The Place Where Trespassers Meet

The remnants and recollections of the best of times, the worst of times, and every creature born between. This blog is best viewed on the Desktop Site at foreveratlas.tumblr.com . Forever yours, Forever, Atlas. Poetry, Fiction, Art.

[foreveratlas]

Basilisk

I want this.

I want you and your trauma and drama--

And every moment of good, of bad,

of all the moments you side eye me,

one hand over the receiver,

knowing it's not a call for me to hear,

but I recognize it in the way your face

goes from relaxed to stern.

The way people ask you,

who is this one? As if I am another,

a mark, a notch to add--

not the original, not the source

of every body you filled

the silence with-- placeholders

for a moment alone, the very kind

you have refused for so long.

The way you appraise me,

I must be viper, something made

of diamonds and scales

and teeth-- you fear my venom most,

keeping the glass between us,

saying that it's for my protection,

when truly, you hesitate

before me more than any other.

The way you command the room,

and how men refuse

to meet your gaze is such

stark contrast to how you hold mine.

I want to hold your attention,

protected in the archive of my soul,

as you press against me,

pretending to watch the world speed by.

I am more than pit viper,

more than coiled death

with venom hidden beneath pursed lips.

I am ancient, the flightless fury

of Grecian origin, Roman legend.

If you are the wyvern,

Then, I am the basilisk,

born of dragon fire and sin,

Thriving beneath your wings.

I'll turn the world to stone,

just say when.

[foreveratlas]

Thrice Weekly

Thrice weekly you remind me

how you miss the man

who used you.

Thrice weekly you tell me

how you want us both,

how you're ok with being

just a warm body to him.

Thrice weekly,

you claim you never want to hurt me

while sobbing for the manipulator

who chose to see you as a hole

and not as a partner.

Thrice weekly,

you promise I am perfect

while you grieve

our relationship not being enough.

Thrice weekly

I take one step closer

to the door.

[foreveratlas]

Blueberries

I am not accustomed

to the thrill of you,

but I enjoy the way

you devour me in sanctuary.

The way you touch me,

tease me, lift me in ways

I thought lost long before.

My body is not my temple,

but She is yours--

and I bathe within your gaze

every chance you take

to covet her.

I wonder which deity you name

when you place offerings upon my altar--

which god do you praise,

beg, call out for

mid communion, while you

drink My wine and taste My body?

I want to know when lesser spirits

attempt to steal

your mouth from mine.

I want only my name

to escape your lips in prayer.

Worship me with your caress,

and upon my tongue, my trust, my lust--

I'll forgive you of every trespass

so when you kneel to consume me,

you might, in turn, bless me

with your own glorious,

breathtaking

rapture.

[foreveratlas]

Pre-Emptive Drowning

I know not what the world plans,

only what promises exist

on the tongues of those who

would wish to see me gone.

If I sleep my final sleep

whether by nature or by force,

I hope you remember

one fond moment we shared

before the world ended.

To the people who knew me before,

and respected me enough to stay---

To the people who knew me after

and found joy in the person I became---

I hope you'll remember me

long after the healing begins.

If we're lucky, we will survive the next 42 months.

And if we're not---

tell stories of me.

I'll tell stories of you.

[foreveratlas]

Today I learned,

"I don't deserve you,"

is just the polite way of saying,

"I have unhealed trauma

that is more important

to me than our relationship."

So many times

have I heard those words.

The last was winter 2023.

You promised me Christmas,

and gifted COVID instead.

I stood there, as you whispered,

"I don't deserve you,"

swearing to return

in a couple weeks--

and you left me

sick, alone, hurt.

You didn't come back.

People don't deserve people.

People choose people.

That day, you chose

to stop choosing me.

[foreveratlas]

Wishing For Love

I doubt I'll ever tire of love.

The pining, the thrill--

halted breath in the Late Night

when we claim it's bed time,

but sleep never came,

and in it's place:

talk, touch, trust.

