She is dead inside, she knows she’s dead alreadyIt’s been years now since her and death went steadyWraps his arms around her like no other manLike no other man he keeps her safeAnd no other
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She is dead inside, she knows she’s dead already
It’s been years now since her and death went steady
Wraps his arms around her like no other man
Like no other man he keeps her safe
And no other man can touch her, she’s untouchable
He gifts her his bones to shield from the weather
Giving her a purpose, for she is his bone keeper
His treasure with incomparable measure to the rest
For every soul big and small, hers was the purest before the fall
Arriving not without grace as she stumbled into view
Death taken over by an existence of a beauty which he never knew
The differences between the two vast,
But ask yourself, “what is life without death’s contrast?”
~Zella Wheaton
I want you to make a mess of me,
make my outsides match what’s within
Release my inner self I’ve kept hidden
behind a mask, encased in skin
and bones
I am a star, I am a miracle just like you are just like me
Worthless yet, I feel as though I am worth less than thee
Uncomfortable, I am so uneasy around you
And her, and him, and all of them
And then I think of when
I’ve felt uncomfortable at any place I’ve ever been
Breathe
Moonlight blankets the land, and licks at me
And it is in this moment I give myself up so easily
For I belong to the moon, the stars, the universe beyond this galaxy
And the undeniably unknown
~Zella Wheaton
It’s a celebration in regards to your temple, the human body and all of its capabilities.
Here’s to change, growth, womanhood, motherhood, childhood.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I behold with this eye, my own eye.
Oh, boy is she beautiful, bountiful, the very essence of creation.
She’s a divine delectable, finer than wine, a collectable.
Interiors not too shabby, a lil rough around the edges, a lil rusty,
a bit dinged up but works all the same.
Dust the shelves, they’re dusty but they still recall the pain.
Like an old, worn out, folded at the corners favorite left open on a windowpane.
~Zella Wheaton
(Originally published in the August 16, 2018, print edition of The Mountain-Ear.)
