ccherryywine - Tumblr blog

[ccherryywine]

the snakes and the blue jays

i see you in the snakes and the blue jays.

i’ll find you perched on the porch railing, or sprawled out basking in the sun rays.

how funny is it that i didn’t even ask you to meet me here?

you always made it easy for me.

it was like that, through and through. that was always clear.

no poisoned last breath or me begging to an empty sky would the settle shaking hands.

soft amber streaks of light reveal a bronzy sheen tucked beneath your coat.

well, here you are, and there i am.

there’s no need to seek you out when you’re still breathing all around.

you are the swaying hardwood branches over the windows, remembering how you sat at the foot of the stairs before all my school dances.

the vents would blow against your back as you’d spin around at my feet, sharing with me your world and all of its chances.

the cold concrete bench, once warmed by your fur and hours of sun now collects pine needles, not hair.

the dragged out ache is still here, but so are you, just not there.

with the slither of black and white stripes, you kept your character and earned your well-deserved crown.

blacktop pavement warms your new cold blood against the ground.

i crouch to the side, wondering how some say you feel nothing at all.

i watch the serpent maneuver over tree roots like walls.

instantly, i know it’s a lie.

how could it be true when all that tender warmth sits still in your eyes?

i can feel it pulling me closer, am i going crazy or getting sober?

gentle pips and chirps from a power line reel in my attention.

suddenly something blue’s married to my vision.

as the church doors click shut, wings spread apart and i lose sight of you.

i never had the desire for a god, but i’d make one from nothing just to have you, and i don’t usually tend to make bets i think i could lose.

the songbirds whistle as you perch in all the places where i’m there to meet.

you whistle from the trees as i grace the front walkway and can finally see.

the energy in its changed form is evident, there’s a distinct feeling every time.

you always made it easy for me, so i’d never have to look for you, eyes so full with grief that it feels like a crime.

you are everywhere that i am; something real enough for a skeptic like me to see divinity in what was once the mundane.

maybe it has been this way all along, the light hits the corners of the room just the same.

my stretched limbs eventually tire of clawing for the answers, but instead you gave mercy on that day.

you could be the star holding just the right amount of light in the darkened sky, or perhaps some kind of snake or a blue jay.

the desire for certainty will be the death of me, and i am still not this life’s prodigy.

in whatever spaces i take up in this life, there you are again, my friend.

you never made me look, never let me doubt.

the ring of life and death turns to tell again, what a girl’s old cat is really all about.

k.t.

——————

an: recently i lost one of my beautiful fur babies and have had so much to say and write about it. grief is a heavy burden, but it’s a privilege to even get to feel it. this one’s maybe a little confusing or sad for some, but i hope you can enjoy and maybe take comfort in it if you’ve been through something similar. love ya :)

[ccherryywine]

corner of the earth

this year you saw it through with me till april 24th.

you being on my corner of the earth impressed comfort into my chest like a wax seal.

fewer and further between, rare that i’m ever close enough to see.

really, its a double-edged blade,

my days are spent mourning it all over again when you’re gone.

octobers and aprils are starting to become both similar and boldly different to me.

leave it to the consecutive spring end-of-the-months to always let me down.

but in the autumn cold fronts, the same sweet ache keeps me up above the trees where i see clearly.

Rockefeller Plaza was so much smaller in my memory there.

and it was colder, biting at every bare sliver skin.

i tread that concrete still in my dreams.

every corner of my mind is home to the face of someone I’ll never know.

but now the miles of blacktop and state parks between us have lost their magnetism.

how can i be someone you want around? when will you be closer than the wrenching twist in my gut?

with every late feeling and good day passed i grow fonder of bittersweet moments in time and the ache lessens.

but i’m at the top of the staircase crying in a brand new sweater about something much less steeped in fantasy.

suddenly none of it mattered that much at all.

reality is a normalcy that torments the turbulent spirit in my chest.

the shell-casing evidence of each time i wanted to die litters the concrete of an empty arena in another state.

the metallic echo of a shell rolling at my feet startles me.

but i was just here yesterday, untainted, untortured.

the often tempestuous cerebral forecast was, for once, clear.

but it wasn’t real, all anticipation. there’s nothing to wait for here, the plastic seats are all cold, and the center stage is vacant.

green lawns basking in the moonlight, i cry as i pace around, kicking the metal shells like rocks.

darkness blankets the whole place, distant streetlights glow against the acidic tears down my face.

the stage seems a lot smaller now, all empty like this.

i attempt to dance with the ghost of your footsteps, but my hums barely break past a whisper.

this is not my home, and perhaps i don’t belong.

