TRUTH'S {a}VERSION

by Hokis

To him

Her suicide note reads

Like a concentrated dose

Of all her victim issues

In one syringe

 

Little does he know

Her religion prohibits

Needles

 

To Truth

His suicide note reads

Like a concentrated dose

Of her redirected rage

In one syringe

 

Little does he know

She finds his track marks

Victorious

 

 

Amen

Confessions of a Former Cult Leader

Hokis {n., /hō/kēs/ Armenian for “my soul"} channels zir trauma-inoculated mistrust of humanity into poetry. Ze has worked as community organizer, teacher, and mindful body educator. Ze is Senior Editor of Headline Poetry, with recent work in For Women Who Roar, Truly U, and Cloud Women's Quarterly.  

by Hokis

As you rush towards

my hijacked ambulance -

the karambit steady,

resting to the side of my birthing, soldier hip. 

 

Your momentum,

not mine,

disembowels you

to expose

the cancer

that never existed

inside the you that you aren’t.

 

It’s not your fault:

You weren’t privileged with,

though you probably should have asked,

my safe word:

 

Manson.

Because

by Hokis

Because I like the feel of dopamine's hand as it leads me to the apple’d tree.

Because I have a God complex, believing the only person to help is me.

 

Because I was told your name one mournful day, long before.

Because I made a promise to settle a sister’s score.

 

Because I am angry and want someone to pay.

Because I saw it would be easy that very first day.

 

Because I remember her when she was little, and you when she was dead.

Because I am the secret keeper, and you were her dread.

 

Because the obvious solution is a federal crime.

Because I made a promise to meet her need without doing time.

 

Because there is something romantic, almost poetic, about running someone out of town.

Because it is ironic to spew familiar rhetoric to the self-identified king, who truly is a clown.

 

Because, as expected, your eyes were on the wrong ball.

 

I know this,

because I am a woman and this is how men, great or not, always do fall. 

 © 2023 by Agatha Kronberg. Proudly created with Wix.com

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