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Untitled
My soul has the indents of wicked teeth
embedded in the gentle flesh
that somehow still clings to me
I am not the fairy doll of days gone by
doe eyed and sad for the sake
of crooning lullabyes
Morning has gazed upon me
Mourning has grazed upon me.
Falling has deformed me.
Loving has reformed me.
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Helllllloooooo
Do any of mt friends still dwell here? If so, how are you? Contemplating posting regularly again. -
Dream
I had a dream last night of a man, starving and cold, lost in a forest in winter. He came across a clearing, covered in snow. The white ground was covered in the severed heads of various animals. They were brightly decaying, colors of pomegranate, blueberry, and deep, wine red. Starving, he attempted to eat one of the heads, mumbling about how ( Read more... ) -
learned by losing
balanced on a line invisible to naked eyes ( Read more... ) -
Decisions.
So, I've regained my inspiration. After years of writing multiple pieces a day, every day, I lost my inspiration. Honestly, life just happened. I fell in love, got engaged, made many life decisions, and started actually growing up. It was good for me, but lately I have been longing to go back to that place of creativity and self reflection. ( Read more... ) -
Phobias
Something few people know about me is that I have a driving phobia. Meaning, driving anywhere is a huge feat for me. I have to plan out my trips, put on music that calms me, repeat self mantras, and take frequent breaks if I start to panic. Driving, to me, feels like being lowered into a shark tank. It turns what could be a very peaceful experience ( Read more... ) -
Brigit's Flame April Week 2 Entry
This one is doing double duty as both my NaPoWriMo poem for today (11/30) and my week 2 Brigit's Flame entry.
November Sunflower
Palms stretched out like horizons
absorbing the mid-day sun-
granules of hope settling into the creases.
There is no more fertile soil than her skin,
Her mother swallowed too many sunflower seeds
purchased in convenience store ( Read more... ) -
Brigits_Flame: April- Week 1
The rain is beginning to fall in solid sheets. My face pressed against the sliding glass door feels as if it's melting as one molecule at a time lands at my feet. "All of these waterlogged nights are drowning me." I say it like an offhand comment on the downpour in front of me. Just a mere fact that will become meaningless in the morning when ( Read more... )
