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Frances Pia Alexy Rey

Collection of American Cinquains


Illustration by Vetill Binondo


Forewarning: The following poems describe rape, suicide, abortion, and mental illness/es. Reader discretion is advised.


๐“๐‘๐€๐๐๐”๐ˆ๐‹

Late noon.

The mellow sun

Is ripe gold in the sky,

Casting 3 oโ€™clock shadows on

The trees.


๐ˆ๐‚๐€๐‘๐”๐’

Mid-flight,

Your radiance

Wanes my wings; and I knew

Iโ€™d die for the chance to kiss you,

My sun.


๐‡๐Ž๐๐„๐˜๐Œ๐Ž๐Ž๐

Take me.

Spread my petals

On your bedโ€™s mattress, and

Turn my skin into liquid gold.

Iโ€™m yours.


๐‘๐„๐๐ƒ๐„๐™๐•๐Ž๐”๐’

My love,

Iโ€™ve been waiting

Since midnight at our spot;

Yet dawn has come, and you are still

Not here.


๐†๐‘๐„๐„๐ƒ

Greed is

The ill pasture

My wretched soul so claims,

Upon which my befouled roots shall

Decay.


๐“๐‘๐€๐”๐Œ๐€

Hands, lips,

Unwanted touch.

His skin invades my skin.

Would he have stopped if I said "no"

Never.


๐ˆ๐๐’๐Ž๐Œ๐๐ˆ๐€

'Tis frail,

My aching soul,

To which the nightmares come;

To which the faithful dawn is but

A lore.


๐ƒ๐ˆ๐€๐™๐„๐๐€๐Œ

Anxious.

I bite the pill

The way I bite my tongue.

It leaves me numb and empty, like

A ghost.


๐”๐๐Œ๐Ž๐“๐‡๐„๐‘๐ˆ๐๐†

Doctor,

I donโ€™t want it.

Itโ€™s only 3 months old.

Yes, Iโ€™m sureโ€”can you do it?โ€”Good.

Thatโ€™s good.


๐’๐ˆ๐

Our crimes

Go beyond grave,

Each done and still doing;

Lingering like a ghost, never

Fading.


๐€๐Œ๐๐„๐’๐ˆ๐€

She asked,

โ€œWhat is your name?โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t know,โ€ I tell her.

She cried. In her tears, I saw a

Stranger.


๐„๐”๐“๐‡๐€๐๐€๐’๐ˆ๐€

Mercy

In the shape of

A bullet in my gun,

Because it is faster than my

Cancer.

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