Poets is powered by Vocal creators. You support Alexa Green by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Poets is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

Untitled II

A Dream, a Nightmare, a Breath

Today I am tired.

Plagued dreams make for a restless sleep

I woke with my bones already weary,

My emotions wholly drained.

I woke from a memory.

Passenger side, in the cab of a red truck.

outside There is a promising threat of rain

Slow, down, and, Park,

by an open field. Not by my home.

I am supposed to be going home, where is my home?

Click, doors lock. And,

Panic. My shaking hands are

Pulling the handle and it wont give way. Im pulling the handle and it wont give way.

Okay. Frantically searching outside the window. Where is my home?

Panic, because

I haven’t looked at my driver yet,

And I can already see his ten ravenous eyes

Reaching for my starved body.

Dont look, dont look and he cant hurt you, and

the viper strikes

Slithering, up

Thighs, and curling

Around body

Fangs, sinking

Into this heart, replacing

Blood with paralyzing venom

My kicking legs cease

Teeth and tongue crumble to sand that

pours down my ruby throat

ruby red raw lungs choke, and cry for air

Cry for air cry for air cry for cry for cry!

1,2,3, 1, 2 and 3, 1, and, 2, and, 3,

If i am not counting then i am thinking and when i am thinking i am remembering and

my ground shakes and my hands quake and my bones ache and my heart dies,

Because she cannot believe this has happened to me!

That pedophilic sadists can be the fathers of daughters

That this! Is! A woman's! Reality!

What once was caution is now fear! fear for

the girl who walks alone in night! is that shout i heard a cry for help? everything

becomes a trap! a date, a party, a walk,

trust diminishes as those around you prove your heart wrong

but fear riles and turns

wild, turns red, turns angry

To my assailants, I say this:

Touch me, or another woman again,

and I will lick the blood off my angry fists and spit in your face

And watch you choke on the ashes of my sisters

And by my grace, allow you to witness the fullest extent of my glorious power.

How dare you assume any authority over feminine divinity

I am my own god,

We are our own gods, and do not bow before

Squirming, weak-willed, fucking perverts.

weakness is an assumption attached to each woman as she is born

even before her first wail is exhaled,

and it is never our truth;

what is known lies within our hearts,

collectively beating, serving a reminder

of support and resilience.