degenerate beauty queens

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I have things to share but dont know where to put it  So many times I did, felt pain wishing I’d known I shouldn’t  So many thoughts laid out, letters to send knowing that I couldn’t ideas and actions plans but knowing that I wouldnt  Most days, its better this way Keeping myself safe I agree, even if you wouldnt  Epiphanies locked inside of birth stones precious and protected, immortal and glowin Crystallized cries that im no longer showin  And thats okay  Rare jewels sometimes get stored away So theyre still there, gleamin and ready when it rains  Souped up sports cars, out the garage just for the day  I still ride my fancy show horse any given sunday It’s better this way I’ll save it for when it’s time to really push it  Lines and pedals For the loss or a medal It’s better this way Know the number but the land line's disconnected  And I'm protected It’s better this way

[diet-mountain-dew-nyc]

You will feel empty when you make space for yourself. This is an invitation—not a threat. Remember your soul is intact Our eyes are wondrous and limited,

It’s okay to untangle yourself and put yourself back together again.

The empty room inside your chest is a chance to reinvent. You can decorate your soul any way you’d like. Soon, you will become a castle made of the answers to your questions.

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"I wanted to be unforgettable. Indelible. I wanted to haunt their hearts and minds—to be everywhere and nowhere, spectacular and out of reach. Only in the chaos did it dawn on me. Being remembered is not the same as being missed."

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Pain is just a puppet without the darkness there to do its dirty work.

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I love re-reading my old poetry, it's a taste of my youth, and I love over indulging. Here are my 23 year old thoughts from the window seat on the Acela Express, Washington to New York City.

[wnq-writers]

All I ever wanted was to connect. With the world, with others, with myself…but I withdrew. Don’t do it. Let me tell you: Withdrawing from the world is like fumbling around in the dark, searching for a light switch. It’s always the right time to step into the world, to reach out–even if t hurts your eyes. To stumble into the blinding daylight. I promise–Your eyes will adjust.

Alexandra w.  (via wnq-writers)

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We often think growth and maturity are marked by the onset of instincts, and the absence our strongest human emotions. We dream about years from now when we’re through this, when we are somewhere else, with someone else, when we are older and wiser, and devoid of the childish jealousy, anger, bitterness, or agonizing sadness we feel now. But the truth is, growth is not the product of time, Growth is the product of choice. We grow when we experience the rawest of human emotion in its purest form. We grow when, in the midst of hellacious pain and disappointment, We choose forgiveness over retaliation. We grow when we stare hell in the face and despite shaking fingers, and trembling limbs, We choose love and refuse the darkness. We mature when we realize that these emotions are not childish, they are ancient, and making this choice is never easy (Because braving the cold never is), it is a ritual, it is sacred, and must be practiced daily. We rise up from our own ashes when we recognize that this ritual is both miraculous and habitual. It is not accidental, And neither are we.

(via night-school-for-wolves)

[thecolorblindarchive]

[enisteyjia-deactivated20250106]

Photography: Abby Jiu Photography

Allie & Jon

[new-poets-society]

The Lion is a Doctor

I’m up way past my bedtime

pacing the halls, 

rushing like good blood pressure. 

The house is empty, yet the sound of me echoes in the ears of loved ones

no matter where they lay their heads. 

I understand. It’s hard to tell if blood is spilling or boiling, or pumping, 

But not to worry–

I can trust myself tonight.

Therefore, I have the authority to flamboyantly waltz around my home, 

A place so alive it feels like a friend,

And spend an evening living without wondering who or what I’m killing. 

  I’m headed to the heart of the Lion 

Specifically, his wardrobe. 

The lion is a doctor, 

and the doctor is not in. 

I rummage with delicacy and delight,

Admiring every textile.

I shall wear whichever torn up tee-shirt I desire,

 It is an honor to don the fluffy robes of a king. 

cloaked in soft armor, 

I dance flamboyantly 

in well-worn slippers

I will never fit. 

I feel small in the best way, 

Like a child 

excited to see how much they’ll grow in one year. 

  My mother let me wear her clogs back when I had the smallest of feet. 

They, too, did not fit. 

The space between my toes and the wood only stood to remind me that at any moment those shoes could come off, 

if they didn’t, they’d threaten to for the duration. 

Every step required grip,

 I kept those clogs on my feet with all the bones and toes I had.

It felt free and wicked 

to kick off that hollowness. 

Let the clogs fall where they may.

  Heavy is the head who wears the crown of Tie inspector,

and I take my job seriously.

 I meticulously examine each one,

naturally fragrant with childhood, 

Memories of young, chaotic mornings woven into silk. 

