perceptionbythesenses-blog

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

My body is a museum

In the gallery of my skin, where strangers' fingers roam,

I search for the one brushstroke that is my own.

My body, a museum, a canvas of contradictions

Where freedom is a distant dream, and ownership a fleeting thought

But it was in the earliest days of my life that life has revealed the shadows that would mold my identity.

From childhood's innocent gaze, I learned to surrender

My body's autonomy, a relic of a bygone era

It became apparent that my thoughts about my body come last.

Every ridge, every corner, subject to interpretation

A reflection of others' desires, not my own

The mirror's gaze, a mere spectator, will never matter

As strangers' eyes roam, their whispers, a chorus of objectification,

The discreet pointing of fingers to whichever body part catches their attention,

My body a mere spectacle!

— It's a different story when they get to touch it.

My body is a museum, but it breaks the rules – it welcomes contact.

And it was precisely that vulnerability that made me an open wound, conditioned for the pain that would leave me scarred

This very fragility I once considered my strength became the Achilles’ heel that led to my undoing

When they touch, the museum's walls come crumbling down

I crumble, too, beneath the weight of their expectations

It caves when people get upset about being denied with the sense of feeling.

They need their skin to come upon my own.

So I let them.

A woman's curse: the shackles of femininity and submission

A paradox of powerlessness, where sensitivity is a sin

(My body, a battleground, where others’ wills are imposed,

A constant reminder: My flesh is not my own to dispose

Submission's subtle chains bind me to a life unchosen,

Conformity's dark veil conceals my true self, leaving only echoes unspoken.)

It’s laughable - the cruel irony whispers through the voices of those who should understand, my fellow women, warning me against the vulnerability of sensitivity about my own existence.

They, too, have been shaped by the relentless pressure to conform, their words a reflection of the suffocating mold that has been cast around us all.

**

I was twelve when I lost my body's sovereignty

A stranger's hands, a violation of my innocence

Waking up with an unfamiliar hand pressing onto your thighs and shallow breaths you’d feel on your back - right in the middle of your shoulder and neck.

Five years of silence, a self-imposed exile

A desperate attempt to reclaim what was lost, to rewrite my story

In a frantic attempt to preserve myself,

I withdrew into a shell of secrecy - it was an oath.

I didn’t do it to protect him. I tried to protect myself.

“What would people think?”

I wanted to convince myself that after all that happened, I still owned my body. Every part of it.

But his touch lingers, a ghostly presence

A constant reminder of my powerlessness

You would think you could fight it.

But what was a frozen twelve year old girl have against an adult man towering over her body?

No matter where I go, I feel his touch. No matter how hard I scrubbed the traces of him, I realized that soap and water had no power over it.

It’s as if his hands became a permanent fixture - an extension of my body.

I flinch at kindness, avert my gaze

Fearful of being seen, of being exposed

The fear of people seeing the psychological marks he has left on every part of my body that he has touched and breathed on.

To lose innocence before understanding its value

A haunting memory, a scar that refuses to heal

***

I knew then, as a child, that submission was my fate

A choice forced upon me, a lie I tell myself to cope

In innocence, I learned the unspoken decree:

‘A woman like me must yield, or forfeit the illusion of free will.’

For in surrender, I could claim a semblance of choice,

A comforting lie, that my shackles were self-imposed.

So I surrender, a willing participant

A museum piece, a body to be gawked at, touched, and desired

But know this: I never had a choice, only the illusion of one

A truth I'll carry, a burden I'll bear, forever.

In the gallery of my skin, where strangers' fingers roam

I hope to find the one brushstroke that is my own.

{ra.c.v}

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

leader of a trio of college kids waking past me at walmart: okay. mission number two, finding where the popcorn is.

his friend: wait, what was mission number one?

leader: fucking getting here, travis.

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

Medusa is a lesbian. One day, you, a young blind woman, accidentally walks into her cave.

