freezingat90

[freezingat90]

there was a whisper of rain, in the short space between the afternoon and evening, and it gnawed in my warring lobes like a cricket song 

[freezingat90]

The bell tolls for late dinners

understanding and becoming one?

but there isn’t anything left for you to say, but i haven’t forgotten how to read lips 

if that would suit you, Father

touch to release the silver dove sleeping in your breast 

it swims quietly under your consciousness, thrums a little song only audible when the layer between you and your wishes are sparkling thin (such as, when you are about to fall asleep and the universe is a warm egg) 

cause there’s nothing to it but a dance move, 

a simple collision with complicated rules 

like when to say hello on dark mornings and how much sugar to take in new company 

and we could read the manual but you forgot it at your mother’s place and god forbid you sneak around and search for it 

there isn’t anything more becoming than a pink ribbon on the neck, but i’m scared of what you’ll be when you take it off 

or, what i will see... 

there is a small ashtray in our bedroom and it’s filled with pepper candies and you have them when you wake up and when you go to bed you drink something clear and acidic and it stings me a little too, and i’ve got boils in my dreams and the fairies are at your door again. 

if that would suit you, I would do it and I wouldn’t ask why, about the weekday weeklong soirees and friends without faces 

i would not ask anything because if i ask it would turn you inside out and then how would we stitch our bodies together? 

with a little puckering kiss that tears at me, of course, you say, 

cause there’s nothing to it but a rhythm of collisions 

careening like stars and drawing a myth of infinite pinkness

[freezingat90]

Clear

Is there another way out of this? You asked me when we were halfway through. Well, now that you ask me, I feel the gravity of God When you’re hungry the robes come off  There's no dignity for roving sheep, you should know, you know, you know Fold inwards and inside out Until you are a clear crane.

[freezingat90]

harvest moon spoils fresh

Mavis is a berserker girl 

Mavis is a berserker girl, and she loves the sweet cold 

Her eyelids stain with girly rouge, Mavis, the warrior, dainty and barbarous 

Jenna is a berserker girl 

Jessica is a berserker girl 

Standing outside in the cold 

[freezingat90]

The silent rush of dark matter Fills the space between my ears A mantra a black hole a reaffirmation of the gazes I fear This silent rush of dark matter Eats my brain I'm turning off the lights and I'm lying down again In the ocean I poured myself

[freezingat90]

I hope this letter finds you well

I could be anyone but you. 

I am a ghost, floating through the woods. 

I am a mother, cradling a fragile life. 

I am the Earth, being trampled by metal. 

I am so close to you, popping up on your screens and ringing a melody, but the air I breathe is smoggy and gray, and the air you breathe is blue with clarity. Dirt is trapped under my fingernails, and dots and scars form little artworks. You have to win me over first before you can look. The more vulnerable I am the closer I am to being snuffed out like a candle on a windowsill and the sky is raging outside but I will not go out because someone needs me. Someone out there might call my name and wonder why I haven’t said anything or left a goodbye or a last gift for everyone to hold on to until they put my heavy soul down and keep walking. If I’m gone you should keep on walking. Don’t let me drag you into the quicksand. I’m weightless, I can take it, but you are solid and fleshy and roaring with life and you grope around in the dark with a sprinting heartbeat because you want to be alive. I was so disillusioned with living because living was ugly and sharp around the edges and being so carefree I was careless I cut myself on those edges and I bled too much but you still have a shot you can close your eyes and feel your blood pumping in you all those tiny little motions that keep you alive from your cells to your organs to cold water and silence with your friend and keyboards clacking to the beat of your laughter into the lonely morning. Everyone is asleep. If you fight it, stay awake a little longer and prop your eyelids up and burn them out on LCDs and TVs being naturally addicted because everyone gets caught up. But I want you to breathe a little. Calm your heart down and lay down next to me (is what I would say if I were here with you) and drink some honey tea and wax lyrical about ladybugs and watermelon slices and the strange days in between the seasons that have you catching colds because I felt like I was stuck there. I couldn’t spring into summer and when autumn came I hung on desperately; I didn’t want to fall into winter because winter was cold and I hated pain I hated feeling hurt and angry. I wanted to melt the snow and cold with fire breath and flaming words but all I did was burn the people around me and nobody likes feeling hurt. I’m saying this because I don’t want you to be like me. I could tell you all about how magical the world is and how there’s somebody for everybody but I don’t care about that anymore. (Magical things are always worth caring for.) The truth is that I just want you to survive. Please don’t be angry forever. The taste in my mouth is terrible. Be nice to people and start with yourself. 

