Freak of nature! You’re still alive?

I can’t seem to believe that I will hold on. 
Maybe my arms are just aching, 
Maybe I just don’t want to feel the branches slowly blister the skin of my palms, 
The free fall will be quick,
Painful, but quick. 

I let go, expecting the ground to reappear harshly, 
slap my back, 
snap by bones, 
twigs soon to be forgotten. 

I feel the flat earth catch my feet. 
Knees bent for impact. 
Had I hoped preparation will preserve me? 
Why have I hoped? 

I look up, 
standing on stable ground now.
Look up to see the branch that I held onto, 
only a foot away from my reach. 

Some time between losing my footing, catching the branch and hanging for dear life,
I grew. 
Just enough to close the distance. 

Ten foot giant, 
stretched by necessity, 
evolving to stay alive. 
How will I fit in to the old world? 
Too small for me now. 
It doesn’t matter.

"Freak of nature, 
you’re still alive!" 

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil


Blooming under my ribs.
Pupa erupting,
From cocoons,
Unsure if they are fully formed,
Meeting the world, their world: 
The flesh under my ribs. 

Squirming, squirming,
Still trying to break free,
To find daylight,
They burrow through muscle and skin,
Some through bones 
And I let them, 
For it is no life 
Hidden beneath ribs. 

One of us should be free,
To fly to the clouds,
And float away. 

Be free, my winged children. 

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil

Erupting Pupa

Little butterflies, 
flutter flutter,
under my little ribs. 
This is a disease.
Love bug or stomach bug, 
who knows the difference?
If there even is one. 
Regardless, it evolves, 
waiting to burst
from their cocoons, 
budding under my ribs. 

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil


Cats out of the bag now, 
Let it play in the yard,
Get a lay of the land, 
And learn if the dark fabric 
Was home or hell. 
The land won’t be kind,
It never is. 
Cursed apples and forbidden trees, 
Pretty sickness waits to settle, 
Health demand a sacrifice. 
But play! If there’s still a yard. 
Tell me, 
Is that heat you feel 
A gentle summers kiss
Or the paint peeling from the walls? 
Let the cat return to its bag. 
That fabric was neither home nor hell.
It kept that kitten safe from both. 
Hope and loss and all other poison, 
Can’t burrow into that bag. 
But do you want that, feline friend? 
You’re out of the bag now.
The light may be from dawn or danger, 
But nonetheless,
You won’t ever be in the dark. 

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil


The ducks are lining up again,

Nice neat rows,

Waiting to attack.

No, surely not.

I give the commands.

*I* give the commands?

They're stareing me down now,

Bleak black beady eyes,

With the glint of expectation.

Say something.


Never the wrong words.

Don’t ok an attack.


The last word I can remember.

The last word I’ll ever remember. 

For the ducks, 

Dumb drones,

Took their leader's word to heart.

And I met a feathery death.

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil


She squints at the skies, as if to undo a spell. “I feel unwell.”

 “Pray tell.” 

“This sadness, it’s here to dwell.” 


“Do fix it. Just do your magic.” 

“Don’t worry my dear, it’s nothing to fear. It’s ennui, when it passes you’ll cheer.” 

“Ennui.” She said, repeating to herself, 

the funny word with some intrigue.

“Ennui.” She smiled to herself now,

the funny word bringing some joy.

“I feel ennui.” She pouted and sighed,

while feeling it melt away.

“I feel ennui!” She swoon with a gasp,

delicate fingers over her closed eyes.

She laid her head on his lap, and sighed,

“Free me from this ennui!”

A silent second passed. Then two. 

She opened he eyes. Her company smiled.

“Won’t you free me from ennui?”

She asked once more, peering expectantly back. 

He chuckled, ran his fingers though her hair and said,

“I fear I’m already late, for ennui is not your current state.”

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil

Will you ever live up to your shadow?

 Will you be enough to fill in the dark space that takes the shape of your silhouette?

Measure up the the hollow image formed from your form, but stretched by perception and a trick of the eye. 

Who am I to you? 

Was it a shadow — that alluring mystery — that drew you here? 

How many seconds before the light dissolves that darkness, 

And you see the life that cast the flat image? 

Will you long for the shadow then,

And wish you’d kept your ignorance, your bliss?

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil

Pretty Things

Where do pretty things belong in the world? 

Behind a glass case?

Where it shall ach with restlessness,

Stuck in amber as time flies around it?

Or perhaps it is in the void within our atoms, 

Where only God and space know how to be. 

Or are the pretty things you and I, 

Waiting to throw stones at each other,

from the belief that beauty shields against all ailments?

Put down the stones, love. 

I am only flesh and blood, 

God’s own child, still learning to crawl in this world. 

As a son of the Father, can’t you sympathize with this sentiment?

It is the same amber that traps the both of us, 

The same elements that flow through our veins. 

All rights reserved © 2023 Josephine Joyil


Soften your heart, child. 

Be free with forgiveness,

For on the other side of anger,

Is the hollow mourning for lost time. 

All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil

Prison Themed school

​​We go to a prison themed school, 

Don’t break the rules, 

Retribution can be so cruel. 

So long as you wear the school tie,

Don’t catch the eyes,

Of the principle, so you won’t cry. 

Too bad that you need the tool,

This education, without which you’d be the fool, 

How gruel(ing). 

You may think your just passing by, 

But without the high, 

Of self respect, 

Can you say you merely gave us just your best? 

And when those slackers go slackin’ by, 

Riding the wave of their papa’s buys, 

And growing addicted to mama’s high praise. 

You know you’d be denied the raise,

When the time comes to make the living, 

From blood and tears effaced. 

Cause one thing that prison theme school taught you, 

Is where to find your cue, 

Stand in you place, 

While your better ups become all the craze. 

Sure, go to your prison themed school,

See you on the other side, fool, 

But when you sell your mind to get there, 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, that it’s not fair.

All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil