soulisticwrites

[soulisticwrites]

after so long

there’s still so much left inside of me

within a few blinks

i now see what i could not before

[soulisticwrites]

“i’m a little different now because of you”

— (via phototags)

[soulisticwrites]

TO BE MADE AND REMADE IN A LOVER’S HANDS

Natalie Diaz, ‘Postcolonial Love Poem’ Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours (trans. Barrows & Macy) Auguste Rodin, Cathedral & Combinations Audre Lorde, ‘On a Night of the Full Moon’ Margaret Atwood, Power Politics James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

[soulisticwrites]

“And there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of a woman I love.”

— Audre Lorde, from “Uses of the Erotic,” in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches

[soulisticwrites]

[soulisticwrites]

strangers dancing on tongue

twirling with delight

beating to devilish drums

sweet to bitter back to sweet, one two one

no in between — no other routine

here, then there, then here

swift, trodding by air

begging for touch to not

burn this time but to

intertwine and find me at

the bottom of the glass or

your throat

[soulisticwrites]

i last cut my hair when you were awake,

when hair hung below my ears but above my shoulders

ive had it grow long for years you have been gone

kept it around for the sake of our fate

an act of self-preservation i thought

or for what now seems as delusion.

ends split,

dead weight remained from the mess i became

i cut it off, like a noose to life

defying the odds

i restore my truth.

[soulisticwrites]

a dream is a spiders web

entangling, but a home

each thread a bed for rest

each rest an ungraceful wed, 

reminders of sacred times

where reality is on lucks side.

light breaks, such illusions dissipate,

within seconds of awakening the dream is dead

the grasp loosened, the home gone

— and the web is weak filament, almost false,

leaving purpose stranded

with no patience to hold

and its spider noiseless within calamity

[soulisticwrites]

the sun danced on Ector street

warming each home and those who roamed

I was only a visitor at the time,

life had wings and flowed with each breeze,

every hope and dream breathed from the concrete — the roots of your home

sun rays gleamed from and at you all at once

we couldn’t see past each beam

blinded by light or love

and we shared it unequally.

we rise and fall like each passing day,

we failed to last our eternity

or perhaps we have just begun—

the sun still dances on Ector street

maybe that is us.

[soulisticwrites]

hate never fumed in me as much as it has since i last saw you

dead weeds ripped from my roots and the hate swooped through

transplanted and bloomed all ready to weave around like your noose

it attracts all toxic traits, greed and rage

consuming its prey, there is no dying light only a blinding one

i cannot go gentle, i cannot go at all

rage, rage, there is no good night

only hate eats

and love breathes steadily,

then falls asleep

on your chest

where nothing beats.

poison remains in my eyes

because you’re forever not in sight

but i cut hate’s stem now and again

hoping you’ll revisit and make your amneds

or that this revival will

somehow mend the wounds of hate,

so my soul could breathe again

[soulisticwrites]

we would talk about the rain

and wish it would pour on us for days

hope for long trips to sights

we’ve never seen before.

letting things slip,

the mind unravels what once was

right in front of us

but which now lays behind

with you beneath to only wish

on the possibility

of our dreams

being alive,

wherever you reside.

[soulisticwrites]

open wounds laid on the bed

safe for them to take their meds

open wounds make people cringe

too gruesome for them to understand

open wounds from a pen

bleed red

from delirious wolves who devoured the flesh 

open wounds from your own head

written for all to live and say aloud instead

[soulisticwrites]

follow the shadows of the leafless trees

each route a different one

where a new life has sprung.

even in conditions of weariness

the shadows lead to

a place for you

to confide or to lose

everything you ever knew 

before stepping foot

in a path never took

[soulisticwrites]

“As soon as I said it aloud, my chest caved in and all that was in my heart spilled and created my passage of suffering.”

- c.c // when i said you are gone

[soulisticwrites]

people can only take so much, but when they reach a limit they realize they can take so much more.

c.c

[soulisticwrites]

you wander through the waves

but your body lays buried

and your philosophy decays

each day you attempt to salvage our moments

where our lips met or cursed

where our hands gripped or stayed loose

and though the past is over and done with

you’ve created waves to crash through my brain

where these moments leak to my mind

giving your philosophy new life

and you remain through the salvaged kisses and moments

until i join you for what is left of our voyage

[soulisticwrites]

day breaks into new

for some to fly or fall;

you watch them scatter around trying to find their place in

fields of eight foot sunflowers or treacherous minefields

with their teeth out for the world to see they are happy

or expressionless to keep trespassers away;

you witness the madness in a new day

watching hope play mind games of her own

where sunrise is an imposter for change, and merely a chance for all

either to fly or to fall.