divine death poetry

[divinedeathpoet]

APPLE OF THE EYE .

HOW SICKLY, HOW BRUISED / YOU WERE TAUGHT SWEETNESS TOO LATE, YOU WERE TAUGHT ROTTING AS A HALFLING / SHE WILL HOLD YOUR WRIST TIGHTLY WHEN SHE TELLS YOU SHE LOVES YOU / SHE WILL NOT LET GO / UNLESS / UNLESS YOU TELL HER YOU LOVE HER MORE / AND YOU WILL LEARN THIS / YOU WILL PLAY THIS GAME UNTIL IT IS NO LONGER MAKE-BELIEVE / YOU WILL KISS HER EVEN WHEN YOU CRY / YOU WILL HUG HER EVEN WHEN SHE LIES / WHEN SHE DISGRACES YOUR INTELLIGENCE / YOU WILL NEVER QUESTION WHY / HOW SICKLY, HOW BRUISED / THE APPLE OF HER EYE

[nosebleedclub]

Discussion 3/26/21

1. Personal mythology 2. Black sheep 3. Attire 4. Lost garden 5. How to build confidence

[divinedeathpoet]

we breathed the words stolen from the chests of our mothers and the hands of our fathers. we learn about god, the one everyone knows, but we also learn the mythology of ourselves, the connections between sacred blood. i witnessed the thrashing, the screeching, the desperation of prayers and curses, and i stayed quiet. i learned what it meant to know love with consequences, hatred without reparations. she is the black sheep of our family. she is no daughter of mine. my father speaks—with no love, no hate, no other emotion but the great command of condemning. as a young child, i will learn that when we speak, we write fate. when i grow older, i will believe this more than any other god i create. i swallowed these words, that spoke of gardens now lost, a confident angel now fallen, and i wonder how i can trust anything—anything at all.

[nosebleedclub]

Discussion 2/12/21

1. What love felt like to her 2. Boil 3. Distant savagery 4. Fairy 5. Brush with death

[divinedeathpoet]

her, her, her with a distant savagery vibrating beneath sun-kissed skin. she was more than human, blessed with a cruelty that rivaled the fae’s. i knew her in other lives, when she was cursed and laughed at every brush with death. she grinned with bloodlust, eyes half-lidded as if love could be given alongside worship. but her heart was a poison, a sickness of never-ending boils, festering until no vein was safe. she knew this. she shed no tears for the suitors that planted blood at her feet. [but she held my hand. she looked at me like love, blood-soaked: a nightmare and dream of being held close, faint warm skin, and careless claws.] i asked her to trust me with the ugliness, the devastation that she kept inside, and she licked her lips. [i knew what pain would come after. i knew i would be heartbroken. but i would do this.] this is what love must’ve felt like to her. unforgiving kindness that would forever be hunted by some inner wildness. [i love her. i love her. i love her. for her, i will do this.]

[divinedeathpoet]

poppy

poppy, like opium. love, like worship. you’re not only chasing highs, you’re chasing those cravings that last. what was it like, when he kissed your neck? what was it like, when you fell into a dreamscape of bliss? inhale your blessed smoke, exhale your cursed desire. poppy, like opium. love, like worship.

[divinedeathpoet]

hallucinations

trees that shiver, as if caressed by summer’s sun. lakes that ripple, coming undone. i saw spider’s silk trail my fingers, reminding me of threads of fate—pulled and floating, as if i had control over anything. i tried to explain this power to you, i tried to tell you in words that were too inadequate, and you nodded, smiled, oblivious to the world at my fingertips. i walked through this daze, feeling the summer’s wind like a second skin. bird bones i carefully remembered. a collection of chanterelles anchoring me in the forest of tree whispers and breathing moss. there was a truth that connected me to every being that begged and fought for survival, every essence that supported our nourishment: a thread that tied all our fates, all our souls into one.

i had realized god.

[divinedeathpoet]

volatile

volatile, like the snowstorm that built its way through the day, sealed our fates through the night. volatile in that water was given to help you survive, ice was conjured to tempt your demise. i write this to later days, i travel back to find a way. there is a brimming energy to being trapped in by frost and death-touched snow. there is a calmness to a winter’s war. your heartbeat, fast, then steady, then slowed. it’s volatile: life. managing the terror is the only thing we know.

[flowerytale]

Anaïs Nin, from “The Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1955–1966”

[divinedeathpoet]

black coffee

my aunt makes authentic Bosnian coffee, and when she pours she never adds sugar to her own small cup. i ask her to make mine without sugar as well, but i am young, and she doesn’t believe me, so she’ll add a tiny bit in as what i think is a gesture of love. it becomes custom, when i arrive: the water is set to boil. would you like some coffee? she asks me, even when she knows i will always drink with her. a small cup, please. i don’t care too much for it, the coffee, the sugar, when she asks me would you like more? and i always say yes, yes. these are all gestures of love, a way to tell me: i care about you, and i want to give you whatever it is you ask for, even if you don’t ask. love spoken in the little things. when you ask me if i like coffee, i say only black, and only Bosnian.

[inkskinned]

WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH HER? 

IF it is a Friday AND you are trembling inside of a pink coat, do you:  1. reach the glass too far and bite her wrist cackle the spell open & lay the book of your brokered appetite silky at her feet. let her bite first, she deserves to devour your. 2. tease the fissure open by virtue of explosion. it’s best on the breath of a scream.  3. you cannot catch god, he has not been paralyzed 

IF it is a Friday OR you are alone, do you: 1. ride the wing of your blue illness back to safety, like a moth. tell your mother: i’m sorry. i couldn’t shake it off.  2. destroy the snake before the rocks collapse your ribcage. bring the poison back to your couch and keep it under your floorboards. know you committed a kind of murder.  3. ignite the safety of her. fox yourself into a hole. kiss her only if already immune to fires. to floods. to finding oneself alone. 4. go outside and be honest and give the man back his money, he was right about compasses and how easy it is to unneedle a pathway 

Do you want the rest of this exam? 1. I know what the results are, and they’re foreboding 2. Yes, always, it’s better to know the truth than be skidding to a halt beside the portal of your own future. 3. No thanks, I already bit the way back, and now it’s caught in my throat forever

[nosebleedclub]

Word Association Activity 2

Everyone do this please! I’ve listed twelve words/concepts below, please reblog this post with either a word or short phrase you associate with each listed word/concept. Alternatively, you can use these as prompts for art or writing. Thanks!

1. ATHENA:

2. WARFARE:

3. BERRIES:

4. SERPENTINE:

5. ASSAIL:

6. SNAP:

7. FLUTE:

8. RAM:

9. WICKER:

10. EVERLASTING:

11. PASTOR:

12. DEMURE:

[divinedeathpoet]

ATHENA told me this is about strategy; you can’t just kick over the chessboard. you accepted this dance of

WARFARE like bones half buried, like flesh torn, like blood glistening as red

BERRIES, there’s a sweet taste to poisoned tongues, you couldn’t have known what

SERPENTINE eyes lie about, they only dilate, they only look to

ASSAIL any notion of love left in hollow hearts, hollow bones that have only ever felt the cracking

SNAP of a mind that was left alone, chasing simpler times, chasing windchimes of

FLUTE and ore, a land that stretched endlessly and the slaughter of a

RAM that didn’t know the meaning of sacrifice to a god that gave us

WICKER to hold fruits, to hold gifts, to bring you fresh bread as if our lives were

EVERLASTING out there where the sun kissed our skin and our

PASTORal lands, i thought of children

DEMURE and knowing of blood soaked in hills and hills and hills