I will never forget the desire,

the need, the immediacy of

It's not enough, because love

is more than a drug. She is

the best meal consumed,

the deepest drink swallowed,

the lament of more in

a world of less.

Love is the quiet

the stillness, the heartbeat

lashflutter, chest raise, arch back

and liplinger. I miss her,

that feeling, more than infatuation,

more than desperation,

and maybe that's why I fall

so so so hard,

and close my eyes so so so tight.

[foreveratlas]

Heliosphere

Did you know

there's a wall of fire

at the edge of Sun's reach--

beyond life

and rock and space dust?

A wall, or, maybe

An end and a beginning,

the up and the down--

the final guardian

before the endless black

and stories

yet to be known.

If we must learn

the last true thrill of wilds

then it lies out there

beyond Kuiper Belt musings

and Oort cloud fantasies,

at the edge of nothingness.

The universe begs to be known,

to be seen, to be reached

and we stand dimly on this rock--

with faces pointed up,

and wishes within our quiet

to surpass the limits

of our own gravity.

Someday, I'll asteroid out,

a cosmic pilgrim

destined to know

what lies beyond the edge--

beyond that wall of fire.

[foreveratlas]

Grief Sore

Hey Mom,

I wish you could have warned me

about what it means to love so hard

that after the final box is packed,

you're still begging with the way

you stare at each other that

the choice to end things was

all just a dream.

Grief stays forever, and not just

the loss of you and your wisdom--

but the knowledge of pain

and every choice that rendered

that hurt with the kindest,

saddest smile.

I remember the days you grieved

loveloss when I was young, when your

boyfriends and lovers delivered

bad news, leaving you reeling,

wishing for a different outcome.

I should have paid attention to you,

to how you bounced back

and kept moving forward,

not for your sake but mine.

Maybe I could have learned how

to be ok in the aftermath

of violence the heart suffers.

It's been 18 months of hurt,

and with accepting such pain

despite wishing dearly for relief--

I have come to realize,

I don't think it will go away this time.

How did you do it?

How did you keep going?

What was your secret?

Or maybe, there is no secret.

Maybe, I'm just simply damaged

in comparison.

[foreveratlas]

No.

Are my boundaries made of bible paper--

existing to be torn, frayed, burnt

because thats more convenient

than recognizing my NO as a NO?

You made it a mission to touch me,

portraying it as sincerity, as kindness.

You demanded my affection,

and when I denied you, you twisted

your conceptualization to make

that desire fit into a presumed bubble.

I thanked you for your comfort,

for your company, your camaraderie

and you tried to coerce my appreciation

into adoration. When I told you No,

you made it a mission to claim me,

to get me to say yes.

You held me too long, tried to invade

my bed, my attention, my person

and I told you No.

And instead of respecting that,

you doubled down, and tried to dig

yourself into a place

that you had no right to occupy.

I was scared, vulnerable, and I reached out--

and you took advantage of me,

of the situation.

So how dare you "confess" your feelings

while a proverbial knife is held

to my throat. How dare you claim

you miss me, that you have

feelings for me when you

refused to respect my No.

I wanted a friend. But you tried

to claim me, time and time again.

You wonder why I don't call anymore?

It's because you caused a harm,

And you couldn't even apologize

after I called you out. That's why.

[foreveratlas]

Never me

I think I dreamed too hard

of the day someone might

proclaim me to be theirs

for ever and forever.

I doubt I will experience

the courage, the vulnerability

the commitment

of another person

kneeling before me,

asking for my hand-- my heart.

I'll keep telling myself,

maybe someday,

yet it's becoming apparent,

That day may never be.

[foreveratlas]

They're Taking People

Some day it could be me,

grabbed, cuffed, taken

in broad daylight or deep sleep--

and I think of the people

caged, claimed, flown away

to South American death prisons,

never to be seen again. I think

of the cries for mothers,

for fathers-- for anyone to listen,

and for once, I take comfort

in my mother's passing,

knowing she will never weep

and worry to the edge of death

for news of my release

or my demise. She will never

know the fear of that unknown

as I rot and wait for my turn

to be added to a pile

or incinerated in the morning.

