My Comfort in Melancholy, by Kassidy Jordan

She hides in amber silk, black hair
braiding a blanket along her back.
I watch her graceful steps,
like a canoe slowly making its way
across a lake.
Her teeth are sharpened,
filed down into points so
she may inflict wounds with
her words,
– you are not enough,
it is always your fault –
her words too sweet and thick,
choking me as they run down
my throat like syrup.
She breaks me.
Cracks run down my body.
She kisses me as she hides
in darkness, her white skin glowing
like the pale face of the moon,
cratered silver rocks and sharp edges.
She carries red poppies and orchids,
a bouquet of
whispers and prayers
as she steps on my toes
– be quiet,
be meek and small,
no one wants to hear you–
her prayers are not for comfort,
but for pain.
– cry little one,
cry, you useless child –
She savors my pain,
laughs every time I try to
escape her torment,
knowing I am forever hers.
She walks like a bride, eyes
sparkling obsidian as her dress drags behind her,
fire crackling in her wake,
splattering blood, my blood,
on her diamonds,
turning them to rubies.
I watch as the jewels that decorate her
reflect moonlight onto grass
dead from winter and on myself.
The glittering lights allow me
to feel like I am a beautiful thing as well.
I imagine holding her power within my
broken hands, wielding pain like
a sword against her.
When she sleeps, she
sleeps on a pillow of broken glass
and rose thorns, and she awakes
refreshed.
I long for her beauty,
to take her face and her
scorn, to wear pain like a crown.
I love her quiet wrath,
her sobs like the mewing
of a kitten.
To love her means to know
our pain is one,
our bodies becoming
indistinguishable.
When she kisses me,
she kisses my pain,
and when her body sings in pleasure,
her voice carries over,
her song known by the trees and the crickets
that sing with her.
– oh, sweet suffering –
Her lips are a ripe berry, cherry
wine kisses her soft throat
and she knows she is safe,
wrapped in a cocoon of
my pain,
my guilt,
my rage,
a numb intoxication
that fills her as I ache.
Loving her is as easy
as climbing Saint Helens,
running through thick hot tar
and volcanic glass.
Her pointed nails and her cold blood
ignites those around her,
frostbite burning
white marks high on cheeks.
She burns with my righteous anger
and melts with my sorrow,
but her smile, her honeyed voice,
the liquid crystals under her eyes
invite me in like a siren’s song,
and though her words
cut through me, scorching
my chest as she
delights in my sobs,
she comforts me
in the prison she makes of my body.
– do not fear,
I am with you always,
I will never leave you,
I am all you have –
Despite the bruises left from her
cruel hands and the cuts
from her vicious words,
I cannot seem to ever
let her go.

Kassidy Jordan is a recent graduate from Marshall University, graduating with her BA in Creative Writing with a minor in History. She is a proud Appalachian poet based in Point Pleasant, WV, home of the Mothman. Kassidy's creative interests include place and memory in poetry, lyric, narrative, prose poetry, and Appalachian. Her other, more personal interests include the A Song of Ice and Fire series, coffee, dogs, and Tudor England, especially the six wives of King Henry VIII.