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Poetry - Kocsis

The Elegant Seed

Angela “Vennie” Kocsis

I wish I could tell you
what it was like
to be a girl
who dreamed of
sparkling glitter
and princess hats
but it wasn’t like that

it was
developing insomnia
and early mornings
meeting the sunrise
with kerosene eyes
pick the grubs
throw ‘em in the can
with my tiny hands

I wish I could tell you
that I danced
and twirled
and giggled
like most little girls
color crayons
and rag dolls
but it wasn’t
like that at all

It was dirt lines
and corn seeds
on my hands and knees
picking weeds
running from shadows
where demons lurked
while my fingers ached
and my thighs hurt

I wish I could tell you
about flower berets
and Hello Kitty shoes
summertime dresses
and shiny tutus
halos of flowers
hide and seek
but that isn’t
what it was like for me.

it was bruises
and backhands
swift tongues
and hell threats
grizzly bears
lurking behind trees
miles from the Alkan
helplessness, reversed time
lean-tos and firearms

I wish I could tell you
of being tucked in
morning cartoons
and roller skating
kisses on the forehead
and bedtime stories,
play dates with fake makeup
and rice-crispy treats
but damn, it wasn’t
like that for me

It was hiding emotions
till I could set them free
on torn bits of paper
chewing it like gum
I ate poetry
and damn I don’t know
shit about Disney
how many times I gotta
tell you
it wasn’t like that for me.

It was straining to hear
while being accused
of ignoring
it was odd girl out
cuz I always
had to shout
it was stand on the sideline
solitary playtime
and damn
how many times I gotta tell ya
your life
wasn’t like mine.

I was a mystic
before I was three
before the devil tried
to put the demons in me
I traveled the dimensions
before I was four
stood on cliffs with the Greys
My whole life’s been a war.

It gets worse
before it gets better
when you fall to your knees
to sip from the water
sometimes I run my fingers
across the scars
then trace up my chest
to the beat of my heart

I wish I could tell you
how I survived
how I sleep off the day
so I can guard the night;
I give it to prose
write it on guitar strings
paint it in pictures
till my tears make me sing.

Suffering can form
the most elegant seed

it’s me
it’s me
it’s me