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

its pride month can yall help a black trans man survive?

paypal.me/lavalake

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

There is a lot of reason why I chose to be captured by you. The sweet picturesque of you is forever etched on my mind. Like a thousand flowers blooming, I stay and watch while I smile and I appreciate the beauty that you hold. Listening to the sweet hum of your voice as I close my eyes and imagine a vivid scene where I enjoy your warmth as you embrace me with those soft skin, touching me, creating a spark between our bodies. Your little gestures that you don't seem to notice, I see it and I fell in love with it. The way you touch your lips when you're thinking hard, the way you blink your eyes when you feel amused, and the way you hold me when you're worried about me. I can't help but smile at the idea of you.

 But why did I let you capture my soul? Why did I let you make me feel this way? Maybe because you made me feel special when no one else did. Maybe because you were there when the whole world was against me. Or maybe I just fell in love with you, like how the books made me feel. I won't regret letting you in my veins, for you were the one who revived all the blood that seemed to get stuck on the past and excruciating pain.

 {R.v}

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

She sits there in front of you, smiling at the flowers that she has spotted while humming a sweet melody. You sat there awestruck and dumbfounded. You only came to your senses when she looked at you and laughed. Apparently, you were staring at her with a sly smile across your face that made her burst out.

Only right there and then that you realized, she was the missing piece you had been looking for. She might have blemishes and imperfection that made you think awhile back that she would never fit but you still gave her a shot. You realized that you also had imperfections on your edges thus making the right fit for the two of you.

You claimed that you were swallowed by the void; thrown into a black abyss where you can never get back; your very own Tartarus. You never imagined that you could get out. But she happened. Like the goddess of love who could make any man swoon over her, she had that same aura. It perplexed you; made you think if she used charm speak on you but you eventually never found out the truth, you gave up and accepted her to wander into your life.

You never believed in fate or destiny. But now, are you sure you’re not denying it? If it is any of those things, you know you’re relieved. Because sitting here with her and laughing with her is one thing you never thought you’d long for and wished to stay forever. Maybe the Fates were finally going along with you.

With her you’ve found hope. She is the reason why you are filled with joie de vivre.

--jade

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

Your eyes are filled with stars, you don’t look down. You are always looking up, aiming high, the Icarus of modern times. Watch out, remember the rules! Recall the myth of the boy who flew to high! Apollo is not kind to humans with lofty heights and eyes full of stars.

Modern Icarus - ck (via cielknight)

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

i remember that night

the night we kissed

standing between our cars

still running

wasting gas

we stood there for an hour

your arms around my waist

staring into each others eyes

not knowing who'd make the first move

you'd tried to kiss me the night before

and i buried my face in your shirt

scared

worried

guilty

but that night

that night was different

the sun was setting

oranges and pinks and purples

fading into blue skies

into black nights

and we stay there

standing

embracing

waiting

until you moved

your hand to my chin

lifting my lips up towards yours

gently moving closer

and as our lips touched

i didn't feel the fireworks

everyone talks about

i didn't feel the world stop

my leg didn't kick up

like in the movies

instead

i felt a warmth

a radiance

like all those oranges and pinks

from the sunset

were in my ribs

spreading out through my limbs

a warmth

that filled my soul

and left me smiling for the rest of the night

and if i'm being honest

that same warmth

that same radiance

that starts in my ribs

right below my sternum

with rich oranges and a golden glow

and hints of pink and streaks of passion

like the fresh air of night

that you can feel breathing into your soul

that warmth

i can still feel

every time we kiss

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

Writer’s block sucks

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

❝If there’s a light at the end, it’s just the sun in your eyes.❞

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

Thou shalt never love a writer You might see her as impeccable But there are flaws within her; Flaws that have never been seen, Even by herself. You will love how she twists words It will melt your heart; Like how a chocolate does when it’s warm It may be sweet, But it will show your vulnerable parts That she has yet to destroy You might fall for every symbol you see, That she has arranged for thee, But don’t be blinded It may be like a ray of sun, but it will hurt; Your sole being will be crumbled Though you may not see it yet She has a power to overthrow you Just by toying with your emotions She’s not there for you, Even if you feel that she is. She’ll be captivated by her own words; By her own feelings; and By her own suffering You will try so hard to help, - To reach her But you will be too late For she has drowned on her own masterpiece And you will regret ever letting her get to you And you will regret to see what she has meant In every letter she wrote for you And you will regret that you had never saved her.

