SICK LIT MAGAZINE

[Untitled]

by Buffy the Writer

 

“You don’t know me,

I can be anything.”

Unfortunately, you can’t see how brilliant I am.

The words I sling,

The taboos I kill,

The frailty of a poetess with the coy heart of a gei-.*

 

Man, you were always right about me.

You know way more than you let on.

Tracking my pattern, our flamboyant correlations

The odd sameness of the queer and the weird.

 

The wyrd* sisters who cursed your thane,

The wyrd mother who fathered Grendel,

Yet, still made in your image and stronger than us men.

You feared my magic, his future, my blood.

T’was thine own sins, not my ruby elixir, which made us sick.

 

When the unseen seeps into your world,

When you accept the truth in the unexplained,

I’ll stop crossing your stars.

Our world(s) will still turn,

Your terms will still push us (see above),

But my spells will start to work.

 

And, for a split second

You’ll see me in a mirror,

Not to brag, but I’ve always been right

There behind you.

 

*Geisha

*Anglo-Saxon spelling wyrd insinuating predestination.

***

Buffy the Writer is an art history major and part-time writer extraordinaire. Well, she’s actually new to the writing scene but learning. When she’s not tackling medieval manuscripts or writing, Buffy enjoys painting, knitting, and sleeping in. It was her dream since the age of six to rule the world, but when confronted by the loneliness of absolute power she settled for creating her own. Her blog, buffythewriter.wordpress.com, is a collection of these colorful worlds. You can also follow her on Twitter and Instagram @buffythewriter