Love, 

Somebody who made all the wrong choices 

[freezingat90]

don’t tell me you’re summer when you feel like winter against my lips

e.e. (via eefrostpoetry)

[freezingat90]

illusionscraper

downy petals brushed against tender skin 

olive-tinted branches waver in silhouettes against 

white cotton clouds carefully daubed against the aerial escape 

smoking metal planes that weave in between steam skyscrapers and falling birds 

a beautiful forgery with the sense of flowering memory sits in the red glazed pot 

tiny yellow stars drawn on by Nica, smudging finger paint on tiny chubby hands the size of meadow daisies

a white cotton ball drifts

lazing past our window to the world

[freezingat90]

[freezingat90]

to be consumed with beautiful things

[freezingat90]

We are a people of stories.

Tales bind us together. We disagree seamlessly, children are born with the knowledge of their ancestors and a diaspora thousands of years old. Each time we run, there is nothing to take with us but our families and the words on our back.

Love Hashem, demand from Hashem, argue until your throat is hoarse and you have forgotten where your debate originated from. For it’s our right, isn’t it, dating back to Avraham and Moshe and Job. Every good relationship has its fights. Argue for the sake of heaven until you understand where you come from and why your people are still wandering.

Where is home?

A portable life and a forgotten place, are we still in the desert or have we reached our land? Surrounded by pomegranates and dates and dried up riverbeds, we ask ourselves how much longer. How much longer can our stories sustain us.

Argue with Hashem and love what came before us. In heaven’s name, we are a people of disagreement. We have not stopped wandering, but our words have also not run out. Take the words on your back and keep walking.

- Miriam Kamens, our 40 years lasted just a bit longer

[freezingat90]

the reason i want to be a writer is because sometimes i consume a piece of media, a book or tv show or movie, and i am so overwhelmed by how it touches me. sometimes, there is a character or a story line that stays with me, consistently, far past after i’ve finished it, and i become enamored by the idea that someone out there, a writer, created this. a writer gave me this feeling and made me fall in love with something that they wrote. and i want to recreate that feeling for someone else.

[freezingat90]

Requires Fantasy Novel Things (feel free to add more)

- Title contains the words “Wolf/Rose/Sword/Dark/Crown/Throne” - Unexplained white haired girl - Evil Queen that is definitely a red head - The one black haired guy that dresses in all black but his eyes are blue and beautiful - Special Eyes™ - Someone turns into an animal and exactly one (1) person might question it - The Blacksmith - The mysterious hooded woman in the woods (bonus points if she has a fancy stick) - Barn sex - The fastest horse in the land that gets shot by an arrow on page 215 - The one soft spoken healer that gives life changing advice and then is never mentioned again - A truly excessive amount of dead parents - Everyone is British except for one inexplicable Irish guy

[freezingat90]

[freezingat90]

“you sit on a pedestal you built - just out of everyone’s reach. but, i can see it now - you’re nothing more than porcelain up high in a china cabinet.”

— smspoetry (fragile masculinity) 

[freezingat90]

velveteen seventeen

long, thin hands pull and twist knotted strands 

shiny blades with rusted edges hover out of frame 

mangled by lust and rage, dyed with sick pride 

whispering cowardice and honest lies

[freezingat90]

saffron sheets, burnt to a crisp

a seasonal change to which we are indebted

the righteous knight yields

a nameless crowd has nothing to be regretted

frolic and twirl in a lavender field

look upon fresh youth and dewy eyelashes

skip your last bow to hide with iron shields

look at the sky and its gorgeous white flashes

a sight no-one remembers the same

dancing madly in a rainy park littered with soldiers and ashes

winter brings a dose of shame

and with it comes a fortune teller’s reverie

adept at reading silent lips, the hidden one’s amateur game