tragedies.

i have a wedding to go to and i'm hoping that it restores, rather gives me some faith in love and relationships.  the last few days have been a blur. my head was probably throbbing in place of my heart.   in a space where i feel i should be candid, i'm only acquiring more secrets.  life has a funny way of making me feel so dead inside.

i believe in tragedies
people burned at the stake
children offered up for sacrifices
and rapes that are so terrible that we call it bad sex instead of forced sex just so we can sleep at night
yeah
i believe in tragedies
true accounts of blood and tears shed in the wake of wars we don't know we're fighting
where fairy godmothers are replaced by nonchalant stepmothers who turn their eye to what daddies do in the dark
i believe in tragedies that haunt generations of goodness
stain premature panties
and liplock with locked lips
secrets kept under pink tongues and in the crevices of ivory teeth
i know tragedies
where brothers are slaves to their whoring mothers and false idols to their adoring sisters
where mothers love men more than their children
and children love men more than their mothers
i know tragedies
tragedies so dark not even god shines light on them
not allah
not yahweh
not even hay-soos (jesus) running the bodega on the corner even bothers to look outside his window for
forty days and forty nights of tragedies
one. papa you broke mama's heart
two. mama you let him
three. how come you never told me you loved me?
four. i sought the same love that you poisoned her with
five. i'm just a whore following your example
six. i prayed for you and now i see you're the devil himself
seven. those weren't bad dreams, they are bad memories
eight. that's how old i was when i realized how young i would never be
nine. saw you shoot cocaine and watched it shoot you back
ten.  fingers. ten. toes. still not made whole.
eleven. how many years until your secret expired
twelve. the price we pay for having you around is one we can't afford
thirteen. of us.
fourteen. my body became a woman without me
fifteen. school is more important than kissing on corners but you don't give me credit for that
sixteen. wasn't so sweet at all. puberty can be so bitter.
seventeen. in state meant in house and that wasn't good enough for me
eighteen. yet and still, i came back with more luggage than what i'd left with
nineteen. your whore gave birth to an angel
twenty. and my name isn't magdalene and her name ain't jesus
twenty one. i value the days of scraped knees instead of broken hearts
twenty two. two stepped until midnight and woke up in the dress from the night before.
twenty three. the moonlight dances on my eyelids. his hands are warmed by my thighs. my breast press up against his tattoos.  we're not in love but we're in love grinding to the baseline of our hormones. stacked against pedicured toes on ceramic walls, the mirror takes pictures of a night we can never forget and i stain his lips with my kiss.  he makes my eyes roll so far in the back of my head i can see what i was thinking yesterday right into today...
twenty four. hours in a day. years in a life
i believe in tragedies
i believe that tragedies put make up on and call it couture
i believe that tragedies dress up like whores but are only misdirected virgins
i believe that tragedies are scars dressed up as beauty marks in private places
i believe in tragedies
harmful, deadly, sickening tragedies
that we stuff in suitcases dragging behind us until our heels bleed and our souls scream for some salvation
life goes on but tragedies?
they don't move an inch.