Silky threads made of a fond routine I always found beautiful and complicated. 

The Lion looped the silk swiftly and seamlessly and frequently

he didn’t have time to notice the miracle in the minutia.

30 years on I count their silky crests like a four star General.

I need to make sure everyone is still here,

still intact.

  I spend the remainder of the ritual picking through the Lion’s wardrobe, 

mining for colorful cashmere sweaters.

I tried them on in a cautious frenzy,

with zero intent to return them. 

The layer cake of trial and error reminded me of rainy middle school days. 

When it rained the Lion roared and ordered his cubs to put on a sweater, 

a jacket, boots, gloves, and a cowboy hat.

But what about our hair, Dad?

He braided our manes flawlessly under those cowboy hats 

with tact and finesse we could’ve sworn we were Cleopatra, or Joan of Arc.

We were too small for our armor, sure,

But we knew we’d grow into it. 

In those moments, I didn’t drown in the emptiness of the clogs,

(Not unless I put them on).

The Doctor’s armor is heavy,

The heaviness inspired me 

to grow strong enough 

to carry the weight of battle 

with poise

To wield weapons to protect,

to never forget 

all swords are double edged,

and enemy fire and friendly fire are distinguished

only by which side of the frontline you’re on,

and what you’re fighting for.

  The heart of the Lion was big enough for 10 men..

How did he become so vast? 

The lion’s daughter was almost too busy growing herself

to contemplate the Lion as a man. 

What did the Lion have to do in order to become? 

Who did he have to fight to evolve? 

Which kingdom did he defeat 

to claim such vast internal territory? 

What did he have to survive to keep it? 

Vastness of the soul comes at a cost.

 Is he aware? 

Does he feel that way, too? 

Heavy is the head that wears the scrub cap, 

The cowboy hat, 

The tuxedo,

The tie, 

The torn-up tee-shirt, 

The big slippers, 

The robe. 

 Powerful are the hands

that slice and sew strangers just as beautifully as they braid their baby girls’ hair,

that tie ties,

and bows,

and pack lunchboxes, 

and lay out multivitamins like loose diamonds.

Whatever it took to get here was worth it. 

  The unwitnessed waltz of the wild child is sacred when performed correctly. 

It must poignantly convey the whimsy of childhood 

and punctuate one’s distance from it.

 It should be so comforting that you make room to be confounded—

 this is a delicacy in my culture. 

The discomfort is just as delicious as its saccharine counterpart. 

Tonight, I revisit the inkling I intuited while wrapped in rain gear— 

There is so much more to the Lion than I will ever know. 

The slippers are still too big! 

Will I ever know what it feels like to fit?

 Let alone, fit into these slippers? 

To know exactly how they feel? 

  The answer is of course not, And the Lion wouldn’t have it any other way.

 If I am to become a Lion, I have to survive like one. 

I have to fight for my life especially when I don’t want to.

I have to make room for blissful moments only found in the minutia 

or else, let my soul starve.

 If I don’t learn to hunt and gather my dreams

I won’t know what it takes to keep them,

I won’t know how to make the room necessary

to become, 

to begin,

to be a person I’m proud of,

to remain a person I can trust with my life.

  Tonight, I do not have the answers.  

Wouldn’t I like to know, Dad! 

It would be ungodly of me to ask you.

But I will anyways, 

Just so we can talk a little longer. 

God Bless the Lion man and the parts of his journey I will never know. 

Author: Alexandra Wolf

March 2023

www.alliewolf.com 

[diet-mountain-dew-nyc]

:)

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I grew up one year ago today. Every morning I sit with with myself, quietly, contemplating God. Philosophizing glowing in the aura of the dawn. As the days get shorter, My mornings get darker. From 4 to 8 I bask in the moonlight— so bright I have tan lines. Who will dream of me when I’m gone? The blue glow of the lawn recedes effortlessly, yielding to the beautiful inevitable Without complaint. It’s funny, isn’t it? The absurdity of living on purpose? Turns out Thinking about my feelings was much easier than feeling them. I know now. I cannot think myself out of this one— What versions of myself will I grow old with? They say we live our lives the way we live our days And I’ve decided seize it As best I can Especially when I’m devastated. One year ago, life slowly startled me awake. I was blurry. For awhile. I can identify myself now— No more problems picking myself out of a line up. One year ago I became a magician. Wanna know how to turn grief into purpose? I can show you all the magic. After 365 days of night school I’m still excited. I’m still interested. I’m still troubled. I still wonder About God, About the meaning of all this. However, I no longer question Why I woke up covered in ash Because I rose Like the sun It no longer matters Whether anyone was there To see it Because the sun still shines Whether or not you look. Amongst the channeled chaos I stir— how do I make silence cinematic? I know that God lives in the spaces Where we confront ourselves the most. So I let go Because suspended animation Always spoils hometown glory. Wanna find out who your heroes are? Stare yourself in the face. When you sail at night, You depend on lighthouses— How many have you built? How many have you torn down? you will feel empty When you make space for yourself. Remember Your soul is intact Our eyes are wondrous and limited It’s okay to untangle yourself And put you back together again. Are you scared to jump? I hope I can comfort you. Staring over the ledge is far more scary Than the fall. Do you want My advice? Feet first.