but this place was ours on that day, and the envelope remains sealed in my mind.

maybe beeswax and cream manila will make up the bridge between the jagged edges of us.

perhaps its just you, forever rare that I’m close enough to see, haunting me in my own corner of the earth.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

greatest and worst

you are the greatest thing that is farthest from me.

your name bridges gaps like stretching tree limbs that catch on my flannel.

some bullshit about a king-sized-bed is posted on the brick wall,

i stop and wonder how long it’s been since you considered a word i said.

did you see it as foolproof? did you think it would convince me?

i knew i’d be the first overboard, but i tried to take you with me.

we could’ve found footing someplace else if you had just held onto me.

now your chin is tilted high, you know you’ll get to be valiant, searching for something real that you seek in all the wrong places.

you’re glad to go down with the ship. forget that it was all in vain.

flashing a knowing smirk amidst the maelstrom, i that see you wanted us there.

all along you wanted us there, you like it that way. the suspense and thrill of impending tragedy excites you.

no shame seemed to weigh on you for dragging me along.

that’s how it ends, i guess.

i’m a stuck-up quitter and you’re some vampiric rebel with a cause.

you’re okay with me being in this mess with you, just collateral to your own self-inflicted misery.

and i was crazy for claiming you wanted me to be your puppet: your idea of a real friend.

the tide has me by the shoulders and you’d rather drown with your vessel, tipping downwards into vicious whitecaps, than in the open ocean with me.

i didn’t think you’d stoop that low by now. maybe i thought you were better

especially not for something that will soon forsake you.

but you did, of course.

now i know.

i know i don’t know you, but you don’t know yourself.

you pulled the strings but it was me all along.

just a pawn, my overgrown tombstone memory fades in your head.

you were what i knew, and i’m still sick to my stomach and grey in the face.

the wishing, begging, and tears all meant nothing to you.

how disappointing and unsurprising.

you are the worst one to have ever shone a light onto my soul.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

dogs

the new album just came out

i give you one look, and you put it down.

you’d probably do it again at this rate.

we stayed up late on the phone.

you sit and tell me it’s just one thing,

and that i’m going in circles again.

i’m sure you’re right, i know you’re sorry.

i see you’ve given the solution.

but still i can’t shake the feeling

of someone smaller you make of me.

the warped image reflects across mirrors

showing twisted versions of yourself in me.

you don’t believe in looking directly at

the beaming light, but how i wish you would.

am i that undigestible? do i sit like

a rock in your stomach every time

something mundane lights up my eyes?

i don’t have much reason to believe,

but it’s frozen in my mind, tried and

true blue. should i feel ashamed for

every inch of mortal space i take up?

you’re above all that stuff, claiming

to be getting by without ruffling any feathers.

i have wept away the hours, feeling rejection and

shame this time around, but i’ll have another

shot before i know it. you live in dimensions

of black and white. how can i blame you for

seeing dullness in every vibrant corner of my life?

my world has become nothing but the company of

fearful, caged creatures begging to be set free.

i’m a fool for assuming i’d never get bitten.

is it cruel of me to consider if this is truly

a price i can stomach handing over?

i’ve been at risk and folded my hand enough times to

know. inside are vicious bared teeth ripping

through the curves of wire fence like lace.

i’ll chase you down like a neighbor’s dog,

and see to it you never think to come back.

but you’re a good girl, and i don’t want to be

like them. trust issues and insecurity

aren’t desirable accessories.

rest your hand freely on my head, for i don’t

have the courage to bite back anymore.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

waves

there’s sand trailing the floor.

the waves beat against the pillars that raise the house up off the ground.

the cement they’re anchored in takes the brunt of the changes in the weather and smooths it’s edges with time.

the ochre glow of the wall-sconces warm the room, your open laptop shining on the table as you set down dinner.

the paper takeout bag crunches in the background as i peer out at the sea.

i think of what it would be like to be equipped to survive the underwater in a time like this.

i picture groups of fish being pushed back and forth with the pull of the tide as their fins remain nearly still.

you call my name and i fade back into the yellow incandescent flush of the room.

i feel bad to have made someone drive in this tropical storm just to feed us.

you tell me that maybe they just happen to like driving in the rain.

wishful thinking, truly.

the blue illumination of the sky out the window beams in through the blinds as i sit up off the sectional.

there’s food, warmth, protection, company, and i here i am, still down.

as a child i found surreal, immeasurable comfort in nestling inside from the storm.

stuffed animals would be tucked under blankets, blinds just ajar enough that my eyes could trace the raindrops down the glass as thunder rumbled and rattled the house.

