boldaslust - Tumblr blog

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the sounds of spring

a bird, far in the distance wails to their lover come closer, danger is in the wind and we chirp mindlessly to each other oh, how beautiful the sounds of spring

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[boldaslust]

leather couches

i am always on leather couches when i have this feeling transported to my youth, the freedom wandering, wondering, the what ifs - i know the words between words the world we live between this one and the one that could have been i lie here, and make bad decisions about the thought of you and a million more reasons why we said no and yes and maybe while i will always love you blares through the only empty spaces you don't currently occupy in my adolescent mind

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faro lacueva

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[boldaslust]

I love so big -

enough to fit a thousand stars

In the nape of my neck

for many moons to orbit

the circumstance of my waist

that your leg

reaches for mine

in the deep of the night

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[boldaslust]

I am a relational practice. a mirror.

I am a breath in the wind. I am

my mothers laugh in a dream

a swollen hand, skin

I am a game of crib.

ice that melts, waves that

bend a board,

a book that bleeds

memories and a complex

I am my embarrassments

forgotten sunscreen spots

and too loud laughs, paths

along the shoreline

I am a waist line, linen shorts

cracked conch and dried skin -

I am within

the salty shore

I am everything

and nothing more.

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[boldaslust]

what happened when you lose your mind

a soft sigh from the inside

little leaks in the capillaries

flooding fences when you couldn’t see

past tense, suspense

we’re here for a reader

palms up open for a dreamer

sight seer, light feeler

loud whispers in your left ear

we are all the same, all in one

words coming and going

until I’m done.

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[boldaslust]

here I am, skin peeling, mind reeling, faced up flat head back on the ground

low, she flows, sinking wondering what the brain does when the outside world is too loud

quiet, fill it, here I am to miss it.

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[boldaslust]

Wishing I was here right now🤍

[boldaslust]

my grandma told me stories of saints of come into her dreams at night, at the kitchen table over lunch as it rained outside. she dreams deep, interpretation based o knowledge she gained somewhere she's never told me. sometimes, i call her, asking her to explain what happens in my mind's eye at night, recalling my other late grandma coming in and out of my own dreams, telling me what to do.

in her stories of the saints, they nod or smile or assure, backing her into corners or getting angry when she doesn't listen. she eventually listens, and then they do too.

my grandma can't see well. her eyes are clouding and i'm not sure to what extent she can see my face or the face of my sisters or my grandpa. i know for certain letters and numbers are blurry. but her mind's eye is sharp, and it sees upwards, or forwards, with no hesitation of what's there.

what does it mean to see? if the eye is just a vessel that projects some altered version of reality, given the wavelengths available to us, can't our brain do a lot of the processing? and what does memory, or dreams play, in the midsts of an impending darkness.

i want her to see my child, but i'd rather she keeps seeing her saints and images of her mother in her mind, of life past but life ahead as well, as the seer she is and will always be.

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[boldaslust]

berlin leftovers by chupchic_oppoppsite on Flickr.