Allie Wolf

[naturaekos]

“There is no need of any competition with anybody. You are yourself, and as you are, you are perfectly good. Accept yourself.”

—

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[diet-mountain-dew-nyc]

As I rise

[diet-mountain-dew-nyc]

As I rise

I know nothing.

Every time I think I know something, someone comes along and proves me wrong.

 I knew myself back then.

I was younger than I thought I was but old enough to dream of who I might be, a flower planted on my roof growing and looking and thinking.

But then you came along.

Soon, the mirror showed us, even when you weren’t there. You clouded my reflection; my eyes thought we were me, a collective divine entity that the world would never understand.

I bought you a star.

It was far away, but nothing felt closer, my head on your chest, my ears could hear us underneath your skin, I had never felt so much while saying so little.

So as you drove away you took me with you, but I was left here alone.

Where did you take me?

The “we” that was us who I knew to be “me” left unannounced, I was left with myself but she had been reduced to nothing, I never knew I could hurt so much while living so little.

Often, it was too dark to look in the mirror. But when dim light hit the glass, the image reflected seemed eerily familiar, like the lost childhood friend you see in the airport but don’t say hi to.

The trees were big on my walk to class.

They stood like gigantic mothers, holding my hand as I cried under my sunglasses. Like rungs on a ladder they helped me climb, something tangible to hold on to. They weren’t your hands, but they helped me up.

I was no closer in my search.

Believing that my loneliness made me stronger and my sadness made me smarter, I chased my tail, slowly learning that these things didn’t define me but confined me, preventing me from seeing what I might see.

It was the war between these things that showed me what I was made of. It was finding grace in every step and God in every breeze and smiling back that gave me my sight.

So when I saw you for the first time, I didn’t see “you.”

the “You” that I knew was far away with the old me in a jeep. Sometimes I like to think that we are somewhere warm, and that you’re familiar to me there.

The world had changed

but so had I. Your lips felt like any others, if I closed my eyes I couldn’t feel you like I could before. You were no longer that part of me. I wasn’t sure when you finally left but you were gone and it was good.

Realization hit me like puberty

uncomfortable and enlightened, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to walk through this open door, and I didn’t know how I had never noticed it before.

Did we even happen?

I look back but I can’t hear your voice in my head. I have no idea what it’s like to love you, but I know that I did once and that it was nice for a while. I still said I loved you back, even when I didn’t mean it.

I don’t know much of anything these days.

but I can certainly thank you for being my wrong path. I don’t value it because of you, I value it because of me. I’m not thankful for what you’ve done, but for what it showed me I could be. I’m not happy to have known you, but for what knowing you could teach.

Otherwise I’d still be in the dark thinking you were my only source of light, and if I asked you right now you’d probably still think that’s right, but I know better now. I’m brighter than you’ll ever know and this birds eye view of you has shown me just how little you really are.

So as I rise, I can barely see you.

My head is looking up and on, my heart no longer drawn to you but instead to the potential adventures on the horizon my point of view has changed and I can see for miles.

So as I rise, I repeat: I know nothing.

I’ve learned quite a lot but not enough. It’s safe to say that what I know changes every day. Things, and people, and the words I say are all relative.

So my only advice I have is to love who you are and what you do and who you are is a product of what you choose, and sometimes the best lessons come from who and what you lose.

So as I rise, I say:

embrace each day and its changing ways, because it’s changing anyways, and yeah, that includes you too.

Learn from all you can, feel this moment, hold it in your hand, because one day you’ll realize that you never owned it but it will always hold you.

In those moments, you learn who you are, and if you know that, “you” will never be too far, and that is the secret to weathering the storm.

So as I rise, I say once more: I know nothing.

[diet-mountain-dew-nyc]

A poem I wrote in 2013.

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““It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you’ve known forever don’t see things the way you do. So you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on.””

— Nicholas Sparks (via alecxander-j)

[woordschudder]

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Pinterest on We Heart It http://weheartit.com/entry/75694541/via/EmilieHjerte