a full day of school and play concluded with the gentle roll of nature lulling me to sleep.

it’s stays unmatched.

but the blue, merciless waves are capped white, beating at the foundation, whirling wind pushes against the walls, and i feel no peace.

perhaps there was a fatal flaw in finding peace in utmost chaos during my youth.

my hands still shake no matter the perfect mix of gray and cerulean painting the sky.

no perfect company, comforting glow, or thunderous lullaby feels the same as it did.

my eyes feel pinned back, open to a world that wants to hurt me.

someone, somehow, someway.

i stare at the sand tracked through the house realize i haven’t said a word, nor taken more than a couple bites.

i think maybe someday it’ll all catch up to me and my heart will give out from being stretched and taut like an elastic, waiting for the moment to snap.

but i’ll make conversation and slowly learn to better ignore the heaviness and fear hanging over my head like a nightmarish possessive being.

you’ll sweep up the floor and then hold me,

and i’ll sit waiting for my obsessive hypervigilance to one day abandon me as i have abandoned the compulsive and weary pursuit of inner stillness.

i pray one day it finds me.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

9am

it’s nine-am again.

told myself i’d be asleep by now.

swaying solar figures tick rhythmically in the windowsill.

i hadn’t caught up on last night’s rest till nine last night.

the weight of my eyelids more convincing than ever,

i succumbed to the unconscious in my boyfriend’s bed, waking to drive home long after he’d left for work.

in four months i’ll be in a new city with a new routine, a new schedule.

it can’t stay like this.

why do i so insistently fight the heaviness of my eyes to allow them no rest before dawn?

maybe it’s because i like being awake, alone.

neither of those things i feel certain of my feelings on, though.

april hasn’t brought many showers.

or maybe i’ve slept through them all.

i hope there’s more if i just wait.

pattering drops hit the windows as thunder makes the ceramic on my shelves gently clatter.

soon enough i’m numb to any knowing form existence.

this kind of slumber draped with the chilled torrential atmosphere soothe the contusions of my ceaseless awareness.

it’s bright as day now.

the light passes through my windowpanes and i feel it.

it’s nearly may.

but i feel wired still;

both tormented and gifted with so much more time to myself.

maybe this time, a few months from now,

i’ll be a whole different person.

and instead of laying restless,

fighting the exponentially growing ache of coming to life again,

maybe i could sleep early enough to be able to wake at nine-am.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

light me up

i wake with you standing over my bed, summoning within me a hunger i didn’t know i had.

the lawless curve of your grin with the cheap gin and juice in your hands both leave me weak in the knees.

there is a live wire coursing my veins.

your touch is laced with napalm, and with you through the doorway, my skin lights up like a tinderbox.

shuddering, dancing blazes strip textiles into dark piles, making a better masterpiece of the rug covering the linoleum.

it has made me begin to believe you to be something immaculate.

i could swear heat like this has not been felt since the last remnants of ancient civilizations were destroyed.

the arches and bends of my body’s porcelain landscape are traced as if you molded them yourself.

a working of the hands so holy and divine it purifies like wildfire.

i manage to burn upon consumption, i’m aged whiskey to the back of your throat.

toss another back, light me up once more.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

Free Palestine seen in Chicago

[ccherryywine]

hands//gods

it seems you’ve fallen into treacherous hands.

their rotten touch convinces you of truth in a god that hasn’t forsaken us.

a god that grants you an out that is not through.

but such a being has never existed, not in any way tangible to the non-fanatic.

the gentle warmth radiating from the hands that hold you burns the heart at its core to black soot.

it dissipates at the touch and all that was there lies washed in the wind like it never even existed.

but they reach outwards for you again and you lean in. how foolish of me to question it.

once again, heat waves will spill into you and underline every aspect of my twisted trespassing.

tolling church bells and the pink blooms of spring will blind you to things i wish you’d see.

those hands keep their enemy close, so much so that the apathetic victim withdrawals at their parting.

when will be the last time?

i’ve done all i can to be patient, forgiving, merciful on for what torture you’ve granted both our souls.

malignant compliance was your only give.

when will you no longer melt into the grasp of deceit?

when will you stop being hard, fast, and unmoved by my fierce softness?

the routine was good, it’s why you keep it up.

i’d rip truth from your soul and shove it down my own throat.

i’d be at your door again. you win.

you love that shit.

it was good while it lasted, i can admit.

your face is still in every windowpane reflection and revealed in every face the pools of my dreams.

ultimately you were reflective of your own self-imprisonment.

so i bit the hand.

