#OctPoWriMo Day 12-Tortured


By Jesi Scott


You don’t like what I say?

Silence my words with your

                                Wicked twists.

Knife-stabbed heart through the back,

I turned and you were gone.

                                Blood-dipped fingertips

                                Leaving vermillion-dripped

                                Evidence along the floor.


Cut me down to your level,

Force-fed diamond lies you

                                Shove in my throat.

Ignore the damage you leave in your wake;

Hurricane hiding in an empty face.

                                Victim-played the lines greyed,

                                Oath-bound promises filleted

                                And arrayed on a silver platter.


Leave me bare now

                                Huddled on the cold, hard floor.

Black-bruised heart left scarred,

You turn your back and go.

                                Unrestrained lies contained

                                Leaving your blood-stained

                                Reputation maintained.


*Day 12 of the challenge brings us to feeling tortured. When things don’t go well in a relationship we tend to torture ourselves with thoughts of what we could have done differently. We go over and over the things we said, the actions we took, and we question if we did the right thing. For some the torture happens before things end. We walk on eggshells trying to make decisions that won’t make things worse. Putting out fires before they turn into an inferno becomes the order of the day; being constantly on guard is simply the new normal. In my poem I write about the emotional torment in a dysfunctional relationship.


Reject. Refuse. Discard.

No Love Lost


Sometimes I don’t know why you even asked.
It’s not as though the world was on your case
Or convention taking you to task
For not yet getting hitched.
Yet ask you did,
And I
Said yes,
Because you’re good and kind
And the sort of person who SHOULD
Be utterly, perfectly good to spend some time
To spend a life – with and never without you
But all those plans fell through
Although they were beyond our control
And neither of us was equal to the task
Of getting our shattered lives repaired
But sometimes you say things
Which make me wonder WHY you asked
When so much of what transpired
Was the process of us suffocating
One another – love expired
Exchanged for barely-veiled disdain
Irritation, confusion and that old refrain
In every word and look which slips through the guard
“I don’t want you.
I don’t want you.
Life is hard
And you make it worse.
Now it feels like having asked you was a curse
Designed to poison you and me
We’re doomed to fail, eventually
So let’s aid the process with apathy”
Revulsion, repulsion, rejection

And indeed, why bother?
Why sacrifice yourself on the alter
Of the false idol of marriage
When you don’t even like each other
And everything you had got bleached away
By circumstance and happenstance
And a disinclined lover
Who, somehow, you suspect
Wanted you.

But then, when you decide
It’s over, then
You learn
It’s true.

#NaPoWriMo The Algea

The rending of our sorrow will be heard  The Algea

We cry our raindrop tears
From sodden, marble lids
Let the wind howl our lament
Let it carry from our midst
Around the world
The rending of our sorrow
Will be heard

Our faces staid in masks
Of long-borne grief
Observe the pain of years
Ne’er destined for relief
From this sharp world
The rending of our sorrow
Must be heard

Our lonely arms
Will ne’er embrace elation
Alabaster; raised
In stony supplication
Yielding to the world
The rending of our sorrow
Shall be heard

Our bodies fixed in anguish;
Dolor carved
We cling forever,
Our misery never halved
By this cruel world
The rending of our sorrow
Needs to be heard

Our heartache on display
Algos, Akhos, Lupa;
Grievers, we
Lament this world
The rending of our sorrow
Will e’er be heard



Our prompt today was to write a persona poem; one a bit more serious than other, recent prompts have elicited, and so, being tired of life and in the kind of mood where sadness is hanging in the edges of the air, I wrote of statues, carved forever into their pain – a public spectacle of misery which would result in congratulation for the sculptor and endless sadness for the statues (were they sentient (not in a freaky in-yer-face, Dr Who-style way, either)).

So I researched to figure out who would like as not be turned into such a piece of artistry and upset, and the Algea appeared in my world – three Greek goddesses whose embodiment was grief, sadness, and mental and physical pain. Learn more about them here.