Antithetical Thesis

Antithetical Thesis by Valerie Parente

I have this freedom
a freedom to express
but I am afraid
of my own success
and what it means
to let my laurels rest
because if you like what you see
then I can reap the benefits
but who wants to be a reaper
other than the lord of death?
I don’t want to kill my spark
I want the ever glowing brightness
but I’ve always been in love
with finding beauty in darkness.
It’s all so confusing
the antithetical thesis
the dissonance of my hopes
mixed with poetic justice
because I want to be free
and I want to be complex
but out there on a stage
you might see that I’m less.
I have to put myself out there
if I want to impress
but I crumble from criticism
because I’m such a pathetic narcissist.
I don’t really want the fame
I want the respect
because fame is the curse
that you get when you’re blessed.

– Valerie Parente (9-22-2023)

she is the tree whisperer (A Fantasy Chronicle)

she is the tree whisperer by Valerie Parente

Little baby girl
found at the bottom of a tree
nestled in the moss
along the tree’s anatomy
but she was not alone
in her perfectly sound sleep;
for the lullabies of the tree spirits
kept her warmth and company.

Found by three druids
but raised by two
they named her Sylvianna
under the wake of the moon,
offered her a home in the village
but she kindly refused
because there with the tree spirits
she felt connected to her roots.

Sylvianna grew to know the forest
like the back of her hand
from the tip of her toes
to her antennas of branch
receiving the whispers
from the lay of the land
learning about lifetimes
far beyond man.

With nails like claws
Sylvianna climbed to her kingdom
a network of treehouses
where she learned from the brilliant.
For there is a reason that trees
are known for their wisdom
because they’ve heard it all
throughout the ecosystem.

She is the tree whisperer
and she is one with the Nightingale forest
protecting the very territory
that granted her solace.
She had the option to leave
nature’s cruelty and harshness
but she whispered to herself,
“I’d much rather be haunted.”

Bitch!

Bitch! by Valerie Parente

She says “I’m not your bitch”
but he sure was possessive,
eager to identify her
through his own perspective.
When that woman was assertive
she got called aggressive
when she used her brain
she was oh so deceptive
when she remembered his betrayal
she was so damn obsessive.

But you don’t fool me
though I’ll admit, it’s impressive
how you’ve villainized the female
in the conscious collective.
Since the beginning of time
the men in charge were defensive
talking down to “little girls”
but we knew the real message
they didn’t want an even playing field
they wanted outright oppression.

No I’m not your bitch
but I’ve learned my lesson
go ahead and call me one
7 days out of 7
I’ll carry the weight you gave the word
when you were busy deflecting;
now who’s the stronger sex
in this pointless competition
the one calling names
or the one making the impression?

– Valerie Parente (9-4-2023)


Ship In A Bottle


Ship In A Bottle by Valerie Parente

I was meant to go places
but I was too afraid
so I hid in a bottle
and became a display.
Trying to preserve myself
might have been a mistake
because now I crave touch
but I’m perfectly encased.
Now I’ve come to realize
as I get older with age
I wasn’t fragile to begin with
I made myself this way
piecing myself together
in a teeny tiny space.
I limited my horizon
when I had potential for waves
but I know better now
this glass, I can break
and when the shards fall
I won’t be bound to one place.

– Valerie Parente (7-20-2023)

grief is the proof that love connects the living to the dead

grief is the proof that love connects the living to the dead
by Valerie Parente


We live in 3 dimensions
but we die into more.
It feels like loved ones “have been”
but my dear, they still occur.
You have been trained to feel saddened
because you can’t see them anymore
but that’s the living’s misconception,
the dead are still here, in a different form.
We struggled for a definition
so we came up with a new word,
called it “grief”, but it’s really “connection”
to a state beyond this world.

– Valerie Parente (8-4-2023)

Thorns


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

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)