divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

This is for all the easy words you missed in Boggle: lots of them end in 's' like you never thought of anything more than what you alone needed. Finite time slipping away until every single singular word was crossed off, to be forgotten until we needed them to argue for the next games points and I'd win with my moons and suns and seas and muses and us. No. Words must be 3 letters. Us is just two, the two of us eyes locked over this plastic game, knowing the third missing letter is hidden in love we don't share. Yes, I know love is 4 letters. But still somehow impossible to find with the naked eye. Searching. And I will lose my moon and sun and sea and muse and u. No. That's not a word. No point. Missing a letter, missing a meaning. This is for when we misunderstood what game we were playing and this is for when we misunderstood how to decide who was winning. This is for when we misunderstood each other and this is for mistakes. This is for when we misunderstood.

Mistakes - divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

I still wish to believe you only let me down in a golden casket and sprinkled roses by the crypt you built. Buried me with a hymn and some holy words, which drip blood thick from my tender mouth the way your name did... I softened every syllable until I never said it again, pretending that was fine. Silent in my mausoleum I can watch it crumble so when asked who killed me, I know the answer is you but my mouth is dirt filled, waiting on the rain to reveal this shallow grave since it won't hide your lies anymore.

Dead to You - divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

I have watched my mother cry. I can see the canyons carved into her face, yet I am unmoved by either the rushing or broken ground. The harder she cries, the faster I run. And so I have decided I must be those tears.

The Gorge - divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

Statue

I saw a statue in a museum once It was taller than me Made of metal that looked like gold Had a halo Kind eyes that Looked at its feet I could not tell if it was male or female Or even if you were supposed too

I do not remember the information Written by the side I was too absorbed in how the Wear on its face Looked like tears I do remember it was alone No other statue in that room Only plates, bowls and paintings

I remember telling my companion I could look at it all day I did not say forever Because he smiled But he was stopping himself From laughing He asked why I told him because it was beautiful

It wasn’t Or not in the way White stone made to look Like delicate silk is It was in the way You look at home And know that you belong It was familiar

I understood it Looking down at your feet To hide the tracks on your cheeks Being gold on the outside And feeling cold and grey underneath Being so far away from home When you should belong In a room full of similar things

How could I explain That the reason I could Stay and look all days Was because it spoke to me Without words Or hymns That it made me feel real In a world where I am the statue

[divinusqualia]

I would have liked a dimming of the sun, an uncanny flicker where it can't burn as oxygen dissipates like words between us. But I'm asking too much, like you said I always did, so I would have taken anything to mark the moment your wild heart became an irritation instead of a beloved nuisance, you burn through everything like new tires on a highway in a fast car. Fanning our flames only made hot ash, stinging our throats with the residual smoke in our bright eyes. I wish there had been anything between us, but mostly a sign screaming STOP, preferably.

A Sign - divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

I wake with an inhale that seems to suck air out of my lungs. The kind that jackknifes your arms out, reaching for something to steady myself, but they just hit my mattress off beat with my pounding heart. It's dark. Blurry without my glasses, and I have to pull my clock in like I want to kiss it before I can read those green numbers. 3:47. You woke me up. By breathing on my neck from a perch behind me, under a bridge swarming with people, then pressing your lips against the tiny spot below my ear in the moments before the sky explodes with light. I remember. Nightmare darkness swallows me easily and won't let me sleep, I'll fall back into that minute and it's always worse when I wake after, thinking so hard that my hands shake. Was I always dreaming your affection like this?

3:47 - divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

august was passed nectarine-sticky between our hands though we couldn’t hold anything but fear delicately. we pretended that your skinned knees could’ve been the streaks of meteors lurching through the sky, fading too briefly to sting / that your heaving chest could’ve hidden in the ruddy brown of the night.

august was every feeling i ever tried to name, even when i wanted to say savagery, wildness / despair? august was every promise i ever made to myself, but i broke them all for you again.

sometimes through a grimy window i’d try to see some piece of you that didn’t try to run itself down. sometimes, even your afterimage wasn’t waiting for a miracle anymore. and i know: maybe i hurt everything i try to become. maybe i wasted my summer falling in love with things i couldn’t have.

august was supposed to be yellow paint in my mouth / yellow flowers on my table / your hands on my lips. and i still can’t apologize for the way we burned, though i used my last match on the fire. i still can’t apologize for the way i let go of you, though you were never mine to begin with.

[divinusqualia]

This is surviving on your own skin, torn from dry lips and edges of fingernails. Swallow your own words, then pound them into the wall just so you can drink the blood off your knuckles later, since you can't have only tears to sate your thirst after chewing on the dead ends of your hair. Finish off the stale air in your lungs by polluting the emptiness with your whispered prayers before you devour yourself whole. This is starving.

