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@calderapoetry
my mantra
my mantra
“today is sandpaper and my skin is scrubbed raw and yet it keeps on beating - this tiny heart full of love”
— a reminder that a brave heart is a heart that reminds itself how to love (via calderapoetry)
If you are looking for a mantra or prayer, she said, let it be this one
There is more to me than my worst nights. Even in the darkness, I preserve my light.
(One time I knocked the lamp on my night stand down by accident. As the broken glass scattered all over the floor I didn’t bother to tiptoe to the door to get the broom. I just did what I always do. I spread out on my bed. Eyes closed. Shutters down. No light coming from the nightstand.)
There is more to me than my worst days. To never forget this is the reason I pray.
(I sometimes wonder if there is some symbolic meaning in how I didn’t care about the broken glass between the piles of dirty clothes and empty cornflake boxes. How I just didn’t care when I walked through my room with bare feet.)
I am more than the cycle that keeps on repeating. I am more than the voices I am tired of fleeing.
(After two weeks, I finally got the broom and cleaned up my entire room.)
I am more than my demons I am tired of fighting I will keep the flame burning, I will keep on writing.
(I sometimes wonder if it is luck or poetry that I never cut my feet once.)
There is more to me than my worst nights. Even in the darkness, I preserve my light. There is more to me than my worst days. To never forget this is the reason I pray.
(Sometimes I am still the girl that walks through her room with bare feet.)
cartography of my self
how do I know which path to take if I don’t know which point I am in time and space? my fingers run across the map like roaring rivers run like eartquakes, run like shivers
how do I know where my path will end if I am the compass in my hand? spinning and spinning until all lines are blurred spinning and spinning until there is no meaning in my words
I don’t know which decision to make or if the path I choose will be a mistake I am only left with maps for non-geographical places where straight lines fold in time and space and my life is drawn out in front of me and I? I? will I learn how to read?
—————– inspired by @existential-celestial‘s “maps for non-geographical places”
a poem, dedicated to winter break
I can’t wait to hibernate
“It’s the end of the year and time has moved me on.”
— caldera
what my father taught me
people always look down on us academics for only knowing about things from books (and essays from magazines no one can afford) real knowledge, they say, comes from real experience I am a linguist, so I know a lot about words. I know, that Christmas is a noun that you pronounce /ˈkrɪsməs/ and I know that love can either be pronounced /lʌv/ or /lʊv/, depending on where you are from but they say, that’s not all that is to it
I wish this season would have taught me the real meaning of both would have taught me the meaning of the reflections of fairy lights in the eyes of someone you love would have taught me about sharing a meal with someone you care about instead, I learned a new word I only read a few times in a book without ever thinking about it, without really caring about its meaning metastasis. I could think about this word and I could tell you that it’s a noun composed of: 4 vowels 4 fricatives 2 plosives and I could tell you that it’s pronounced /meˈtæstəsɪs/ and I could read you its definition from a medical dictionary “metastasis: the spread of cancer cells from the place where they first formed to another part of the body.”
but it would mean nothing. I just wish this season you would have taught me the real meaning of /ˈkrɪsməs/ and /lʌv/ instead, I thought more than once about a quote from a novel I read years ago it says: “none of us really changes over time we only become more fully what we are.” because I wonder if cancer has the same effect on you as time and I wonder if you had always been the type of person no one would really miss. I already know the answer, to be honest, It’s one of the things that you taught me but I still feel anxious to really see it like a mail you receive and you already know that it’s a lab report and you already know what it will say but your heart is still racing and your hands are still shaking because reading it will somehow make it real that’s why it doesn’t matter if I would tell you that metastasis is a noun and it’s composed of: 4 vowels 4 fricatives 2 plosives and that’s why it doesn’t matter that I could tell you that it’s pronounced /meˈtæstəsɪs/ and that the definition in a medical dictionary reads “metastasis: the spread of cancer cells from the place where they first formed to another part of the body.” because this Christmas taught us both about life to not leave lab reports unread.
we are tired of our mothers crying our mothers are tired of being gods
— Zeina Hashem Beck, from “Escape,” published in wildness
family dinners
“family dinners” taste in my mouth like the name long dead to me but not to them and every time they drop the name-bomb their a-bomb it keeps ringing in me like the church bells that later gathers from the neighbourhood all the faces and all the whispers and all the looks that are question marks at me and exclamation marks between the silent dots when I meet them between Luke 2:17 and John 18:8 what a beautiful mass it was mother says afterward and means why do you hate it so much why do you hate us so much why can’t you act normal please be normal again like the beautiful daughter you were please you are my beautiful daughter don’t you forget that exclamation mark questions mark and then it’s more silent dots and more John 18:8, all of them and more of the ringing in me for the name you keep calling and it smashes in me like the plate I threw at dad and then it’s feeling sorry for making mom cry and being such a bad son and a worse daughter but then there’s you and you keep asking me if I am ok because your heater is broken and it’s cold outside
and then you say my name the real one and you smile at me and kiss me and hug me and hope I am not disappointed because you think broken things get fixed at my parents house - caldera
Reblog because I hope that everyone who is part of the LGBTIA+ community (and everyone else) will have a place to call home these holidays and if you don’t, know that you are not alone and that your feelings are valid ♥