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there will never be a lucille. [20. 1. 24.]
the heart of she continues to beat,
but she is dead.
the pupils of she keep on intaking,
but she provides no output.
the limbs, the blood, the grace.
the reputation, the responsibility, the face.
the sins that flood the grave.
she needs help,
she'll never be able to obtain.
she is gorgeous,
she's glamour.
she tries not to think yet,
her mind is clamoured.
she's gorgeous,
she is glamour.
she's staring death in the face and
send off bouquets stare right back at her.
a stare so comforting,
so sweet.
her feet gently pushed the chair to the side.
her body flies; so eager for death to meet.
the road was hard.
her soul, now fed.
the heart of she used to continue to beat,
but now she is dead.
Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea
there was never a lucille. [19. 1. 24.]
everyone worries about the physical purity of the girl, lady, woman.
why doesn't anybody care about the mental purity of the girl, lady and woman?
telling to her keep her hands to herself.
to keep her eyes to herself.
her skin to herself.
her very presence.
but letting others be so quickly to impurify her mind with the red hot dousing of "bitch", "whore", "slut", "broad" and more on the stainless cloth of her psyche.
for that is worse than the judging irises
looking upon her like a virus.
worse than baneful whispers.
she then is mentally messed up for life,
finally proper and put into line by being called such foul monikers.
but, for she has no mind.
no light within her iris, pupils too.
she then is judged for that.
she is then going to be messed for a second time.
she will have nothing lacking in the eyes of the world.
no soul, no mind.
-- for rot has stripped it from her
she will ascend past humanity...
to femininity.
Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea
there is no lucille. [18. 1. 24.]
i wanna be more.
i need to want less.
less to earn,
less to get.
more to give,
more to learn.
why can't i keep the things that i earn?
must you rip them from me?
under and out from my hands?
my accomplishments are yours,
because we are friends.
but now we aren't friends.
no friendship seeds verdant.
don't expect me to again
remove this burden.
look what you've done.
look what you've made.
eat it all up,
dont avoid your plate.
no efforts of yours were verdant,
refrain from writing of letters,
you've sewed what you've sent.
now wanting to be friends?
now wanting to repent?
your accomplishments are mine,
because we were friends.
you and only you...
are the burden.
Copyright © 2024 Cattille Quettea