Poetry

Prisoner of War

Prisoner of War

By Jesi Scott

Would that I could turn my anguish into clouds,

Then ask the wind to blow it away.

This pain tears, and rakes its claws through my tortured brain,

My skin cracked and bleeding,

My already once sewn-up heart ripped again at the seams.

And it’s more than I can bear,

Beaten and broken, I cower at your feet.

I cry mercy, please, what have I done?

Satiate yourself on my weakness-

I surrender-

Take your pleasure in knowing you win.

 

Oh god, I am not strong enough for this-

Anesthetize me so I don’t have to feel this torment;

Cloud my brain with an opiate haze of numbness

So I don’t have to think-

So I don’t have to ache-

So I don’t have to hear the lies-

So I don’t have to sew my heart up one more time-

For love should not make you feel this way

-you don’t destroy the one you love;

Love builds up, does not tear down,

Yet here I lie, warped and twisted, mangled,

Torn and bleeding on the ground-

My white flag stained vermillion,

And crushed under your boot.

Jesi Kay
Jesi Kay, poet and aspiring novelist, was born in the Texas panhandle where wide skies, lazy summer days, and rolling thunderstorms sparked her imagination and left lasting memories in her blood. An early reader, poetry and mythology were her passions. So much so that when she was ten years old her step-father gave her his college mythology textbooks to read, which were full of classic poetry and more than enough tales to fill her romantic and inquisitive nature. Jesi loves reading, art, going to the theater, the romanticism of the Victorian era (but not the missing conveniences of indoor plumbing and central air conditioning), running when the heat and humidity cooperate, and cold weather so she can wear her favorite boots and knitwear. Also, she still has those college mythology textbooks, a little worse for wear over time but still intact and telling their stories to her. Jesi is a contributor at The Well Tempered Bards blog and at www.octpowrimo.com.

7 Replies to “Prisoner of War

    1. Thank you. No, I don’t like thinking it either. To me, this is love:

      Let me not to the marriage of true minds
      Admit impediments. Love is not love
      Which alters when it alteration finds,
      Or bends with the remover to remove:
      O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
      That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
      It is the star to every wandering bark,
      Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
      Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
      Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
      Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
      But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
      If this be error and upon me proved,
      I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

      But, there are some who, for whatever reason-insecurity, resentment, an over-developed sense of competition, or anger control issues-view love as something they are trapped in or chained to when they never wanted to be though they sure as hell made promises…but they didn’t mean to keep them.
      And so, to protect themselves, the ones who still believe in love as an ever fixéd mark, their north star, must

      Then imitate the action of the tiger;
      Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
      Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;
      Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.

      But it goes completely against their nature, and it is hard to find the courage and strength to do so. Unfortunately, if they don’t the end result could be disastrous. And so they armour their hearts as best they can, set their teeth, and cry ‘God for Hope, Happiness, and Love.’
      And I really hope this makes any kind of sense to you.

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