Making gods

Humanity’s legacy is death
though it should be life.
Someone, thousands of years ago,
molded himself a god.
No need to feel bad now,
no need to change.
No need to make an undue
effort to stop our legacy.
It’s all god’s will,
he preached,
accept the end.
And death is not the end,
there’s a thousand different
Filled with food
and drink and music.
And thanks to this genius,
life began to mean
less and less every day.
Why care about the life
you’ve been given
when there is a better one
waiting around the corner?
Sometimes she thinks
about the start of all the gods.
Why they were made
and who brought them to life.
And in the end all
she knows is that if
she was making a god
she would make it
to help herself
feel less like a failure
and morally superior
to all the fools who
do the things she doesn’t like.

Just a little think piece. I’m not saying that every religion is completely wrong or that they don’t have some good ideas. Just that sometimes, religions can do more harm than good. Sometimes making a god is not the right way to go. XX, the inkgirl

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Image Credit:

Four leaf clover

The grass tickles my
stomach and my thighs.
I roll over
and unearth
a four leaf clover.
I clasp it and wish you back
but there is no mortal thing
that can raise the dead
to life.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

One form to another

Energy cannot be
created or destroyed.
It flows from one
form to another,
seamlessly, like water.
This can be seen in the
way that the life
left your body,
in the way that all
that made you what
you were leaked out
onto the cold Autumn
ground, a warm red
waterfall ready to take
on another form.
Ready to move on.
What are you now,
I wonder to myself,
where did all that life
and energy take itself?
I guess you are a part of the
very fabric of the world,
woven into the energy
that holds the universe together.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Image by Julia Watkins. Link:

Hard to function

Sitting, learning about functions.
The graphs swim before my eyes
and I find it hard to function.
I look at the points: the curves,
circles, parabolas they make.
They remind me of the way
life goes up and down and twists
your brain into endless cyclones
that send your thoughts into
a frantic flurry of insanity.
I blink and pick up my pen
and turn to the blank graph again,
once more ready to dive in
to the chaotic world of numbers.

Copyright Leona Petrovic 2020

Image Credit Here:

Silver lining

There are some things in life
that if you make it through them
you can make it through anything.
They are cataclysmic, earth-shaking,
bone-breaking, heart-tearing events.
They take the core of your very being
by the hair and drag you through hell,
setting your bravery on fire and leaving
you singed and trembling and transformed
into a newborn child for the second time.
If you can go through hell and back again
at least your heart will be more resilient –
not much can make you break anymore.
At least there’s that, I tell myself, at least
there is one silver lining to this misery.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Image Credit Here:

Leave sometimes

Stay in your mind,
don’t venture outside.
There is nothing out there
but pain and hurt.
But somehow there
is also nothing more in here.
If you don’t leave,
you will drown.
If you don’t leave,
you won’t have the chance
to find healing and life.
So, leave your mind sometimes.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Grief in a box

I keep my rage in
my head
even when I
want to let it out
and wreck

I keep my words
in my mouth
even when I
want to let them out
to wreck

I keep my grief
in a little box
in the back of my
mind and even
when I don’t
let it out it
wrecks me
little by little

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Water worries

Sometimes my worries
nibble like minnows at my toes
and sometimes they are sharks,
gnawing at my flesh and bones.

I can never leave the lake
the ocean or the sea.
I am always in the water,
it is a prison-cell to me.

Will I ever reach the other side?
Will I ever gain pure serenity?
My muscles cramp and ache,
my skin puckers, octopus-like for eternity.

Poem Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Too late

She clutches
the flower,
palm sweaty,
holding tight.
By the time
she realizes
she can let go
the blood of the
crushed petals
has already
stained her skin.
It is too late, she
cannot undo what
has been done.
The past is solid,
set in stone.
You can’t change it,
leave it alone.
The only thing that
can be done
is to try to untangle
your choices,
one by one.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic