1,000 Crosses
she radiates beauty beyond compare
malachite eyes dancing on delicate features
thick flaming hair accentuating skin so fair
she has built within her own dark lair
where every aching hour is neither here nor there
transfixed on modern technologies to articulate her pain
searching diligently for ways to cut her losses
pain has nailed her to a thousand crosses
like a cask of amontillado she remains walled in
growing moss- lamenting – wailing in her literature
all the times she’s been double-crossed
she lives now in a four-walled cubicle
a home chiseled to create personal comfort
protection from human-demons devoid of true love
the pathetic and sad in endless cycles of utter despair
she feels spurned
rougher, tougher still searching for her elusive lover
trapped in an unreal reality
her unrealized spirituality zaps her vitality
she hopes for better days
& yearns for someone magical to discover her sexuality
she weeps silently and peeks outside her shuttered windows
counting endless stars – glimmering pinpoint beams of light
through eyes that seek their own purity
something to move her out of obscurity
trapped, she reveals nothing
stuffing stories of her pain that fall like rain
upon the mantle of her secure fortress
distressed with stress as her days slowly pass her by
why bother to confess or confide in wounded people
who couldn’t care less?
still, she must find a magical person to listen
to love her – to save her from madness
her tormented broken heart continually cries and wails
seeking an ounce of genuine gladness
prose scribbled on cerebral portals
bring some release from her infinite dark losses
the very fabric of her being implores her to “know thyself”
she prays silently to no one in particular to remove the painful nails
that suspend her on a thousand crosses…
the time has come to become like the albatross and fly
before she dies broken in her loneliness & fear…
-randini-
Randy E Welch
That was then
But not now
She finally had enough
Of all that crab
Those walls she had built herself
To guard her oft-broken,misunderstood heart
Came with a price that she refused to pay any longer
So she took the scissors
Cut off her hair
Let one side fall to the ground
While she stared at herself
In the mirror
As she twisted a handful of curls
In her right hand
And cut off the rest
Leaving a mess on the bathroom floor
In doing so
She opened up
The door to her soul
The less hair she had
The more she smiled
The weight of other people’s expectations
Fell away
She had learned long ago
Not to confide or confess
A cotton picking thing to anyone that just might turn around and use those things
To try to make sense
Make her change
Send her on a guilt trip
Bury her in shame
Make her fit into some cubicle
Take away her natural sensuality
God given spiritually
Inclination for mystery and magic
Just so that they could be satisfied
With what they thought she was
She finally felt as if she had just enough
Of all the right people standing along side
Filling up her cup
With all she wanted
Much of what she needed
She had prayed
Night and day
In her own way
And in doing so
She found the courage and the strength
To pack up what she couldn’t live without
Kick the rest to the curb
Lay claim to what is rightfully hers
Walk right inside her very own door
Breathing in the sweet scent of freedom that comes from
Doing what makes her soul dance within
Her well loved, well worn imperfect body
With a single stone cross around her neck
She was not lonely
Never had been afraid
She felt such purpose and peace
As if this was exactly as she had prayed and wished
Way back then
To have now.
👣💙Jeanna’ Mead
8 33 a.m 3-10-19
Www.jeannasoul.com
Jeanna' Soul 