𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 ― poetry book

007.

O' POET OF MINE

i ask you: should i be like juliet?
should i be poised and cling
you close to my breast? should
i cry and weep and lay in my bed?
should i brandish a knife-
lodge it in heart or in my head?

"oh what a way to die!" some poet
once said.
"to be by your lovers side- to drink
until you're dead."

so i question: what of ophelia?
must i lie about in daisies and let
the water sink me to the depths?
should i bat my eyes- stay loyal
by my fathers side? how long
should i hold my breath-
sixty seconds, or wait for my death?

"oh tragic girl," some poet
once said.
"no control of her body- her
mind left for the dead."

must i be lady macbeth, then?
should i wash my hands of all the red?
perhaps i'll scrub them dry of all
that's bled,
or i'll weep and walk and loll my
head. if i die, is it madness or punshiment
of sin that's the cause instead?

"evil woman- she lost her head."
some poet once said.
"goaded her husband- greed
did fill her head."

shall i paint my lips with blood
red knives or smell like daisies
as i meet my demise? must i
scream and wail in the dead of
night?

what do you want me to be,
o' poet of mine?

to nobody in particular:
let these women not be remembered for just how they died