still the hands that hold you will remain fleeting,

and i will remain waiting for you to get bored of it all.

i doubt any sense of forgiveness would be your testament to me then.

verses and lines, blocked numbers and old phrases.

the god you see within them will forsake you for the one that lies between them.

and so, sensing the pressure, those hands will truly flee from you, retracting from you all their fabricated warmth.

there, you will be left to bitter, ashen solitude with no hands to hold you.

god is only a man if he is defined by his treachery.

such beings live up to no promises but utilitarian misery.

is it still everything you thought it would be?

my cracked reflection has started to look like you.

you’ve become your own tormentor through pure will, weaponized ignorance, and wavering fidelity.

when will you realize the god you make is yourself?

k.t.

an: interpret how you’d like but this one is one of my mindless (and kind of anger-driven) passion-poetry pieces. i hope y’all enjoy :)

[ccherryywine]

leaving home

i don’t wanna leave my piedmont home

but i realize there’s nowhere else to go

ginger ale, apple juice mixed with rum

you laugh while holding the smoking gun

bad day again but my mom won’t know

maybe i’m just addicted to being all alone

you’ll never feel bad bout what you’ve done

it’s gotten old now, cold blood starts to run.

i spent weeks running from my bared teeth, when i speak it cuts deep, the only time you ever cared.

i can’t breathe with my heart on my sleeve. your secret’s underneath that bright dye in your hair.

didn’t wanna walk away, i couldn’t let it go.

saw you in a dream, hand round your throat.

boxed wine, pop tabs, was all in good fun.

left in the back, you were always shotgun.

may up and leave for real, find another home.

might’ve thought about it. chills me to the bone.

your party, making fun of me, in front of everyone

six months past, and the pendulum had swung.

i spent weeks running from my bared teeth, when i speak i cut deep, the only time you even care.

i can’t breathe with my heart on my sleeve. your secret’s underneath that bright dye in your hair.

you’d hardly even try, and did it all for show.

we met in pews, but you thought i’d never know.

drawn curtains of your life, stupid battles never won.

never wanted to be first, yet you said i was the sun.

i was on your trigger finger, i let it go, though.

way before gunsmoke stole the whole show.

cheap drinks, lip syncs, just watching reruns

still what you did those days, would never be undone.

k.t.

an: this one’s a little more personal and i’m excited to share because i feel like i so passionately and almost mindlessly produce these lines that they may have some substance of general relatability for others out there. i feel like i always end up sounding angstier than i mean to be every time i write about my own life/experiences so bear with me there.

[ccherryywine]

untitled free verse

in every world do i stay clutched between your knuckles?

am i felled like a hollow tree each time around?

something tells me yes.

it’s meant to be this way.

some epiphany or eulogy will come put it all to rest.

time is no object; it comes when it comes.

but every turn of the earth sickens my stomach knowing the broad reach of chance awakens at the first sign of light.

don’t come any closer.

is there no way for you to approach in which i won’t need defense?

am i doomed to spin the wheel and sharpen the axe once more?

there is nothing to convince me anymore.

it’s meant to be this way.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

fantasy

i don’t wanna be a fantasy.

there’s no point in my life to

become nothing but a pale

beating chest. i know and see

too much. i know i’ll run myself

dry or die trying. and from it good

will come, but also insurmountable

waves of questioning and grief.

speaking truly, that will come either

way. being planted knee-deep in

the ground couldn’t cease the

ravaging hands of the clock.

i’m told direction becomes growth,

and i know that i’ve grown but i

look down and still never feel any

taller. everything good is both an

illusion and a figment of reality all at

once. there is no masterpiece that is

isn’t in some way fabricated. similarly,

there is no forest fire that doesn’t clear

the view of the sky. sometimes that’s

all there is. i don’t want to be perfect.

the closest things i’ve seen

confirm that it’s never enough.

i’m no valedictorian,

but i’m haunted by lives i’ve never lived.

i think maybe i hate it all, and love it

so very much.

the interlocking units of time never

failed me, even though i’ve felt they did.

being here is all i ever needed.

fantasies really do exist,

never the right way though.

who is as unconsumed and utterly

enraptured by the self-fulfilling

prophecy of life as i am?

maybe it’s why i study the science of life.

i don’t know why i chose that,

beyond things arguably superficial.

i don’t know what i want.

everything, all at once maybe.

nothing, for all the time to stop.

it’s all sick, devastation either way, really.

my stomach churns in awe and grief for it all.

but i realize i cannot choose,

that would never change.

absent energy is no way for time

breathing to be spent.

it’s all going to happen anyway.

