ofthepetals - Tumblr blog

[ofthepetals]

[ofthepetals]

It’s only an empty room. A green plant in the corner, windows and perfectly maintained original hardwood floors–

and I just want to vomit, rip the shingles from the roof of your mouth

and feel the heat of an oven against the bare skin of my back as a rainbow splits the sky–

only to find a bible at its end.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

It’s only an empty room. A green plant in the corner, windows and perfectly maintained original hardwood floors–

and I just want to vomit, rip the shingles from the roof of your mouth

and feel the heat of an oven against the bare skin of my back as a rainbow splits the sky–

only to find a bible at its end.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

There it is! The urge. The urge to pick myself up and place myself in front of a notepad. One with agendas, notes, and email addresses from October 2011. A time of new adventures and the start of lasting friendships. There it is again. The imagination and freedom to do more. To feel more.

To write more.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

A certain kind of effort is needed to bury myself beneath the two piles of blankets-- to cover my body with the softness of cloth and allow my mind to escape into vivid dreams of sick days and fairy tale magic

because I know the sound of my alarm better than the sound of my laughter.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

I'm putting my flip flop clad foot on the pedal and I push, pull back, push, pull back because the car in front of me, hood down, and a AT&T service bar of kids sit in the back seat with their hats backwards. They turn. They see me there with my blue Sunfire trying to maintain a speed because their little red car is taking a Sunday drive up a mountain on a sunny day in June and I just want to push the pedal down far enough to get up this damn hill.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

A dark horse amongst a field of flowers with drops of dew--

I see you standing there. Two limbs limp at my side and there's a breeze--

It rustles the blades of grass, paralyzes the toes in my boots and the sun departs beneath a gray cloud--

Saying goodbye has become nightmare but yet I know the soil beneath this earth is full of yesterdays and ready for tomorrow--

And I know just beyond the blooming trees there is a glistening lake.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

Backfired Gunfire

Arrows on the gate point up— Up, up, up! So I look up to the quilted white clouds

and I wait for the backfired cars to turn into gunfire and the clouds to smoke and ash

and I wait for the moment my eyes will glaze, my neck will ache and I wait for the moment my hands will remember the sharp brush of bristle on the executioner’s noose.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

She will dip a turquoise painted toe into the glassy lake and allow an ounce of laughter to create a ripple from here

to Gettysburg. There it was a drop of blood that created a ripple in the war--

a ripple that changed the tide of  blood soaked soldiers as they trudged along the battlefields in the sun. It wasn’t a young woman who barely knows how to fire a gun in order to hit her mark on an old bowling pin. 

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

Murderer or Princess

Salyard, was it you who lived in the high tower? Did your bloodied fingers stain the bars before trying the noose on for size?

Was it Rapunzel? Her hair spun into the rope that would soon become the latest fashion trend behind the plaster and chipped iron gate.

Or is it me? Is the air crisper at the top or is it from the trapped, thick smoke?—a ghost imprisoned with me as the fire is extinguished at the barracks.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

clock tower sounds the hour, four clicks, four o’clock— the courtyard is ablaze from the early June sun

and a visitors’ magazine sticks to my exposed thigh— this bench feels like a baking sheet, ready to offer me as the next serving to the ghosts kneeling at the altar.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

Dust & Crucifix

     First Presbyterian Church

Encased in a swell of silence, the hum of the square, its streets, surround the ghost of 1757—

The archways, bright circles and stars, trail the walls, white and soft, meeting

in the golden middle. the crucifix and pipe screens weigh His power—

Am I meant to feel at home between these walls of bullet-hole memories and a spiked iron gate?

The little girl I once knew is silenced on her balcony— she remains on the floor, feeling small in this holy place.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[ofthepetals]

Looking Above

How do you believe in miracles when there is supposed to be no such thing as magic?

How do you believe that Jesus walked on water when I have trouble floating on my back in the pool?

How do you believe in a superior being living beyond our space and time when there is no such thing as other realms except our own?

When you believe that our world is the center of the universe – or it should be the center of the universe because we’re so wrapped around ourselves. Do we need to believe in God to make us feel humble? To make us feel like someone else will forgive us of our sins because we’re too incapable of forgiving ourselves? These memories of past mistakes haunt you at night so you need to go to confession so some man that claims to be in connection to God will tell you everything will be okay.

You need to tell yourself it’ll be okay. Isn’t faith in your soul where you’re supposed to begin? They preach in schools that you need to love yourself. They want to take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance. Is that really such a bad thing? Do you want to believe in God when you dress up as the Devil for Halloween?

These pearly white gates are supposed to open to a place of peace and forgiveness, but Jesus is said to be a white man. He was born in Jerusalem. Why would he be white? You just want your world to be the center of the universe, but it’s not. Is there really such a thing as a man with a white beard on a golden throne beyond the clouds? I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know because all I’ve ever known is there’s no such thing as magic.

WRITTEN BY KIRA - DO NOT CLAIM AS YOUR OWN