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Desperation

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

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mom

I frown to myself as my friend complains about her mother. It seems sinful to speak with such heat about the woman that gave you life and taught you how to live it best. I was unsettled by the familiarity of this heat, knowing it comes from the same venom I use to sting those I love. 

“I get mad at mom for crossing my boundaries too.“ I almost say, but hold my tongue. It’s an odd sentiment after all, what if it’s not shared?

The truth is, mothers cross boundaries, not consistently, not irreverently, but there are times where those boundaries seem to hold no weight.

Can you blame them? They see their child in danger and can’t help but run to tend to their every injury.

It’s the scraped knee from falling off your bike as a kid, it always is. She’ll spot you from across the park and come swiftly to your side.

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil

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It’s the calm after the storm. 

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

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Volatile Child 

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

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Recovery

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

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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. 
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

Posted on

Butterflies

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