how would you describe your softest feeling?

poetry and prose written by leni battalis. • don't take this seriously.

[leniwrites]

so what was love then?

if not a mountain collapsing in on itself if not a trench slowly filling to the brim

an ocean spills over the highest cliff a cloud freefalls heavy from the sky forgets to let itself loose til it crashes

impact sets off the explosion impact sounds like wailing impact sounds like silence

defeaning quiet grows from the ground fills rooms like post-sex cigarette smoke

alarms choke on the sound of their rings shoulders stuff mouths when they open

knows the mouth wants to name bodies wants to speak using the dead language

cities have grown where flowers bloomed communities prevail where rivers ran wild consideration looks like constant terror

facing fear for the sake of appearances facing failure for the sake of kindness kindness defined by another man’s hand

i will not have it i will not stand for it

i am still terrified of stage lights i am still terrified of rejection

this does not make me a failure this does not make me a letdown

the letdown lives in the shame that mounts the peak of a mountain falling below sea level

the failure lives in the pity that runs reckless across a cliff edge into deep waters rising and expects me to know how to swim

i will not have it in my home i will not have it in my head

what is love if love sounds like an implication what is love if love surfaces complications what good is love that doesn’t help or heal

only a wish to undo the way the world burns only a command to reverse all that damage

turn cars over in the moment before they roll soften the blow of fists you never saw coming

carry mistakes to term before they can spill plant all your flowers in concrete jungles

raise generations you did not mother be ‘mother’ when you are still ‘child’

heap your expectations on hollow ground watch it crumble before your own eyes shake your head in disappointment

i still will not have it i still will not rise like this

i will learn to rise how i was raised it is not on anyone’s terms but my own

[leniwrites]

friend, i did not know what to say. this distance between us was great, even before i fled. the space between our words lingered like we used to. remember when we stayed up too late together? too many nights in a row, never once questioning the fault line we lived on. never once entertaining the thought of it trembling. like we had built a home stronger than any disaster; wild enough in its inception, cyclones would cower from it. friend, i don't write as often anymore. i don't write often at all. it wasn't meant to be a sign of where we stand now. you on one side of this crevice and i, watching from the other as time pushes us further apart. this space gives us enough lease to make monsters of each other. where your kind words aren't, i see disdain glowing red. where my kind words escaped, took refuge until this war ends, i couldn't tell you. the truth is, i don't know where they went. i think they took us with them. us. it was the kindest word we had. these days, it tastes so foreign resting on the tip of my tongue. i don't know what to make of it. think maybe you'd be happier, maybe you would find peace if i stopped trying my hardest to keep you standing there, wasting day after day, waiting for me to find the courage to bridge that gap between, or fill it with enough sentiment to make the journey back seem worth your while.

[leniwrites]

when did the world lose its charm? did we pull too many trees from the earth? steal too many shells from the shore while the tide was out one day? did we anger it? take too much or give too little? or did we dream the wrong dream? work too hard to make it a reality we can’t wake up from? i want to write home, tell it the feel of it is missed daily, but the postman shakes his head. says i need an address before he can pass my sentiments on. i ask him to try my parents’ house, the place where my lover sleeps, all the driveways where all my friends and their muses and all of their wild musings dwell in the late hours, but it doesn’t work. always comes back to wherever i am, marked ‘return to sender’. their letterboxes are too full already with the hopes of others to take the weight of my heart. and i want to ask if they’ll someday have room for me, but i am too afraid of what they’ll say. too afraid of wasting time fighting to be held still in all the wrong places to just wait and see. and i think time is a poison chewing through the brickwork i scraped my knees on as a child. sometimes, i wonder if it entered my bloodstream, slept quietly in my veins for all that while, until my body shook it awake one night. now it eats me up from the inside out, weakens my spine. it grips at the words in my chest. i want to cut it out, but i don’t know where i would make the first incision. don’t know where i should be looking. don’t know how much would be left of me if i tried.

[leniwrites]

