stilllysh

[stilllysh]

Joan Tierney

[stilllysh]

Barbara Crooker, “Grief” [ID in alt text]

[stilllysh]

“there is nothing more attractive and more powerful than someone remembering who they are again. seeing them swim in their true essence after an extended time stuck at shore, seeing them return back to themselves of old, but dealing with the waves differently now.”

— iambrillyant

[stilllysh]

i rushed into this familiar love like it was my favorite sweater

the weather finally right

for it to be worn again

i dove under its seams

and closed my eyes in excitement as it

fell justly

over my head

i expected it would hug me as it did last season

tickle my soft spots

and warm me the way it used to

imagine my disappointment

to find that the neck had been stretched out

that the threads were frail and tattered

that it could not protect me from the blistering wind

i reluctantly pulled it from my body

hugged it to my chest

wondered if it was sure it could not give to me anymore

tears broke from my eyelids

as it turned to ashes

as if answering me subtly

“we are no more.”

- endings

[stilllysh]

[stilllysh]

hello, holidays.

the wind of the holidays is seasoned with cinnamon. if i had no sense of time, i would recognize this time of year just by the way the air tastes, and it tastes so good to me. i love the embrace of the spirit of Christmas - i love the look of gratitude showing itself on people’s faces, and i especially love the Christmas movies. the innocent girl in me who knows there is no such thing as magic but believes fervently for miracles is stimulated by the possibilities of love, family, dream jobs, and the kind of bliss that comes from having everything you’ve dreamed of having in this life. every year, i cuddle up with my mama, and give Hallmark my very best, and wait for them to reciprocate in each and every scene, set to inspire people to believe. before i know it, december 26th has crept by, and i’m left with the anticipation of the next season and the prayer for my very own miracle.

some might say that having hope is the same as waiting to be disappointed, but i disagree. there is something that is completely freeing about believing for something good, no matter how damp or dire things may be around you. i’ve dwelled in the pits of sadness, and could have given up there - but the darkness could not swallow me because my heart has been programmed to hope.

i realize that that is what the holiday season brings for me - a renewed spirit of excitement to be alive, knowing that there is so much more life ahead of me, and the expectation that the more will be good to me. this season makes me think of my cup, not as half empty, but half full, and i can appreciate the space there is left in me that has the capacity to hold more. that is the real reason this season is sweetness and optimism. that is the reason, that jingle bells and the Miraculous Birth make me smile and cry happy tears - they are reminders that wonderful things are still happening in this life, and are in waiting - for all. and for me.

unLYSHed

[stilllysh]

confession: whenever i feel particularly dissatisfied with where i am in my life and i choose to avoid my hopelessness, i cut myself. and not with knives or blades - but with truths that i know will make my soul bleed. i slice open old wounds until i feel my painful memories leaking from my wrists, rolling to the tips of my fingers. i do it til the questions that could never be answered are so thick in flow i could dip my hands in them and smear them on my walls, and each time i go there - i feel like i’m dying.

the measure of my sickness startles me.

especially when i feel that wellness flutters around me like butterflies, and is truly mine if i can catch it, for the time that i can hold it. but if i let it slip - i can slip back into my emptiness. i can easily slide in the most dangerous place i’ve ever existed.

and still, it amazes me. how my body can hold so much trauma - how my legs can meet their functionality and be the limbs on which i stand when my insides house a pile of what was my foundation. fragments of my frame. a former structured powerhouse set aflame to make for a charred, collapsed memory.

my arms still reach. though there are bricks missing from my inner chimney. the length of my hope, now butchered and uncertain -

and then there are my eyes-

they still reflect the firelight from the candle still burning in my soul’s window, though the posts be .. utterly destroyed. though the glass be lodged in my gut. though my feet be wet from holding me up in the pool of my blood. i don’t understand myself - i don’t understand why i continue to hurt me, just like i don’t understand the power within me. i wonder if dying might be easier but still i’m too strong - too dedicated - too driven - to quit.

i have to keep trying to be

LYSH.

