My stuff
I write because I love to, and because I must. Feedback is encouraged, as anything and everything I post is still a work in progress.
Thanks for stopping by.
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Artist (a rough beginning of prose encouraging feedback)
I am an artist
I stand on a plateau
I survey the world.
I turn all of it into art.
My mouth set firm,
brows furrowed
My eyes absorbing all.
I stand stark still.
They wonder what I am doing,
standing solitary on the plateau,
They stare at the bizarre
and assume insanity
I, the artist see-
Insanity is a compliment.
Insanity breeds imperfections
imperfections breed art.
I am an artist,
I see an upside down world.
When I touch a tree,
I carve a story into the bark.
I write the biographies-
Of the the fictitious.
My words make you
believe in the strange.
I am an artist.
I convert a whisper of pain
into a desperate song,
A beautiful plea.
We. We are all artists,
when we create.
We are the saving grace
of aesthetics.
when we remember imperfections
breed art.
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Don't ever hesitate. Reblog this. This should be in the tumblr laws. When you see it, REBLOG IT.
- Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
- Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
- LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
- Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
- Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
- Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
- Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
- Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
- Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
- Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253
- If you ever want to talk: My tumblr ask is always open.
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Earth
The Earth is a sacred text,
I read it with my body.
I shed my shoes and socks,
and read the Earth with my feet.
I read the grains of sand.
As they compressed under my step,
Caressing heels and arches,
Whispering across the tender tops.
I read the moss and damp soil.
As my feet sunk into land,
I felt the moisture between my toes,
The moss as pillows.
I read the sea and the stream.
I felt the salt and the cool,
Waves touched the tips of my toes,
Rivulets raced across my feet.
I read the stones, too.
The jagged and the smooth,
I felt pricks, and massages.
I felt solid support.
I read the Earth as a sacred text,
But I don’t know what it said.
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Tire Swing
Give me a tire, and
A length of rope.
Show me an old oak,
and I’ll build you a swing.
I’ll push you gently,
and spin you quickly.
And when you are dizzy,
we will sit by the pond,
on the dock.
You can sleep there,
With your head in my lap.
I’ll watch the frogs
lolling in the lillies.
I’ll sit still until,
you open your eyes again.
Come back, and I will-
I’ll build you a tire swing.
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I saw her..
I saw her-walking-
With bare feet,
In burning sand.
Across that desert-
Of despair and destruction-
Strolling- feet blistering-
Countenance unscathed.
Her eyes-open-
Though mine squinted-
Looked through all.
The burning sand,
the Sunlight,
All in her path.
I saw her face-
My eyes averted-
Themselves in fear.
Her face wore no emotion-
But for her eyes.
To look in
Was to see her-
Her eyes were made
Up with her secrets.
They had been dipped
In boiling waters-
For her pains-
Painted, with blood-
For those who she pained-
Dusted with ashes-
From the bridges she burned-
And her eyelashes;
Frayed- by gnawing regret.
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It’s only a thread
Sometimes, a heart breaks.
Sometimes, you don’t even know it.
I found one today- a heart-
battered, on the ground .
Staring- is that mine?
Then I saw it- beating.
It wasn’t broken-
It was still attached
by a thin fleshy rope.
I recognize that rope
it had tethered me to you.
That rope once went
From one girl’s heart
To another.
Double knotted and pinky sworn
To last forever-
A promise of sisterhood,
Trust, love,
Everlasting friendship.
It had been so thick-
The rope-
Out hearts used
To beat in sync.
It’s only a thread-
Now weak.
I want to nurse it-
Sustain it, regain it.
I didn’t know.
How much it hurt-
I had been numbed.
By distance.
But the anesthesia
Only lasts for so long.
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I put my foot down!
This right here, is the place where I put my foot down. I will not stop posting for fear of not being read, or being read and disliked. Writing is my most sincere form of therapy, and if I don’t begin to write again I will regret it.
So here we go, if you are reading this… well I guess I am getting somewhere. I hope you are too.
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I am sure I was thinking of a distinct theme when I started this…..
Waves sprint to the shore,
Rushing into figures of men.
As the figures stand,
they fall- crushed-
Pulled apart by the undertoe.
Still- with every wave-
Another figure forms,
then falls to foam.
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Sometimes, the things you already know are the hardest to hear.
You smell smoke; you suspect fire, so you investigate.
You test the temperature of doorhandles, hoping that there isn’t a fire, though you know there is. The smoke alarm is chirping, echoing through all of your thoughts. A year ago it was just a faint beep, now its pounding through your ears.
The smoke is too thick to be something burning on the stove, the stack of evidence is too thick. The acrid fumes burn the back of your throat as you investigate where the fire started. As you get closer, you find its hotter, more dangerous, and immensely more painful than imagined. You want to pretend it isnt there; take a walk through the night and hope its gone when you come back. You can’t, you know you have to see it burn, and hear it crackle as it devours them.
You arrive at the scene, and see the heart-still beating- on the floor. You see a man, bloody, and trapped in a marriage of flame and smoke. A woman stands across from him, tears cutting through the ashes on her face to reveal a face scarred with pain. Her chest bearing a hole where he ripped out her heart.
The burns from the failed love they had leave scars on my heart, and on my thoughts. The fire where I found them ripped through my house, my possessions, and everything I grew up on. I knew there was a trouble when the alarm chirped last year, but now I see it in the blackened walls of my childhood home. I hear it from the mouths of the people who raised me.
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When the World Fell (unfinished)
When it died
Satan was there.
When the world fell
Ashes- rained from the sky-
Blackened upturned faces
When we looked and we saw
No glory-
No blinding light-
No love-
No good-
The world fell.
We kissed goodbye-
Touched blackened cheeks.
The sweat from our palms
Made rivers of grey.
We felt the burn-
The flames-
As they devoured
Everything there was.