Cannibalism - divinusqualia

[divinusqualia]

God, like... You live off sharp energy? While I am slumber bound, somber wound breaths tightening around me. God. Like, you are lighting fed power. Too alive to touch, pulsing pure electricity through blue blood veins. Sparks. God-like: You haven't slept in years. Ichor burns your heart often, because fire never gets to cry and they made you out of sun.

Epiphany ~ v.k

[divinusqualia]

how to love a god: i.  stay away from him. legends are never boys. gods were never people. gods do not love. ii.  despise him. who does he think he is? the proud jaw, those seaborne arms, fleeting sparrow-feet planted on the earth as if the world belonged to him? iii.  watch. the quick turn of mouth, the gold of his hair backlit against the sun shining like a halo. if you get too close he’ll burn you to ash. if you get too close he’ll destroy you. iv.  watch him watch you. v.  when he kisses you back hold your breath. do not breathe. you are only a small and foolish boy chasing the tail of a meteor destined for the heavens. if you breathe, you will burn. vi.  making love to him feels like building a home, doesn’t it? here, the oars of his shoulders. here, the temple of his thighs. here, his mouth whispering your name in worship. vii.  when the war comes watch his laughter grow cold and his hands tender themselves red. that is a statue in your bed. that is a man turned to stone from ten thousand stares. viii.  you put on his clothes on to save him from himself.   you put his clothes on to spend your last breath inside him again. ix. you know what will happen and you do it anyway. you burn because this is what it means to love. this is what it means to fly. x. recall the tale of Icarus. choose to be Icarus.

Natalie Wee // Patroclus Dreaming 

(Achilles Dreaming)

[divinusqualia]

You were the one who held his hand after the fist fight that left his knuckles like red wine on fresh-turned dirt. All this time, and I always wanted to ask if his blood on your hands felt some kind of sacred. I don’t think either of us were ever any good for him. Because you loved him bruised, and I loved him bloody— I know how it sounds, believe me, and I have torn through rabbit holes hunting for a better heart, but I’ve got a weak spot for broken boys and that is my most disgusting feature. You may not have loved him well, but at least you loved him halfway whole. Me? I would have kissed the broken teeth from his mouth and kept them all for myself. I would have cracked open his crème brûlée chest and eaten out the insides— hung up his twisted x-rays on my walls so I could never forget the look of a ruined heart. I don’t break them myself, you see. I just go collecting in the aftermath. Grave robber for the still alive: I may not kill anyone, but I have never been afraid to take what I need to survive.

Bad Habits, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)

[divinusqualia]

It’s an old sort of story: a girl falls in love with a god. Ancient Greeks are laughing. The rocks off the coast of Italy are burning under their sun. Twenty-first century, try again: a girl falls in love with God. This means rosaries, churches with stained glass windows, hymns, bookmarks in her Bible. Somewhere in the middle: a girl falls in love with an angel. Wings tipped gold and prayers in their blood-stained kisses. Even God is laughing now.

PIETY | M.J. (via fairytalesques)

[divinusqualia]

I was carving my name into your side and you were calling me soft, calling me gentle. I do not think you were paying attention.

Trista Mateer, from “For the One Who Loved My Hands More than Anything Else,” The Dogs I Have Kissed (via lifeinpoetry)

[divinusqualia]

People are not rain or snow or autumn leaves; they do not look beautiful when they fall.

Nav K. (via wordsnquotes)

[divinusqualia]

Somewhere, there is a mermaid wishing for legs. Legs like yours. She'd never have to sing another day with those siren calls to walk on, even with a dimple on your left knee and that scar from your bike still ghosting your right thigh. And sometimes when I'm watching you, crashing onto shore, I become a tributary. I don't lead to you, how could I ever lead to you? You can hold a convincing argument with tears streaming down your face, screaming. The floods threatening me, screaming: Don't you dare tell me I'm weak. I will drown you in this salt water. I can hold my ground and I can hold your head beneath my crushing waves. Screaming, you are a tsunami over me. Around me, screaming. Sirens. Screaming. Sirens. Singing, I'm singing that it's worth it. Landlocked since birth, you are wind sprayed wild in my face and warm sand in between my toes, finishing morning stretches on the beach. The treasures found in tide pools you leave can only be bought with sand dollars, traded like kisses in the evening mist. And I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone before. Including myself. I've taken up oceanography to discover every depth of you. No, I've never seen the coast, but in our bed, an ocean sleeps.

And We Will Name Our Daughters Amphitrite and Ceto ~ v.k

[divinusqualia]

A writer is a world trapped in a person.

Victor Hugo (via maxkirin)

[divinusqualia]

I am the dark and I am the light, I am the moon and I am the starless night sky. Fall in love with all that I am or please, do not fall in love with me at all.

Christopher Poindexter (via thelovejournals)