[stilllysh]

“the pen is mightier than the sword.”

apparently, this quote’s father meant for it to be interpreted to say that “communication is more effective than violence ..” but when i heard it, i felt something a bit more. something like :

“ the written truth is greater than the offense against you - “

i don’t know if i’m way off but i think i’m on to something.

when i wrote #thesunflowerproject i was only telling a story. my story. about my labor in love, and finding superficial affections and ultimately dying within myself until i finally got it - i finally realized what and Who i had been missing. but the story was not some explorative, optimistic tale - it is wired with the reality of pain, abuse, mistreatment and self harm. and in the times i suffered most i felt like i would die in darkness.

that is, until i found my pen.

i have always kept a journal, wrote in a diary, etc. but when i courted poetry, i fell madly in love - possibly because through poetry i could tell my story and hide behind personification and covert expression - but ultimately, because pen to paper helped me rediscover lost pieces of my soul. the real me was dying to save me from the relationships and the fears that wanted to see me crumble and i found my way back to me, with my pen.

when i think about what people who could never love me would have preferred to see me become, i think of the mockery of love we made together - i think of how someone made a target of my desire to be give myself and all i am to love, and preyed on me for it.. for being trusting and for being open.. and honestly, for being gullible. i think about every tongue that rose up against me to belittle and humiliate me for my innocence and i think of those actions as offenses against me.

it’s my pen that made me feel powerful again -

with my pen,

i have made music out of the broken notes of my life.

with my pen, i changed what should have ended me into metaphors and imagery

..and i did not die.

i’ve realized that my expression of self and my commitment to my becoming and to loving people well is much more powerful than anything anyone could ever say or do to me. and if i could be brave enough to create when i’ve been hurt, attacked, sad, offended, or empty.. then i’ve not just survived, i’ve activated true power -

and because of this i can never stop writing - and because of that..

i will never stop healing.

i’m grateful for the way the words are strung together, but i’m even more grateful that they are alive to speak and explain themselves to me.

“the pen is mightier than the sword,” screams at me to make art out of my worst moments .. to feel my power. to ignite my healing. and to inspire others to heal too.

[stilllysh]

isn’t it odd how some memories find themselves at the forefront of our minds? the moments i considered to be minute someway have been stored in the folder of importance in my filing cabinet head and occasionally make an accidental mess on the floor of my brain. i remembered today a moment that reminded me that before i had ever fallen in love i had already become someone who desperately sought out the approval of other people - before i left middle school, i was already more comfortable allowing myself to be tiny.. even forcing myself into tight spaces in order to be ..anyone’s.

today, i always find myself wondering when the light in my eyes went out that i would clothe myself in acceptable looks and behaviors - acceptable in terms of “not too much” - and therefore forfeit the opportunity to decide for myself who it was that i wanted to be or even to see myself for who i had always been and truthfully, still am today.

as a woman, i see how tricky that path is - the journey to self, i mean. i see how it winds and twists around concepts that have barely been visited like MY preference.. like MY aspirations.. like MY desires, and mine alone, without the influence of anyone else. and maybe it’s harder because i’m getting back to some things, discovering new things, and also releasing what i can’t be anymore - nonetheless, i see how difficult it is now to start to answer hard questions and still not feel brave enough to stand on those truths as pillars of my identity.

i always assumed i lost myself being abused in love.. but i fell in love at a vulnerable age before i even accepted “myself” - i never had a chance to survive the abuse because i never allowed myself to be wonderful. or worthy. so when i hid myself further in the shadow of someone who i would give my heart to, i lost what i never did hold and was even more lost when the relationship ended.

the smallest things - like asking my 7th grade best friend if she approved of an outfit my mama made me wear because mama was tired of me looking thrown away at school - have made me question whether or not before this time i was ever brave enough to just be me.. or to at least figure out who *i wanted to be. or to embrace for a second without feeling that i intimidated anyone - that i come with a whole lot of spice, a whole lot of attitude, and a heart that has room for the entire world. had i not done so much to be so small, maybe i would have seen that having the spirit that draws people, heals people and loves people is not my sin, but my gift - since really opening my eyes and collecting myself, i’ve been fighting from this place trying to prove that i’m worthy despite everything i’ve done and allowed to suggest i wasn’t.. but maybe all i need to do with my rediscovered worth is be grateful that it never truly went anywhere and just be -

maybe i should just

be LYSH.