give me a flicker of warmth from that flame we stoked turned blew gently to keep alive licked our spoons clean on the cabin floor made angels wave in the frosted paddock the stars pulsed as our cheeks flushed red radio towers blinking morse code back forth taking signals from how long we had held on stopped held on a little longer stopped held on swapped hot for cold for cigarettes before bed lover i didn't mind when you took cover that night i knew you'd kiss the colour back into my lips some time after the sun shook us awake and lover it is colder here on these sweltering streets that rainy morning held me closer to the sun i would trade this weather just to feel a shiver travel down your cobblestoned spine just once lover the people are beautiful here and they know it the people say they all want different things but there are more on the street just like them women turning hard like marble monuments men composing meet-cutes on every corner their daughters wearing my name on a badge they think it is a sign i should give myself up they take my no as a challenge not a certainty lover if i am to be held here it will be captive never captivated by their practiced tricks eyes too quick to fall under that old spell my head too full with our winter to levitate i'm a girl in the audience asked to participate half of me missing before the show begins lover i'm a useless assistant careless and forgetful barely trust myself to get home safe anymore wear my link to you like it could be a lifeline chain your name around my neck each day fingers crossed it gleams brightly enough indicates i'm already busy going your way lover it is the only thing i can do to disappear lover there is nothing magic about this summer lover i keep choking on my words as they swell grow heavy hot humid fester in my throat city smog and cigarette smoke mingling doesn't do much good to keep the habit and lover while we're talking about it that awful thing that took my grandmother it hitched a ride on her daughter's shoulder came packed and with a plan to stay a while listen long enough you can hear it snarling watch long enough you will see it spread lover i hope i never see it spreading its fingers slowly tightening its grip around my throat lover i hope you never have to put me to rest lover no matter where she goes she finds no rest grows worried with every step she'll miss it the beauty in the world she's come seeking lover have you ever learned how to love someone knowing their destination is a hospital bed lover i'm seeking direction and finding dead ends lover i don't know how to treat your arms as an end lover i am counting down the days til i end up there seeking solace in the sun our blood remembers finding ways to forget how we've been touched by death and beauty and all the hollow hands reaching out to brush our heavy shoulders no intention to help lighten the load no hope of holding on til the end lover if i ever find the courage to send this lover if i ever find the courage not to end this know i am sorry in advance my blood remembers things it may turn against me i hope you will have the courage to keep from turning your back as we lie together through this summer knowing winter still hangs above our home

'incomplete letters to my lover', leni battalis

[leniwrites]

listen: there were luxuries then they are lost now listen: the boat is docked and I mean the boat is a destroyer and I mean it is only stationary but it is always prepared and there is always fire burning beneath the surface and it is so loud you cannot hear anything else when everyone falls quiet listen: you have to go to higher ground sit at the edge of a cliff between a home that doesn't know you and a steep fall over water just to get some peace listen: even then it is still there distant humming in your ear it follows the wind carries it over listen: you've got it so good you can go anytime you like for you it is just a week of home drowning under the sound of war coming listen: no one believes you belong here it is the freedom you were afforded the last time the harbour caught alight look: the harbour catches the light of a dying sun look: the water glimmering the trees suspended in a haze look: it'll be gone before you know it and can you feel it? your body blazing, blistering just to be here remember it remember it it'll all be gone before you know it

look: our two bodies could not have met like that now.

[leniwrites]

mornings out there. a sip of coffee. half a cigarette. a kiss through pursed lips. and the air bites. dew drops from the rafters. birds soar in pairs. a radio echoes over the valley. there's not much else i could tell you.

leni battalis

[leniwrites]

the concept. i want to write the history book, the one of our most personal moments. it captures every detail i can remember like photographs of ourselves where you will have to stop and wonder if you really look that way, or maybe it’s just that angle, that light. art is so selfish in that way. it says, here, here is this one moment, as i have seen and felt it to be true. it does not stop to ask the subject how it felt to live in it, how it looked from where they stood, how they hoped we had seen them. it is so honest in that way, too, then. there is no pretending. no ‘i felt the same’ when you didn’t. once you’ve written the book, there is no erasing the fact: it happened to you like this. it happened to me like that. and, some times, it’s the same. and, some times, it isn’t. the only way of ever knowing is to write it. then you let them see it. and you wait for some kind of answer, whether you like what they think of it or not.

leni battalis

[leniwrites]

the room. at the end of your lease, you finally pause to consider it. the room, vacant. even while you slept in it. you let your belongings pile up, little mountains that said, 'someone lives here'. and some days, you'd believe it. and some days, you couldn't. and some days, you'd wish you never had.

leni battalis

[leniwrites]

on the edge of dawn, i remember my own strength. i remember it has never lain in the graces of your mouth.

[leniwrites]

this is the last poem i ever write for you. like us, it will be short lived. like me, it will disappoint. like me, it will hurt. like you, i'll wish there was more of it. like you, i'll wish i understood it. like us, it'll be written taking you into heavy consideration. like us, it'll turn out so different from what we dreamed we could have been. i'll come back to it later. wish i could change something. wish i had known when i wrote it. wish i would have learned sooner. i'll leave it alone. some things are better left alone. some things were better left alone.

leni battalis

[leniwrites]

on days that my body aches and my head won’t shake the haze of a dirty cotton balled sky i will do my best to stay bright (not to remind others of the blue that hides behind the raincloud) (blue is not a colour i want to be associated with aching anymore)

on days that my fingers shake and my mind won’t break the crazed spinning of all my fears into theories i will do my best to stay steady (not to remind others of statues) (i once did my best impression of a weeping angel crumbling over a tombstone on my floor for three days) (it was enough) (i have had enough of falling apart over still steeled hearts)

on days that my knees quake and my legs won’t support my claim to standing tall and proud i will do my best to straighten up (i will be straight with you) (i will ask for your hand to hold tonight) (i will rest my body beside yours if you will allow it) and i will try rise again tomorrow

