Author: Rachel Beyda

Rachel Beyda is a twenty three-year-old adventurer, painter, poet, designer and apprentice (for tattooing) currently based in Denver, Colorado. Her work can be found on theglitterpainter.com.

anarchque

nothing can truly be prepared for
you forget a lot when you run out the door
you sweat and drop whatever you score
backtrack and raid under the floorboard
doomed for the outbreak, doomed for the outpour,
doomed for the war

and yeah,
I’ve already got a bag packed:
sweaters and soup cans, first aid, map,
lighters, flaregun, passport, cash,
pocket knife, potassium iodide,
gas-mask
ready for any reason
to run away fast
you bleed on your sleeves and
know it wouldn’t last
owed no explanation
for the weight of your past
no choice but to dive in
it’s cold and it’s vast

spend your next paycheck on steel-toed boots
an armored vest and “anarchy” tattoos
six months worth of pills
and a lot more in booze
not once were you ill
never once amused
and for someone who never had much to lose,
you’re suddenly missing your right to choose
and your new steel toes
ain’t like your old shoes
and cutting chainlink holes
is like breaking a noose
one which was
already loose

january 3

a too-accurate metaphor:
I’ve got a shark-heart
it’s a predator
this world made you so bizarre

oceans are all salt, trash & echoes

amorous and amorphous
anchored to the Atlantic
hissing snakes fall next to me
whispering incessantly

the dreams in my body stem
from lines in the soft of your hand
pinch me between your fingers
and crumble me into sand

I’m a block of ice for you to melt or break
and if I walk straight
long enough I’ll find you
a delicate fortress
a tone for the voiceless

I love in threes
and you’re straight sixes
we live outside churches
(we aren’t allowed in)
pretty little concubines
tangled up in coiled vines

we’re weeping and laughing in turns while everything burns

october 14

you say you’re no good for me
like a vulture on swan meat
as if I’m a pure lady
yeah you’ve misunderstood, baby,
I swoon for the deadly
and I really, especially
wanna hear your medley
the one in a low key
want your swansong on repeat
you sing it so sweetly
long fingers are skinny
I kneel on bruised knees
those hands are so dirty
all the better to touch me

bye

one day he said he wanted out
or he wanted more
and then I shout that
life is like a swinging door;
you only get what you put in
and there is no shame in what you can’t win

that night he walked out, he left
it wasn’t as quick as he led to expect
it wasn’t *doors slam, footprints lead West
never see him again*
it was more like, come home at three A.M.
tell me, “it’ll be a few days ‘til my mom can get the van.”
I don’t mind
(on the outside
except the no-sleep, cold hands, mouth dry)
it’s just a break-up vibe
I’ll make this all go away
another good-boy-bad-girl love array
another day

another girl-turned-sweet-boy-sour
a mother, matriarchal misuse of power
but he’s got milky-white
creamy, smooth skin right
there, he wanted to be soiled
I left him out in the sun too long and he spoiled
he goes sour so easy
he forgot how to please me
footprints leading East, he
can’t help but tease me

up, forget it

we’re serenity-painted
it’ll fade away, face it,
run her up a tree trunk
or hunker down, bottom bunk
a winged amphibian
in-fling, times infinity
here there are less ghosts
than the best of the coast
where they sound like hyenas
I’m a little jealous of
how they waltz through me
pulsing with purity
always down in-spirit,
always down to escape it
I’ve shown to you
false clues
all rude
when I’m in these moods
while waiting on the riot
keeping still & quiet
claustrophobic behind eyelids
my hide is purple orchid
faint in the sunlight
a saint in my past life
a god-sent
girlfriend
dizzy in the rain
light in my veins
and a music box-heart
and a berry poptart
yeah you’re vicious
but this world is delicious
and you take away its taste
every time you make that face
so put all of the syrup
in a little paper cup
and drink up,
forget it