THE RAVEN REVIEW
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  • Home
  • About
    • About Us
    • Contributors
    • Support Us
  • Submit
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Volume I >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume II >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume III >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume IV >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume V >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume VI >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II

My Recovery’s Beating Heart

by Molly A. Green
They deprived me—of the power to draw my truth from reality 
They demanded—that i accept my friend as a demon 
They said, “bake him into a pie, slay him in one swallow” 
so i kissed him goodbye when i fed on his smile 
They think to let go all you need is bare hands 
They don’t know of his fingerprints on the walls of my fantasy 
 
They watch when i thumb through this chapter as fantasy 
when paper cuts bleed onto pages—now read as reality 
how could i hurt so heavily in safe hands? 
They weigh the heart though the mind is the demon 
and as bitter as i seem, i’m the sugar in their smile 
i watch as i crumble with each bite They swallow  
 
i steal a sip of hope with the first pill i swallow 
when the well is low, i remedy with the fantasy 
when the willowy landscapes of my skin would smile 
as my limbs wept, shade crept, winter waxed to reality: 
the pathway, ablaze, to my core, the door of the demon 
i’ll burn once more behind… the opening, closing of his hands 
 
i grow through the roots of my palms to practice willing hands 
my life line’s hardest to follow; heart line’s hardest to swallow 
i choke on my medicine and yowl like a little demon 
i throw my fits, sigh with fire—a little girl bit by reality 
but They douse each breath and plant a seed in my fantasy 
i grow (to accept) with the soft sun of a half-smile 
 
the water in my mouth freezes; He taunts me with a sly smile  
i beg him, “wipe it off!” behind the hungry flames of clenched hands 
but the dimples in his cheeks are shadows of reality 
and the corners of his grin are lifted when i swallow 
They figure i could fix this, redefine the fantasy 
yet acceptance is a two-way street; He’s more than a demon 
 
He’s the lifeblood in the poison—a reason, not a demon 
his wings were the warmth, numbing my chattering teeth to a smile 
albeit my truth may only foster me as fantasy 
He was the one thing to hold close; i’ll miss his claws in my hands 
for sharpening his horns meant one less word to swallow 
He lived in my mind so long, my heartbeat to his reality 
 
to let go (of a demon) all you need is love and bare hands 
as i gave them the key, their smile gave him nothing to swallow 
We lay to rest the tired fantasy; I wake up to accept reality

Molly A. Green is an emerging young writer from Western Pennsylvania who has been published in the literary journal Pulp. She is most interested in poetry as a platform to share her heart and mind with the world. Outside of writing, Molly enjoys drawing graphite portraits of people who inspire her.