Category: Poetry

This series of side quests
is strung together 
with a flimsy plot 
and cluttered with side characters 
tripping over plot-holes 
the author has no intentions 
of paving over. 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

It’s like getting stuck in amber and not being able to anything about it, 
You look around and you can feel your limbs, stuck in place,
You can feel the thick fluid harden around your ribs, stilling their movement, 
You can feel your skin getting cured,
Forbidden from aging for the rest of eternity,
And you chastise yourself for not making better decisions, 
All the while knowing there really wasn’t anything you could’ve done to stop yourself.

After all, 
you were flying blind. 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

You have no choice, 
but to age like dairy. 
Though the choice is yours, 
to age like milk, 
or cheese. 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

is worn like a cheap perfume 
and the room fills with its heavy odor 
when you walk in. 

Yes, love, 
go take a shower. 

You deserve better. 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

The relief of knowing the worst is behind you. 


That the universe would need to build up the energy, 

to cause further chaos, 

and the consolation of knowing, 

that must take time. 


Though you don’t know how much, 

there is some time you can rely on, 

in which you may rest.

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

Or the world will burn down.

So I stay furious, 

Spitefully, 

To thaw in the heat of the flames.

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

I sat with my Father,
And He spoke to me,
Softly,
As we watched the sun descend,

With my weary head rested,
On His chest,
I told Him of the skeletons I hid,
Behind the coats and boots. 

“That one’s named Val.”
“Ahh Val!” He recognized fondly, 
As He gave it skin and  flesh and a face.
“He’s been here a while.” 

I nodded. 
“I killed Val.” I whispered.
“A dream of yours?”
“Nightmare.” I shook my head, “Recurring.” 

The ache in my heart drew out the admission, 
“Father, I’ve been volatile.” 
He smiled, “Volatile child,  
I am your Father.” 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

It’s knowing the Prozac wore off, 
Before realizing that the episode has passed you. 

Crashed,
like some wave behind you. 

You’re cold and frightened, 
but safe. 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

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. 
Why? 
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