~ Steps to Freedom ~
She beat the path
with tiny-fingered hands,
mapped her way to
somewhere new...
Freedom.
Kissed the pain good-bye.
Yes, she patted its familiar head
and sent it skipping away.
Such a large step—
for such a small girl.
such a long aisle
to march triumphantly down
One minute runs in slow-mo,
every breath held
for her.
Palms sweaty.
Every eye
upon her.
Not wanting to fall,
or to make a mistake,
she is careful where she places
her feet.
Each step is calculated, certain
as it touches the ground.
But there is a veil over her eyes,
prohibiting her sight.
She catches only glimpses
of her long and tiring flight
Until at last, her eyes are free
to look upon her future,
her new life.
She's standing at the alter,
today...
She is a bride.
By Kryste Buoniconti
© 1997 Kryste Buoniconti
~ Chaotic Companion ~
I can feel the darkness coming in,
and all my angels... are stuck in sin,
All these things in the mirror I should hate
become cherished items of a sad soul.
But I'd trade this guilt
for a moment of well-built joy.
I've suffocated far too long,
haven't been the sturdy, strong one
I wished to be.
Pushed myself into a corner and
decided upon a new order of chaos
to surround myself with.
I tell lies even in my sleep
dream to keep this madness a secret
from everyone.
stuck...stuck... STUCK... in this world.
Trapped in the insanity
I created.
The disgust I live in.
The shame I succumb to.
But I have this comfort...
this sadness is mine to embrace.
Mine to nurture.
Pain is a chaotic companion.
A soothing, constant variable
in the great scheme of life.
By Kryste Buoniconti
© 1997 Kryste Buoniconti
~ Those Words ~
What you called your own...
did you find it in the open?
Were they homegrown?
Those words of yours,
tearing into my skin
as if I were loose, and a target...
a target for your misery.
What you took, you said I owed.
Years of practiced cruelty,
dreams I never dares to show you.
Those words of yours,
tearing at my dress like a lion.
Those things you stole from
the chest in my attic,
my whispers, my loves...
I didn't give them to you.
Is that the reason for your hatred?
Those words of yours
were always too dark.
They washed my hands with blood
and soaked my life with
your pain.
You were always too weak to bear it alone,
had to share the only thing you owned...
your misery.
I give it back to you now.
Those words.... those years...
you childish fears.
Thrown back in your face
And finally out of my life.
By Kryste Buoniconti
© 1995 Kryste Buoniconti
~ Self-Loathe, Self-Love ~
Perhaps...
it is too late,
to hold back to tears
and graduate to
Nothingness.
I only wanted a moment of perfection.
I only needed a day
when I didn't hate myself.
Because now...
Perhaps I am too old
to reclaim youth.
Too old to perhaps
feel rejuvenation.
I only wanted a person
who wouldn't leave
in the morning.
I only needed a person
who would look at me
and not hate what they saw.
Maybe I just needed
myself
to love me.
Yes, perhaps
I just need me.
By Kryste Buoniconti
© 1997 Kryste Buoniconti
~ Misery Loves Company ~
To find sorrow here
took only a moment.
To stare blankly at the faces
that condemn me
takes no courage.
Only misery.
Because misery...
hardens your soul.
Makes you hesitant
to wander outside
the realm of Depression
you've tossed yourself into.
Misery is like a brick wall...
solid, and too hard to climb over.
It takes something
larger
than just momentarily-felt elation
to break it down.
And so here we are, surrounded,
fourhigh walls, holding us
in our rage.
Trapping us in solitude.
Each of us waiting
for the one who
will arrive with a chisel
and break us out.
By Kryste Buoniconti
© 1997 Kryste Buoniconti
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