Vita e Morte

Dear Readers,

This is my response to Bonus Wordle #2 by Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie. I went to a really dark place with this write. This is purely a fictional piece, I do not intend to offend anyone. This poem has some graphic themes, please look away if you are under aged.

Here are the words we were given (many words in different languages and a few english words that are not in standard dictionaries)

 

1. Gnarler (via Yves) A little dog that by his barking alerts his people that there is a burglar inside the house.
2. Chirping Merry (via Yves) Exhilarated with liquor.
3. Jabber (via Yves) To talk thick and fast, sometimes to speak in a foreign tongue
4. Gregorian Tree (via Yves) The gallows.
5. Honey-peeler (via Yves) A person who manipulates through seduction. Honey-peel is the act of manipulation through seduction
6. Lentamente (via Bastet) Italian for slowly.
7. Muore (via Bastet) Italian for dies.
8. Makisig (via Ladylee) Filipino for handsome.
9. Malakas (via Ladylee) Filipino for powerful or strong.
10.  Lazulitopian (via J Lapis) “One who resides in a mental world of blue perfection; flourishing at optimal emotional, spiritual rest when surrounded, submerged in blue—all shades, all day and indigo night.”
11.  Moje Dziecko (via Pat) Polish for “My Baby”
12. Nudnik (via Cressida) Yiddish for a pestering, nagging, or irritating person; a bore.

Few Italian words that are in the title of the poem and in the poem itself:

Morto – Dead

Vita e Morte – Life and death

(Hope those are right, I used google translate. Please excuse me if its not correct)

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When was the last time I heard it

“Moje Dziecko,” whispered

A gentle caress of my soft forehead

My mother, a pale ghost in a tattered nightgown

She tried so hard, but a frail body deceived her

Yellow hair falling out in clumps

Hollow eyes blinking back tears

My Nudnik of a “father” was of no help

Blamed her for her illness, blamed me for existing.

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I close my eyes to make memories disappear

Poverty and hunger led my way after “father” left

I cringe at the mirror at my lack of dress for the night

Blue bustier, blue fish nets, blue eyes.. not much else

The customer is some sort of Lazulitopian freak show

Money means commands and instructions to follow.

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They’re all different, but pretty much the same

Some just want to get in and out, so to speak

Guilty and squeamish, they can’t look at my face

Jabber endlessly about their hopeless lives (or wives)

Need to be chirping merry to get a decent rise.

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So many sadists, I try to steer clear of those

Cigarette butts, handcuffs and things I  hate to think of

They call me a honey-peeler,try to slap me around

The buzz of my taser usually calms them down

My Filipino colleague calls me Malakas

But there’s no other way to live this life.

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Once, just once, there was a man

Makisig and intent, he would come by over and over

I told him to stop, showed him my scars to scare him

But he was unrelenting, his touch sent me spinning:

He used the word love.

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The promises he made, I started to believe them

With time, I told him that my battered heart was his, forever.

Well, I didn’t see that gnarler again, not ever.

He was the third kind of client, little did stupid me know

The kind that wants to believe its real, like we have a chance

They’ll zip up and be gone when they’ve got you in their trance

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My Polish, devout mother, I inherited her eyes and that was all

I’m sure she doesn’t look down at me from heaven any more

Only Hell’s Gregorian Tree awaits a whore like me

Under the weight of my sins, the noose tightening

Lentamente.. Muore.. Morto.

 

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