“rest day”, february 2017

[leniwrites]

in a dream you’re a wild card jumping from a tarnished tarot deck running at steep cliff edges leaping into murky waters my hand gripped by yours the question never asked just your soft assurances drowning out howling like the cyclone that chased us out of those sacred lands on the thirteenth that year as your laughter muffled its whistling and i thought perhaps it was calling for help but you told me it was love and love felt like a storm and love sounded like sirens warning everyone back inside because it was so great a force some might never handle it

you told me that this was love and love could look like a hand reaching out to hold yours back and our love was a leap of faith chosen for me by some fate you decided to believe in so i told everyone my cards had dealt me this kind hand and i knelt down willingly each time it was raised so it would fall softer whenever it landed

i told everyone the jump from cliff into deep water was a risk i had to take because i had to prove myself i was worth your fearless love and the spatter of black blue speckled across my thighs was just the surface’s gift to show them how love looks when you fall so hard and fast

i told them we ran far away from that cyclone laughing loudly together because we escaped and it was easy for others to relate to a storm when a storm hits every home a storm isn’t mistaken to be something you can go alone a storm’s rage can be seen measured weighed in upon but i didn’t tell them i slept beside thunder that evening

i didn’t tell them my mother invited in the quietest storm let him in let him stay the night let him lie quietly beside me until the rain eased up despite all the damn lessons she taught me about trusting fortune tellers and looking up at the sky during bad weather and diving into water you can’t see through and loving boys with hands that hold you whether you ask to be held or not

i just told them we ran and we made it out and you would smile and tell me how happy it made you to hear me tell all these stories the same way you had explained them earlier and it was happier and simpler to believe it for as long as i could

in a dream you’re a wild card turning as you tumble from a cliff into water

when you break through you disappear for a while

in a dream the water swallowed you

in a dream you never surface

in a dream you never jumped

in a dream you never ran with me in your grasp

in a dream you never loved me the way you said love feels when it hits you so hard and so fast

i wake before you can reach out and take my hand again

i wake before the alarms sound and remind me you’re gone

i wake before you can reach out and take my hand again

i wake before the alarms sound when you take my hands

i wake before you can reach out and silence all the alarms

i wake before i wake before i wake before finally i wake

and finally you are gone again

“in a dream”, february 2017

[leniwrites]

the balancing act of living for myself and loving. i'm still learning how to ask to be held and still hold myself above that old idea that women must love in order to live when love is what i fight for, choose over everything, chose as my cause when i made the choice to be my own person. the choice wasn't given, i had to take it for myself. and the truth is i don't live just to give away love but i see the point in loving freely anyway. i see how it gives me the strength to keep going whenever i can't. so do you think you could keep me close to your heart on your next big adventure? find your way home, back here and into my arms, when it's over? i would do the same if you asked. "balance", february 2017

[leniwrites]

where did all the poems go today? i was busy caught up in something busy celebrating love and traditions i never thought to want myself forgot about my own for a while it was happy and pleasant but now i will recede to the back of the bar hole up with a notebook and pen remember what i'm working for and resume "resumption", february 2017

[leniwrites]

flooding the streets comes an energy that soaks skin cuts through to bone it whispers dark things and i tell it not today it will not grab hold of me or take up residence in my heart or my home it is not welcome so i slam the door shut watch it cower recoil back to the curb and saunter off see it dancing to the end of st leonard's avenue looking for something or someone to love it it is not me i am not bowing down or submitting to darkness just because the sun hid and the wind turned wild i will not hide or turn wild i will not take cover i will continue to recover all the warmth and love i have been missing let it keep me dry let it fill the space in my bed and fill the hallways with light and light the pathway home for all my days still to come "resurgence", february 2017

[leniwrites]

i've got my fists full of feeling a whole life of love behind me i can only hope tomorrow is kind but first i must do all i can today to be honest and open to change to let yesterday pass over to past to remember where i've been so i may accept how i got here and keep moving on to reach where i want to find myself (there is no destination in mind) (i only want it to be happy) "fistful", february 2017

[leniwrites]

too sweet and sweaty we swept sunday morning away with sleep in our eyes made beds into ballots and we ticked every box twice filled our ears with protests the repetitive no it's too much the subsequent no don't stop the ironic calling god's name as if he were to thank for all our good hard efforts today i am thanking him for you and i am thanking him for all the time he gave us amidst busy schedules and the sleep patterns that don't align right today i am thanking him and laughing at the absurdity of it that it only makes sense to that there's no other way i can make sense of how lucky i am to call these memories ours "sunday night prayers for a sacrilegious sentiment", february 2017