• Publisher’s Message
  • Contributors
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • NonFiction
  • Galleries
  • Archive
  • Forsaken Space
     
    Container of Vaseline
    Smells of cheap cologne, cigarettes,
    Wetness of the damp space
    The faucet on pace
    Drip….. drip…… drip…..
    The radio on the floor
    Covered with cigarette ash and dust
    I’m not afraid yet
     
    You’re so cute baby girl
    That’s what he says
    Before grabbing my hand
    Forcing me to sit
    On a sweat soaked bed
    A drink in his hand,
    Cigarette in his mouth
    It’s nothing but long ash – I wonder, will it fall to the floor?
    Fire and all, disappearing into little red drops
    Then, nothing.
     
    Music plays from the static filled black radio
    My heart, off pace
    I’m starting to feel scared
    I want mommy
    I have to get upstairs
    As I climb off of the bed, he stops me with both arms, tight
    It hurts
    My feet stick to the floor
    He gets on his knees
    Bigger than me, like a mean Snuffalufagus
    Tugs at my clothes
    Sliding down my pink pajama bottoms
    My ruffles and lace panties
    My heart, off pace
    I stare into space
    To avoid staring at his face
     
    I close my eyes as he rams his tongue into my innocence
    He lifts me in the air, and lays me on the bed
    Confusion, as I hear his belt buckle jiggle
    Terrified by the sound – the unzip of his pants
    I open my eyes
    As he reveals himself
    I am afraid.
     
    My heart, each beat a race
    Sadness – my breath a faster pace
    He grabs the Vaseline
    Rub
    My tiny hands on his … his
    Harder
    I can’t see, although there’s a light
    I can’t hear, although there’s sound
    I’m not here.
    I’m not here.
     
     
    ***

    My Heart is Tender
     
    My heart is tender
    Of pain once lived in its chambers
    Even with the slightest massage of happiness
    The urge of a smile
     
    Tears won’t flow
    They seem stuck, suspended
    Is it arrogance?
    Or ego, pride
    Variations of them
    Combinations of three
     
    My heart is tender
    Of pain still there
    Sore, as if it’s been worked too hard
    Held on too long
    Palms splitting in two
    Bones shattering underneath
    Strength fading
    Crumbling like a statue hit by lightening
    As if beating, constant pounding could not be enough
     
    My heart is tender
    Even with the promise of summer
    Laughter, happiness and sun
    Things growing around me
    God fulfilling His promise to the earth
    Life continuously
    As it rejoices in return with bountiful fruit
    Colorful artwork across the plains
    Beauty surrounds everyone with eyes to see
    But what about me?
     
     
    ***

    Shadows of Dark
     
    We grow accustomed to the dark
    Truth hidden in lies
    Falsehoods covered by shadows
    Only light can save you
    Illuminate you from unheard truths that stain
    But instead
    We hold on the dark
    There’s safety there and disdain
    A place where one can only see
    What is allowed
    What parts of you that steps out from the shadows, still covered
    We carry the darkness like backpacks
    Piling books upon books in stacks
    We bury the dark within our souls
    Darkness becomes us
    The story we’ve told and tell
    A million times over
    The memories stay stagnant
    In that darkness
    However painful, but
    There’s a comfort …. There
    There’s a comfort in knowing
    The heaviness is ours to bear
    To bury
    Or to hold
    And we survived.

    About The Author

    Tye (1280x960)

    Tyeastia Green

    Tyeastia (Tye) L. Green is a dynamic artist whose talents as a writer have taken her from private journal writer to a self-published producer of three spoken word CD’s, author of two award winning screenplays and creator of TH3M! web series.  She is an Information Technology Analyst in her day job, but always gives the bow to her creative energy whenever it arises. Tye’s writing gives insight to her world that all but eliminates thoughts of differences in a society that is driven on dividing.  Tye’s work appeals to people of all walks of life, gay, straight, white, or black. The only quality that one must possess in order to be swept up by Tye’s gift as writer is being a human.