Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

I thought I'd maybe give it a go. I can always delete my stuff if I get too uncomfortable with having it out here, so why the hell not!
To whoever decides to read what I post: I'd really appreciate it if you left a short comment. You don't have to, of course, but it'd be nice to know your thoughts. Feel free to do whatever you want, though; I'm not your mom.

This "poem" is inspired by Sylvia Plath's Mirror and (very heavily by) the "Despite everything, it's still you"-scene in Undertale. It is by no means supposed to reflect what happens in the scene; the quote simply struck home and I wanted to write something around it. Hope you enjoy it!

trickle

there's a fire inside me
burning all the time
a volcano on the verge of eruption
but only on the verge
most of the time
smoldering coals
and glowing red embers
throbbing to the sound of the drum of my feet

there's an inkwell too
where our lungs used to be
before we got broken for the first time, or second
filling up
until it's spilling out
the black tar tasting oh so sweet
like molasses, dripping down,
slow tears into the flames
not quenching them
but vaporizing with a hiss and floating out,
hot breath
under my skin

the looking glass
a silver disc
still like a pond where all the fish have died
it looks back at me
tired eyes and beautiful
glaring at me with a mother's forgiveness
and a mother's love
gentle eyes even when I lean in close with my hands on the table and my elbows sharpened like bayonets
gentle eyes
seeing what i don't want to or can't
looking beyond the broken parts because I'm more than the sum of them
underneath where I tried to stick them back
filling the cracks with gold and molten glass
only to break them apart again with mine own hands
fistfuls of anger and nothing else flailing like a drowning man fighting against the undertow
only the undertow is me and the sailor too
hitting myself but the others too
until I'm too tired and the others too
and I get sucked in and spit out on the shore of a cliff where two lovers jumped off cause they forgot how long it takes till you hit the rocks

lava trickles down my arms
like molasses, leaving streaks of charred flesh
where weeping willows once stood
I look on up, arms black as soot
and these gentle eyes, still gazing back,
piercing flesh and humming a prayer
saying
"despite everything,
it's still you."

I really like this, Dana! I'm all for imagery and this had some great images brought to mind.

C.P. wrote: "I really like this, Dana! I'm all for imagery and this had some great images brought to mind."

Thanks so much, C.P.! Really glad you liked it! :)

You're very welcome! Looking forward to reading more of your work.

I thought I'd share a short poem I wrote a few weeks back. It doesn't have a title and was intended for a small short form contest, but I ultimately entered with a different poem, so here's my first attempt if you will :)

I want to be fire made flesh
speech made skin, stretched tight around my smiling skull,
so tight I have a headache.
Not just bones scorched from your fingertips,
bended spines on bended knees
brittle from aeons of work on the backs of the women before me.
But I am.