[stilllysh]

i woke up to meet the sun this morning. i couldn’t wait to see the light stretch itself over a day that once exposed the true child in me - the one with the eyes that speak a million confidences and confessions when the tongue is paralyzed with fear. the same child that wanted to melt into my bed sheets and pretend the worst was over in a land of make believe but was too .. real. too daring. too spicy. too brave - to cower and hide from what makes me tremble. this day, i realized how much i desperately wanted to live - despite every chaos choking the goodness and the preferred out of the world, and despite how unsure i was about myself and my own future, i knew i wanted to wake up again. i knew i didn’t want to see heaven when my eyes opened next and i knew that if i survived this present threat, i was going to wake up in my very own resurrected body. i knew that if i was blessed enough to open my eyes again i would not do so harboring the monsters i used to let wreak havoc in my insides.. if i could just see Love around me again i would cherish it with much more respect - i would be kinder to my body and i would be more humble in this life knowing it to truly be but a flicker of time in relation to eternity - but one that could be filled with sunflower meadows, piles of fall’s leaves, the cries of newborns, the laughter of children, and even a passionate embrace. on this day, i saw God. His eyes were the last looking at me before i slipped away, surely somewhere near heaven, but it was His hand that sent me back to this earth to do His bidding by His power led with His love within this next window of time. i needed to see the sun this morning - i needed to see light stretch itself over a day i was once afraid i wouldn’t survive.

i’m awestruck. and i’m here. and i’m so freakin grateful ✨

[stilllysh]

planned this shoot & started planning a celebration but didn’t actually stop to make room for you - thesunflowerproject . to think that you, a great thing has been in the world a whole year .. shakes me.

& a thanks to God is necessary.

a moment to stop and reflect - necessary. God turned me into a sunflower and simultaneously restored the idea that i am worthy. of love. of happiness. of healing. of freedom.

& i’ve clutched onto Him and that truth unyieldingly ever since.

maybe people will never acknowledge/admit to knowing what it’s like to be a dead soul in a warm body, but i remember. just as well as i remember how an intentional God got and still gets active about me, giving me love, purpose, and a sound mind.

my life was saved the day i gave birth, and i am no less grateful today than i was over a year ago. i cried a good bit about it today, and writing this, i think i’ll cry some more.

i am thesunflowerproject - i am unLYSHed 🌻⛓

happy anniversary, boo 🤞🏾

[stilllysh]

for lovers of music & lovers of words.

thesunflowerproject 🌻

[stilllysh]

he will be my espresso . ☕️

pg. 198 of thesunflowerproject 🌻

[stilllysh]

this skin

if liquified

would drip of brown sugar and honey

it would shimmer in glitter and gold

hands that are anxious packaged her improperly

mishandled her

devoured her

slow down

marvel at how she mirrors light

savor the richness of her taste

she possesses a flavor that becomes rich wither with time

day after day

the brighter she shines

this skin is meant to be kissed with tenderness

do not be anxious

do not be blind

know that this skin is a gift

her wearer will give back to you

if you would allow

pg. 180 of thesunflowerproject 🌻

[stilllysh]

[stilllysh]

i remember that feeling.

what it was like being face to face with the man you were in love with. how your heart crashes against your sternum like it’s breaking free from a locked closet anticipating his touch. skin ripping itself open to let out a cry for him. blood pulling you toward him like like a magnet, even though your feet can’t move. breath.. spotty. knees quaking.. just waiting for his fingers to land on some part of you. waiting for him to touch. because when he does, you know you’re going to become fire. you know that that last bit of control will run right out of your body and you’ll become .. his.

.. reflecting.

[stilllysh]

& every love that i was meant to hold never made me feel ashamed or belittled for voicing my needs.

i salute you for supporting my triumph over abuse by hearing me, validating me & honoring me with space big enough for all of me.

i thank you for loving me, well.

⛓