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I'm built different. like incorrectly i think

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Covet this.

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THE CAVITY AND THE WOUND; THE OPENING AND THE EYE; THE CYCLE AND THE ANOMALY

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We know the sound of waiting well- whistle of the wind, groan of shifting ground, the chorus of earth and sky. They know a love that cannot touch. An earth that tastes the delights of clouds in mere moments of low-tang fog; and a sky that roils where it finds the earth, never knowing the freedom of a mantle made for you. But still. They press to one another. They sing their way through the ache. You know the words.

This is all of me that I can give. Here is all of me that you can bear. We will love as much as we can.

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Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems; from 'Three Women'

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{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}

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Virginia Woolf, Night and Day/Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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Specter Prompt

Amongst the crates, the barrels, the boxes, the storage. Shoved away in something almost like a corner. It was as close to being alone as they were going to get, and while it wasn’t that important, they hadn’t realized just how much the lack of privacy would eat away at them. Eat. Consume. Gnaw at the emptiness, corrode their walls like water on stone. Slow, steady, invisible as it happens but all too noticeable with time…

So, like a stowaway, they made space for themselves amongst the things. Like a desperate unwanted passenger. Hidden in a makeshift cove and corner. They had made enough space that they wouldn’t be seen as long as they stayed seated. A small gap between some crates to slide past, and then just enough space for them to sit, legs crossed. Anyone could find it if they really looked, probably. But they would have to look, even just a bit. And that was enough for them to try to ease. Just a bit. A touch. Slow and steady. Invisible as it happens.

Terbish sat, hands focused. They tried to tune out, to tune in. To focus. The songs were loud, the noise of everyone in such a packed space. The drumming beat of life, the hearts, the soft cacophonous melodies of the truth, the wants, the nature of them all. The sweet taste so close to the tongue they could understand why they all could be such a tempting offering. They shook their head, just slightly. Tune out. Tune in. The natural rhythm of the waves crashing against the walls of the ship. The consistent flow. The raging force of something so all consuming as water. The gentle care of a soft stream. The mass of a cycle touching the air, blessing the soil. A song of its own, filling the space like a hollow. A threat in a gentle caress. The water kept them afloat. The water could consume them just as easily. The breathed it, they drowned in it. For just a moment. It could just be them, focused hands, old stories, lost and new. Their tail gently scraped the wooden floor, then slapped with the gentle rock of the ship as water splashed against the surface of the exterior walls. Slow and steady. And again. And again. A soft beat in tandem. Their hands worked, chips and fragments of bones, smoothed and reworked in shape. A broken stringed instrument lay next to them, mostly wooden, hollow. They had slid several pieces into it, repairing its shape, retelling its story with the pieces of old and lost ones. The bones making something new together.

Clawed monstrous hands, nimble and delicate. They plucked at the strings, gently adjusting just how taught they were. Between it and the metronome beat of their tail scrrraping the floor with scales before slapping the wood with a sharp flick, a melody formed. Their voice dripped with bittersweet ache, something much too delicate and gentle for their sharp teeth. Honey to a trap. It filled their hollow, their makeshift cove and corner, gently trickling in. Like water finding the smallest crack. Invisible, yet all too noticeable with time. “can you walk on the water if I. You and I… Cause your blood’s running cold outside of the familiar, true to life… Can you walk on the water if I? You and I… Or keep your eyes on the road and live in the familiar, without you and I? It glows with gates of gold to, true life…” A ripple of motion pulled at their skin, at the corners of their mouth. They weren’t quite satisfied with this and continued plucking and adjusting. In what felt almost like privacy, their mouth set with focus. An almost expression, for them at least. And as they opened their the voided chasm of their mouth, a slightly unnatural echo of another voice mixing together. It was still their own and yet… “…. Love is a ghost that the others can’t see, it’s a danger. Every shade of us you fade down to keep them in the dark on who we are. This love is gonna be the death of me, it’s a danger. Cause our love is a ghost that the others can’t see…” As Terbish sang their fingers continued along the instrument they had repaired, pulling it up to their head, propping it on their shoulder. Shadows dripped out from under their scales, pooling into their hand and forming a long flat bow of sorts. One hand held and plucked, the other gently scrapped shadows on string, wood and bone. Testing the notes, tuning with small pauses other than the continued beat of water and tail on wood. “We took a walk to the summit at night, you and I. To burn a hole in the old grip of the familiar, true to life. And the dark was opening wide, do or die. Under a mask of vermillion, ruling eyes… Eyes… Love is a ghost that the others can’t see. It’s a danger. Every shade of us you fade down to keep them in the dark on who we are… Gonna be the death of me, it’s a danger. Cause our love is a ghost that the others can’t see.” They let out the looming feeling, acknowledged that the depths they drifted on, the weight and shadows hiding beneath it all. Briefly, for just a moment. Terbish felt, and it rang out to the sound of strings tied on wood and bone, their shadows pulling at the new made reality of the instrument, at the old reality of their being. Satisfaction found them as the sounds they made held truth. And then reality came, the cacophony of life on the ship resumed. They admired their work, dusted themselves off, and snuck their way from the shadows of the storage back to the rest of the crew. They would have to find a new task to keep them distracted and focused. Perhaps no one would notice.

------------------- The song used for this prompt and sung by Teebs here is Familiar by Agnes Obel

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Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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Vessel by Cerrigreen

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tshirt that says be patient with me i am constantly relearning what it means to be human

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“I, abstract, adoring, distant and unsalvageable.”

— Lucie Brock-Broido, from Stay, Illusion; “The Pianist” 

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‘ID: excerpt from ‘Mayakovsky” a poem by Frank O’Hara

“Now I am quietly waiting for  the catastrophe of my personality  to seem beautiful again,”]

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something holy inside you wants to get out but you can’t let it

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doomed by the narrative and haunted by the narrative and a secret third thing (narrating the narrative)