<help me i’m writing a novel that i have to finish within 15 days>

<R.v}

i wrote a lil something to help me fight off my writer’s block and i didn’t thought about this at all it just came out im sorry

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

The rich don't eat what we do--

no, they wipe their mouths with the gossamer wings of endangered butterflies, suck the honey right out of bees. they don’t eat rock candy from supermarkets– no, they eat gem drops, popping rubies like hydrocodone and snorting crushed topaz; you know, like how middle schoolers snort smarties to ‘get high?’ only the rich get higher and the poor get lower senators toast each other with goblets of oil. off the streets they hunt wild game, military grade weapons lay children out on Apathy Lane, and they have no shame in digesting their bodies with the mechanical intestines of prison. if you open your eyes, they open their mouths and down through their throat you slide; children are the easiest to devour when their sensibilities and the capitalist police state collide. but gourmet human flesh is more often on their tabletops, drones prevent them from the inconvenience of firing shots themselves. oil as strong as absinthe, now the governors are drunk on power, savoring fermented dinosaur, simultaneously denying their existence and demanding their service. oil, humans, shimmering rocks, irrelevant matter, they all serve a common end, money in the banks they own and violent brainwashed men with rifles to commend.

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

phil is strawberry fields in the summer; a sense of warmth that you can’t quite place. he’s a fire in the wintertime, as wind and snow moan outside. he’s a fathers hug and a mothers laugh, a sense of safety more secure than any padlocked fortress. 

 dan is an april storm, thunder rolling playfully across overcast skies, rain pouring down in the most inviting way. he’s a three-am run; a sense of being the only one that matters in a sleeping world. he’s a lovers kiss and a friends smile, an inspiration more gripping than any natural display.

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

Anyone who knows the sky and the clouds knows that it couldn’t have been the sun that brought Icarus to his demise. It was not increasing heat, or light so warm it felt like an embrace, and the wax keeping his flimsy wings together did not melt. No, the sky is as cold and unforgiving as the earth in Persephone’s absence. Maybe it was Aeolus who threw Icarus out of the sky with his winds, or it could have been his son, Boreas, who dusted the wings with frost until they were so brittle they shattered, or maybe it was neither. What would Icarus have reached if he kept flying highter? Would Icarus have risen into the thinning atmosphere, clutching his throat from lack of air? Would he have reached the realm of the gods, only to be struck down from the heavens by a bolt of lightning for hubris? Either way, it ends the same: with melted wax, or frozen limbs, or singed feathers.

Mortals Were Never Given Wings Because Even Birds Know Their Limits (via athxnes)

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

If you're in the state of melancholy, Darling, please don't forget I am here for you You can call me if you want, I can give you space if you need For I want you to find your reverie --- a place where you can be yourself; a place where you can be happy; a place I want you to imagine that I'm with you All I want is best for you Go ahead and be sad It's a part of life experiences, But promise me, you'll come back; That you'll embrace me with a smile plastered on your face Go ahead and improve yourself And feeling forlorn might hurt But it will refine you as a person And just remember you are not alone For I am with you If you ever feel sad, Read this For I want you to know that your feelings are valid And I will accept you in every state of feeling you have

{R.v} Jade Valencia

[perceptionbythesenses-blog]

Never beg for love. Never beg someone to love you back or be with you when you want to. Never beg for someone’s time, commitment, affection and attention. Never beg someone to stay with you when you need him the most. Because in the first place, if he loves you that much, he won’t leave you and let go of your hand. He will never let you beg for his presence and love because he will give it to you with open arms. Don’t beg, it’s demeaning and degrading. Remember, if you have to beg, he’s not worth it. No one is worth begging for.

baekebyan (via wnq-writers)