small sublime seconds of my soul merging into

it’s place in existence always meet me just in time.

divinity is a knife that splits the flesh of reason.

i know this. or maybe i know nothing at all.

but i know better. I don’t wanna be a fantasy.

it’s a blessing and curse to have

it all laid out in front of me.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

b-side

the concept of one existing without the other seems to be a magnetic force.

there is a gravitational pull in tragedy.

the delicate, purposeful drive of nature.

those that follow the mothers who departed and the fathers who fled are no exception to the divine rule.

one such manifestation of this loomed above my bed every morning.

he was tall and strong,

a haven in the eggshell-walk of my youth.

how could i have forgotten i also would not make the cut?

i would be no exception to any rule either.

but of course, i am my father’s toughest son.

valiant, diligent, fiercer than he’d wish.

i‘ll always be his girl, but I’m still his only one.

and so, behold my illusion of choice:

succumb to a bitter play-by-play of a promising woman’s future,

or rather estrange myself from his good grace.

i make up my mind as i go,

forever grieving a potential failure,

pleading to a god i don’t know if i believe in, hoping to make headway.

girlhood is a reality that exists outside the mold of the perfect daughter.

godhood is to be the one revered in the end,

becoming the gravity acting between father and boy.

only love could hold us together.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

carve

bullets in my chest,

flowers round my head

a kiss on my cheek.

you carve right into me,

flip again like a dime

and then lay down to sleep.

a knife in my back,

a soft touch on my shoulder,

just to watch me bleed.

skin salting the earth,

faded flesh growing colder,

for all the creatures to eat.

insult to my injury,

your face is the final scene.

with two rings on my finger,

decay wanes into the spring.

i know i’m now out of sight,

but the dead will still linger.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

a-side (mothers)

to grow up without sisters,

is to find them in every older woman and familiar young girl like yourself.

they’re nothing like you, usually.

all the more reason to bicker,

have a makeover, get into things, and play together.

unbridled unpredictability was the breathing essence of all recreation as children.

the mounted warrior would be impenetrable to a blade grazing her hair,

portrayed with seamless reason-

but succumbs instantly to her defeat by the enemy’s attack on the steed beneath her.

the angry squeals followed by nonsensical facts and upset retorts often end with a mother’s shushing.

and tomorrow again it would ensue.

learning about her in ever way,

how to hate her,

love her,

enjoy her company,

ruin the moment.

it’s like we were born to do it for each other.

after all,

it’s not likely many others in the world would do the same,

even if they could.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

slope

the downward slope is violent.

the broken clock is growing tired.

but the greens are becoming greener

and pink petals trace the pavement.

something keeps my head above the water,

and alive through the nights.

the eves are grey and lonesome, but never lonely.

there is so much to know that can be revealed in solitude.

i know everything, but can convince myself the certainty of nothing.

i scroll till i pass out, my stomach and head whirling.

the back of my neck feels spiked with cold,

the space under my ribs feels hollower than normal.

quivering flesh spurs my flight to cooler air.

but that is from fear alone, something primally instilled.

the warming of the air in the spring months used to make me fearful for the dense, unbreathable atmosphere.

but then it will come, like it always does.

i will sit in it in the sun with my girl,

lust for life jolting through my inebriated veins.

nothing else matters, cold rooms await later on.

the inescapable warmth of July is more forgiving than i remember.

the winter now seems easier to reason with.

if heat like this can come and go, so can the bitter, reclusive cold.

inevitable, for willing participants of time.

the arrhythmic ticking can barely be heard anymore.

the broken clock has quieted.

the downward slope is violent,

but the ascent is sure as the tide guides the sea.

k.t.

[ccherryywine]

when it’s good it’s gold

when it’s good it’s gold.

not as useful as brass,

or sturdy as iron, immovable and cold.

there came a time when our sights would align and all it’d become was us picking fights.

but then’d come the flood, we come undone, and now having allegiance is a war to be won.

when it’s hot it’s cold,

touching the scalding heat,

freezing out over the phone.

but i played it cool, so maybe i was the fool. that’s how it was back when we were in school.

yet the heat of the flame, the whole stupid game, was all because i had been begging for change.

but when it’s good it’s gold,

that’s what they say.

i never did get it, still don’t today.

when it was good it was a gold,

yet it’d wear down with time.

and it was getting old.

k.t.

————-

AN: this one kinda touches on themes of estrangement from someone very close and valuable to your heart, mind, and soul. despite their undisputed worth and intention, the actions of truly indisputable, undeniable love wear down and become less true in itself over time, becoming slowly unrecognizable. so fun and cute right! luv ya