Poetry of Stephanie Bennett Henry, Uncategorized

Purple Confessions

and sometimes I think I crave the madness, covering myself in the dirt of it all as I roll through it proudly without any grace. Feet first into the filth, I’m still smiling, stretched ear to ear, maybe this is the secret to life, and I hold it like it’s a remedy that only works for me. I say, keep your grace, love, I don’t need it. The grace never saved me like the fall did. It was somewhere between the jump and the landing; the spiral had colors only seen in the madness. God… it was gorgeous. Took my breath away for a minute or two. Made the landing worth it, it hurt less because I had those colors tucked under my skin where the grace once lived. I think it was the purple, a softness that swirled loud but gently just beneath my ribs. But maybe it was the green, looking like a soft place where calm meets courage and promises that don’t break like the ocean. Made ripples across my skin that made me feel whole, but in pieces all at once, if that makes sense. Without the madness, I wouldn’t have this heart, and the way it feels everything and anything that can be. I wouldn’t have the strings in there that still remember the way the clouds danced in purple. I wouldn’t remember the words and the music and that light in your eyes that never burns out. The sunset told me secrets when I was holding your hand and my lips are sealed tight with wishes only the dandelions know about. But it was in the madness where I tasted your name on my tongue and it was beautiful the way it slid down my throat without choking me, like your name was meant to find its way into my bloodstream and swim softly across the ripples of purple and green, like the art you made of me. The words of before and after became a song spilling graffiti into my sacred places and can’t you still hear me singing it, so off key just like the fall without the grace. It was the plunge I took and the strings you pulled me back in with that saved me. No matter the landing or how brutal it was or wasn’t, it doesn’t matter. Sing me another song, baby, I have the music in my bones and I’m as filthy as I’ve ever been with the sins I can’t stop confessing to you.

Stephanie Bennett-Henry


2 thoughts on “Purple Confessions”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s