THREE POEMS by HALLE PRENETA

LOOPS KILL US


The Heroine is

the one to save the goddess

of water and beauty and joy

and love.

The one whose heart is gold

and whose tears are pure.

The one who takes risk

and solves mysteries.

The one who’s kind

and loyal

and free.


And one day, the person known as

The Blessed One

came and sucked the breath

out of The Heroine,

leaving her defenseless

against the wrath of demons

headed her way.

She knew she had to save

the goddess of water and beauty and joy

and love.

It was what she had to do.

It was all that she knew.

So she swung her sword

with her head held high,

trying to defeat the demons

in front of her eyes

but she was losing energy.

Losing strength as

The Blessed One kept

taking and taking and taking her air,

leaving The Heroine with nothing but

choked back tears

and a quiet despair.

A desperate calling from

inside her heart came

and sang the songs of those

who have long passed the realm of reality,

leaving a trail of cries and calls for help

and sprawled out emotions.

Emotions she’s never even seen before

suddenly blossoming from within her brain

as The Blessed One keeps taking

and taking

and taking

away from her.

Away from the life that she’s so deeply rooted in.

Rooted in the cycle

of needing to save the goddess of water and beauty and joy

and love.

Rooted in the cycle of her brain

high and low

high and low

high and—


Why does it always have to be this way?

Why does The Heroine keep getting trapped in cycles

and never ending loops

and forgotten phrases often left unspoken?

Why does she keep going for the goal

she can never attain?

The person she can never have?

Maybe we haven’t thought about

The Heroine just wanting to be happy.

Just wanting to free herself

from the perpetual cycles that society

has laid out for her.

From the restless nights

and sleepless days

and The Blessed One

sucking out her air

over and over and over again.

Maybe she needs a break—


A break from all the shit

she has become so used to.

A break from love

and war

and restless nights

and sleepless days

and The Blessed One

sucking out her air

until she can feel nothing except

her bones rattling inside her body.

Her rib cage moving up and down

and up and down

and up and down

and up and—


and ...


and ...

 

I'M THE UNAVOIDABLE OBSTACLE IN MARIO KART YOU HATE


Our lips kiss in my head

full of fog.

I’m tired and dizzy

and quite frankly, annoyed

that you keep

living in my head

when I need to be focused.

When I need to be paying attention

you and your laugh and your witty jokes

find a way to snake into my head

and into my heart.


In my imagination,

your lips feel soft and warm.

I crave your touch

like a child craves cookies,

always wanting more and more

until nothing is left.

Until the world has fallen away

and all that's guiding us

is the light in our souls

and the music in our hearts.


Yet my chest tightens

as the fog around me gets

higher and higher

and suddenly I can’t see

anything around me,

trapped in a mess of haze

and grey

and imagined kisses

I know will never exist

no matter how much

I will them into my conscious.

I was never like other girls

who have the confidence to kiss guys

or date at fourteen

or have sex at eighteen

or anything else

confident girls do because

I’m a flower in the way of the path

so everyone keeps stepping on it.

I’m an aluminum can

in the middle of the road

so everyone keeps driving over it.

I’m the unavoidable obstacle

in Mario Kart you keep not missing,

making you want to throw your controller

at your TV.

I’m fragile and broken

and sad.

So confidence?


Confidence was never

something I had.


So I’ll play your laugh

in my head like a track

on a comedy show.

I’ll see your smile in my mind,

holding onto it like a jar of fireflies.

I’ll imagine your lips on mine,

soft and warm and ever so slightly full of alcohol

and it’ll be the you-est thing you could possibly do

and I’ll love it

just as much

as I love you.

 

PORTRAIT OF ME AS A BIRD (2021)


I wish I could pull time out of my pocket.

Plant time like a seed,

watch it grow into a beautiful flower.

Wrestle time in a match

and always win.

Contort time like clay,

shape it into exactly what I need.

I wish I had more time.

More time to get my words

exactly how I want them to,

pull them out from inside my brain,

dust them off,

and hand them to you

like china that’s sat in the buffet for years.

Fragile,

fragmented,

maybe a little broken

but always special.

I wish I could pull time out of my pocket.

Plant time like a seed,

watch it grow into a beautiful flower.

Shape it into whatever I need.

A keyboard, a plane, a guide.

Anything to get me

straight to you.

I wish I could be a bird.

Fly away to new worlds

without ever having to worry

about falling to the ground.

I could go anywhere,

do anything,

if only I had the time.

 

Halle Preneta's second chapbook, 'THE EVENT HORIZON' (Bullshit, 2022), is available here.

 

Halle Preneta (she/her) enjoys writing short romance, sci-fi, and horror stories along with poetry and gets her ideas from random life experiences and fanfiction. When she’s not writing, she’s either watching YouTube or playing Animal Crossing. Her Twitter handle is @YaTheatreNerd and you can check out more of her work here.