Dark Lady Poetry - Terah Atai




Terah Atai





Run for the River-


Soaking is my only hope

to figure out

if my ideas

are solid enough

to sustain


I don't plan

to dissolve

as my time

is ticking away

in an ocean


It is mysterious

the deeper I go

It is salty

on the surface

it is a mixture

of darkness

and light


The cries of

broken children had me

up and hoping

through swaying nights


I've licked a thousand

lollipops to

get my childhood back

I've hugged past elders

to serve up

past disappointment

to let myself know

I'm okay


I don't want

to make my problems

into an inedible stew,

mixing meats

to charbroil treats

the tree bound elves



A dark blanket

of fog filled adolescence

for most of us.

All our angsty tears

float up to moisturize

confused skin;

peeling away

to keep itself going


Blood dripping red

from the mouth

of a curvy body,

from a woman with

new found courage;

from a woman

who located

her misplaced rage


I touched everything

for texture

and hope for the quiver

in my voice

to run away

to the river,

to float down

to a person in need

I've been ripped

of my shell

of protection;

I've been touched

ten too many times;

I was slapped

like a crowd

in terrified shock


Swirling in chaos

with a rich glaze

of sweet crunching hope

of gentlemen


It was a day of love

in a chilled hell;

too much for me to handle.

A fuck for the women

in the long

awaited peak.


I thought it all took long enough.






Death and Routines



Shake off your skin to play with the coat,

and lick your finger tips clean to

jump forward towards cliff dives

while we swim through

the streams of obscenity's cell.


Bleeding doves peck away

at my brain thinking cautiously;

the leftovers run soupy

on Sunday morning after

early services.


I tied your intestines

to a sparkling cross

nailed with


and butterflies

and baby dolls


Glued sugar cubes

to succulent spots

on my corpse each Monday


wear a crown,

break me down,

and kiss me.

rip my clothes

shove the ones you chose

as your servants

to test your food

for the poisons


When I get nervous

I suck off the life

from my finger tips

when the passion gets killed

at 5 minutes past noon.


Can my limbs dance slowly

down your experienced throat?


At my funeral,

disrobe and touch gently

with your neighbor

and weep

on my embalmed body

and tousled hair.


Behead the flowers to revive my soul.










Terah Atai is a 19 year old female going to college in Edmond, OK.