.”
It’s as if by design,
this backwards philosophy,
and I have to share a home
with the voices on repeat.
But I am no lost cause,
I can still find my speech
and maybe that’s why
I can write it so easily.
This illness wants me all to itself
but it will never have entirety
because as long as I have a pen
I can differentiate between
a voice in my head
and the words that compete.
– Valerie Parente (8-20-2022)
Haunted, Not Want It by Valerie Parente
It’s not that I’m not over it,
it’s that I never got closure from it.
It’s not that I want what I almost had,
it’s that I’m haunted by the way it passed.
It’s never my intention to turn around,
I just wanna make the old me proud…
When it’s hard to tell the difference
between what you want
and what continues to haunt
I ask myself, am I the host or the witness
of a truth in my heart
or an obsessive thought?
The answer is always the same:
when I was half this age
I wanted exactly what I have in this day,
this longing is an addiction so dishonest
a state of mind of the haunted
and it can be debunked in this way:
having gratitude for today.
– Valerie Parente (8-19-2022)
Thunderstorm Ritual by Valerie Parente
The thunderstorm ritual,
light a candle,
open the windows,
and with every flash,
wait for the clap,
because this life,
its lightening fast,
written in the stars,
there is a crack,
striking a light,
from your past,
it already happened,
but it comes back,
the flicker of a moment,
never loses its impact.
Revel in the storm
like it’s your last.
– Valerie Parente (7-16-2022)
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