brown skin + glitter

a journal

[elluno]

And what can be said

of the jewel covered lady?

When the deaf man appeared

And tore her scale for scale,

left her bloodied—

Dead—

She lived to give him sound

And she screamed until his soul bled

For mercy.

(inspired by Jibaro)

[elluno]

why do I miss the man that hurt me?

pathetic fallacy;

thunderstorm to my left

outside the window.

it’s great that the sky cries my tears for me,

isn’t it?

when I cried in front of him

he didn’t seem to care

I wonder if he minds the rain

[elluno]

so, does grieving expire

with the expectation that follows

hollow platitudes strewn

over the barren landscape

of my blistered skin?

it has stuck past the

capability of the hands that

held this wall up alongside me;

they have all fallen away now.

the wall is still as heavy

as it was upon its erection.

I suppose standing by it,

pushing against it,

is how I live now.

[elluno]

what does comfort replace?

the solemn prayers

of hearts disconnected

what does their comforting replace?

the dead are not revived

what is lost is lost

what does comfort replace?

[elluno]

the number games I play are never enough to chase the lingering shadows away. truly, I sleep soundly, knowing that Cerberus at my feet devours those that creep in my bedroom at night, and I wake to fading wails and the screams of men whose wars fought, battles lost, become the loaf I tear to feed him. I suppose one greater could subdue him I wonder where that greater is.

[elluno]

clear reflections in strange places unexpected places I read lines backwards + upside down a photo I took, I flipped it; water, sky, and the sky was water inside the upside down, not the show instead, a home that exists only in the truth mystically copied onto the glass of my face

[elluno]

the more you listen, the more you hear the more you look, the more you see so, songs unsung take form of their own as foreign ears press into the silence I project where there is nothing, a record of youth appears authored by foreign ears do I, composer of my own tale have the rights to those masters? the ones begot by machinations external to me; a genesis of stories told about me, without me? can I ever own those rights?

[elluno]

How bad is it? How bad can it really be? I watch you chain yourself to that wall and I thought it was only with the turn of each new moon, until I found traces of something odd on the rim of the mug you gave me before bed each night, and I decided not to sip and I slept and awoke to sounds of you howling in the basement below. How could I sleep through all that? Right, the tea. So, it was nightly, all along? You become this monster, all alone? Protecting me from yourself, I heard you sing once, when you refused to show me. How bad could it truly have been?

[elluno]

I left there early that evening - something wasn’t right. Home again, and the ancestors called, said I had a visitor; face covered, shadowed. “He wanted to come in for tea.” they whispered to me. “We denied him.” Access denied. “You’ve met him in dreams past. We protected you then,” they said, “we’ll protect you now, always.” I believe them.

[elluno]

And this isn’t my story Whatever that was A distant memory becoming And a strange bud blooms In my own darkness, extended; Where there were hands, There are naked branches, And feet, Roots clipped, cleansed Some idea of purity in the rain That lands upon this soil Where I take my rest Finally I take my rest Finally.

[elluno]

I listen to his fuckass songs, and read his fuckass lyrics about his fuckass lies and fuckass feelings. Perhaps my word use is too crude; flowery language holds little, about as much as a newborn can fit in its tiny little fist, and such is the measure of regard he offered me, newborn, though, he is not. Little man, big feelings. Little man with his big feelings.

[elluno]

Indie dreams + nightmares l've escaped cyclically, dream catcher in the day and the night watches over me over me over me

A musician I could be and shouldn’t be; it’s not a place I can remember on the surface, no, I don’t recall the songs

The sky is open and I still despise the imagery of skies and the moon and the sun and this and that, so I close it

Oh, there isn’t any room, I lie. Every room is vacant every space is vacant every bed is vacant I am vacant

He gave me a blunt and it didn’t work, I was so upset and my lungs burned pointlessly; I write and it doesn’t work and I’m so upset and my eyes burn pointlessly, my heart burns pointlessly

I once wrote about seeing him laid beside my dead body in a valley, and I rose and left him there, hoping to meet him in the afterlife. Well, I haven’t arrived there yet

A place I haven’t been to yet, a space I haven’t christened yet, and who am I to? What is sacred about my tongue? My hands? I use them to dig graves quarterly

Buried here are all of our photos, and I didn’t tear them this time, and I dig it all up and blow the soil from your earth washed face and I don’t know how to smile anymore

So I use my hands to dig the grave again

Grave digging hands.

[elluno]

A lifetime doesn’t always end in what is commonly understood to be death, and eternity doesn’t just exist on the other side of death either.

For a lifetime of suffering, divine justice is an eternity of blessing.

[elluno]

Have I not given enough ????

[elluno]

And what is all this for? Vacant mind Vacant mind Vacant minded child They called me a vacant minded child I misunderstood it Perhaps I didn’t Does it really matter? What difference would it make? There is still a vacancy Somewhere within It isn’t confusion It also isn’t a lack of clarity I say thank you to the words I borrow There’s still a strange mist over there

I was an obedient child Except for when I wasn’t Ok I won’t knock I won’t pry Baba is working Mama is crying Working too She conceals her tears from me But I witnessed her in the dreamscape And somehow she sees it The gaze we share She sees it in that space Reads it between the lines I recite Ok and who else saw it? Teacher with a redacted name It’s like her recognition Gave me permission to shine I hate the phrasing of that Shine shine shine shine Redundant. The first I shared with her Concerned her Apparently it was concerning But all I saw on that paper was light Is that the largest I ever felt? No there were other moments too Before I stopped feeling any size at all Trying to be big Trying to be small Oh yes I’ve forsaken it all And I look back on notes scribbled Next to scriptures I sat with past And I laugh Who was that? I hear something else today It’s quite frightening actually The magic in its tone And I wonder if any of this Was ever even real And if in that space Where lies depart The truth leaves an echoing Vacant mind

[elluno]

Aurélie.

There was a cot in a not so busy hospital, in a not so busy town, where a broken man lay. ‘Who is he?’ The nurses whispered as they watched him stare listlessly at the peeling paint on the ceiling far above. He was found on a road not far from the hospital - most roads weren’t far on that little island. Unrecognised, he was, a face and staggering body never seen before, and it took 5 men to carry him into the cart that brought him there. Beaten and abandoned, alive and silent. Silent still. The women were afraid, but Aurélie was not. She tended to him with the warmth she inherited from her mother and the farm she grew up on. Aurélie spoke to him endlessly, though the man never responded. He would stare thoughtlessly at the ceiling as she twittered away. This and that were broken and eventually fixed, and by this point, he managed to thank them all with two mumbled grumbles. The women were no longer afraid and fussed over him as Aurélie had in the beginning. She was gone now, well, going. Called away to another place to serve and live and smile and heal. And the day that strange man got up to leave himself, he asked, ‘Where is she? The cheerful one.’ The women were shocked and told him she was gone. ‘She didn’t tell me.’ He responded, and the women were even more surprised. Aurélie. He had heard her name, seen the flash of the name on her badge, looking when he knew she wouldn’t see. Her voice had filled the silence that reigned in his mind, and he didn’t mind it, no, he didn’t mind it at all. How strange.

[elluno]

I am punished in their place Yes, I swallow the swords Meant for their hearts Those sharpened blades Slice through my flesh Instead of his Why do I suffer in his place? Let me know so that I can atone At least Let my soul be prepared for purgatory I cannot enter the place for the dead Believe me I have tried And Cerberus has chased me out A few times too many He knows my face The weight of my footfall And howls at the sight of me You cannot pass The great beast declares And I traipse back to the unknown Wounded and awaiting my sentence I am punished in their place Though death is not the debt I owe It would seem.