[foreveratlas]

The Man in the Arena

It is not the critic who counts;

not the man who points out how

the strong man

stumbles, or where the

doer of deeds

could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who

is actually in the arena,

whose face is marred by

dust and sweat and blood;

who strives valiantly; who errs,

who comes short again and again,

because there is no effort

without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds;

who knows great enthusiasms,

the great devotions;

who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end

the triumph of high achievement,

and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails

while daring greatly,

so that his place shall never be

with those cold and timid souls

who neither know

victory nor defeat.

- Theodore Roosevelt

[foreveratlas]

I want you to know

You were right,

and part of me condemns myself

for ignoring your pleas.

I want to stay

and stand resolute, not for me

but for my sisters,

for my brothers,

and for every voice that screams

into the night

demanding to be heard--

to be seen, the way I had at the start

as I warned people

of the hell to come.

Hell came with an artificer worse

than the devil,

worse than the darkness

we fear at the end of our final sleep.

If I am to perish

I wish you to know,

you were right-- but I couldn't run.

I won't run.

Not when there are still people to save.

Not when there is still time to make this right.

[foreveratlas]

I want more You.

The quiet settles loudest

with a lack of You--

almost taunting, teasing

daring me to reach forward

to see if maybe, just maybe

You might respond, You might turn--

You might appear next to me

with eyes so intense,

I could drown in their hue,

Your truth.

Sometimes

I dream we share this bed,

You nuzzling against my breast--

my arms curling around Your form,

as if I fear losing You in such sleep.

You'd whisper the same reminder,

I'm here, I'm real, this is real--

And I would believe the dream You

even as morning breaks the mirage.

Maybe one day, I'll wake up

and that promise will be true.

[foreveratlas]

The Fall of Athena

I wish I could hate you

not because you deserved to be hated,

but because I placed your memory above me,

held aloft upon Grecian marble pillars

like you're the fleshbound proxy of Artemis--

as if I was the prey to your huntress.

You ensnared me, claimed me,

cradled my heart and devoured me--

piece by piece, moment by moment

until there was nothing left to protest.

You stormed the Parthenon,

pinned me to the wall and feasted upon

my lust and my love like apples and figs,

grapes and wine-- and took, and took

and took. And I let you win, every time.

I carved the Artemision from mountains

and prayed at the altar for your favor

every evening, sacrificing my self to your hunt.

And you, cast me aside like scraps to dogs

and left me to dust.

I should hate you,

I should hate you more than any before

who defiled my halls, crumbled my pillars

and left my temple to buzzards.

I should.

But I don't. I won't.

How could I hate the woman

who brought Athena to her knees?

[foreveratlas]

Today, I Lived

I made my bed

and showered with a look of

not quite discomfort-- not quite defeat--

and I ate.

I paid my bills, and fed my cat

after I put the dishes away.

I folded my laundry with hints of static

racing over my knuckles,

and I lived.

I lived a thousand lifetimes in 12 hours,

each as slow and deliberate and cautious

as the next, as if I was waking up

from the deepest of sleeps.

I did my job, I laughed a real laugh,

I smiled a real smile-- I had a conversation!

I treated myself, and bought groceries

and loved the mundane as if

my day to day was the gospel sung by choirs.

Today,

I lived

Not because I had to--

but because I wanted to,

when months ago, I was struggling

with both of these concepts.

Today, I lived for me.

[foreveratlas]

Memory Foam

I still sleep to the left

hoping I might wake to find

the last eight months

were some tragic dream.

but my bed remains empty,

as empty as the day you left.

I was a fool for believing

the issue was the bed size,

and not the canyon forming

between us every day.

That didn't stop me

from upgrading to a Queen

in hopes you might rest

once more

next to me as you did for

months and months and months.

It was never the bed, though.

It was only ever me.