(𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖇)

𝕴 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊.​ Lowell 29 autistic poet

[wolftung]

I have identified with “pet” for as long as I can remember. I was 4 years old hiding under tables and wanting to be an animal. I was 9 and obsessed with playing pretend and being some mad scientist’s newly transformed weak puppy experiment, helpless and unable to vocalize my desire to be turned back; but actually, I secretly loved what I’d become. I was 7, 8 years old and pretending I was a pikachu because I loved maining him in smash64. I have always been your animal, your pet, I have always wanted to depend on you.

As I’ve grown I’ve gained a wisdom and power that only the meek have access to. Something about me is dark and immense like the ocean. Like a quiet hell unlocked by raw love. I know the things I’ve endured have made me terrifying in some intense, inwards way. But I’m often unable and quiet, and it betrays something about me. I don’t want to depend on you fully. I don’t think I’m worthless. I think I’m precious and strange because the fact was beaten into me all my life, I was a thing that was coveted while simultaneously being discarded and disgusting. I don’t know. It’s not..it’s not that I want to abandon myself for you. It’s not that I think I’m useless and weak. But I’m not like a person and I am like a creature. I have so much love and it’s only been made bigger after the constant strife and agony. I can love you and I want to. Doesn’t that sound like the ideal pet..?

[mydevilsweet]

My Prayer Is A Hand Holding The Water I want you. I want to worship you. I want to want you. And when I have you, I want to feel like you are unending; like you are an ocean, like you are a cascade and I could drink from you forever. I want to enter you, and bathe in you. I lie on you and hold you; I slide my lips on your skin. I try to taste all of you at once but the size of my mouth betrays me. I lay my palm flat on you, and I try to put as much of you in my hands as I can-- My prayer is a hand holding the water. I want you, I want there to be so much of you I cannot find an end to you. You will lie in bed smiling. I will kiss you down your ribs. I will press my cheek to your thigh and the corner of my mouth will kiss you there. With open mouth, with tongue; there, with my eyes dark and looking. There, with an ocean looking back.

[mydevilsweet]

Angel. Where once sat you, a creature so mighty, now sits this-- Slouched like the beast Whose decided march slowed to a pause, as it looked upon You And turned its death-ridden back From the Silver Gates of our end. Ex Cathedra; The throne you had me believe was yours was Mine all along- Heaven-gilded and thorned with the rust of grapes; Stained with the sweet pearls of your paradise. An egg, ash piled on it like snow; Until you've cracked your faded shell, Come out to be born, The message is the same: "There is no chase. Recover your divinity, Find me." And should you finish this slow march towards me, I might offer my hand. Take it, And the two of us- Beasts roughed by the cruelties of God, Blood made Ichor in our suffering- Can finish the race towards Bethlehem And bring about some glorious, colossal end.

[mydevilsweet]

Endure isolation. Endure isolation.

What more is there?

You reach deep enough into the abyss,

you find Glory.

After the sickness,

Vomiting despair

After the screaming and the bleeding,

The rejected despair— Yes,

You have to pull the blade

Deeper into you

(To exit the other side)

(To exit the body)

To be fucking done with it.

Deeper in: A prayer.

Silence in a sea of black.

Cradled by the Water

My throne the floor, littered with bodies ;

What is a child to do—

Born a seed of the moon, burst from rain-heavy soil,

Here, at the bottom of the ocean?

Pray. With eyes open.

[mydevilsweet]

It means something, that when I was twelve years old, I wanted to be killed by something too big to be held in my hands in my heart. I am twelve: In my mind, there is a circular stage. At the edge of it I am dying. My hair is long. His little hands bore half the length of a katana's blade into me. I burned with the desire to be killed in some dark, dramatic way. I wanted to be killed because I wanted to be wanted. In my little room, I pick up the broom stick. I wave it around slowly, tentatively. Something tells me my passion is something I should be embarrassed about, and I worry I'll be seen. I want to practice, to ready myself for the fight that ends in my death. I knew it wouldn't come, but I wanted it to. I wanted the katana bored into me, and I wanted the fight to be fair. I wanted to be killed, but I also wanted to be fought. I have always wanted to fight. I have always wanted to run. I have always had some pent up thing in me, panting before the fight has even begun. Some nights it threatens to eat me if I don't feed it, but I have nothing to give it, so I just sit and hold my head in my hands, or pace around my room, or do a few pushups, until it stops. I've kept it starved its entire life. I'm sorry, I don't know how to feed you. You want the intensity of death in battle, to witness or know some grand becoming. I can't keep pushing you down with pushups and time. You'll always come back again. It must mean something. I think if I go out in the middle of the night, and run to the tree in the middle of the field, I'll learn something. There's a secret, something yet to be uncovered, unlocked. I have to find the katana. I have to hold it in my hands. Then I'll know.

[mydevilsweet]

Solve et Coagula: "Stillness Is For The Dead"

Imagine your body is growing. Imagine you resist this growth. Imagine how damaging to your body and bones that must be. Your body wants to expand and you press yourself tight, anything poking out you push back in. You want to remain in a state of contraction. It doesn't hurt at first. What happens eventually is that your body either gives up, accepting the fate you've forced upon it, or it will ignore your desire to remain small and grow anyway. Because it must. Because it knows better than to give in to stagnancy. When you resist your growth, my bones ache. I want to be you, and push against your fear and break it, so that you expand. You hold your spirit tight in your hands like a firefly whose light can't be contained. I want you to grow. When you are with me- close to me- growth is inevitable. I am the moon to the world's werewolf no matter what I do. This is what I am, it's what happens. I'm not afraid, nor do I regret being this way. But it is a harsh thing. There is no space for cowardice. Transformation is often painful, but so are many things in life, and your fear of it isn't a reflection of its nature. I love you and want to guide you through this. Your power is a light I want to witness. If you nurture your strength, you'll grow closer to what you are, and this is what we are meant to do. It's what I want for you. Listen. Stillness is for the dead. We are alive and moving. What contracts must expand and what expands must contract and this is living. Do you understand? If you refuse to grow, I will leave. I can't stay. It hurts me. It huts my bones, beloved.

[mydevilsweet]

Look at me. Can nothing but your memory put me on my knees? Can nothing but you make me crawl back to poetry, like the unfaithful dog, walking back home, head hung low? You are my bastard god. Came from nothing. Come to nothing. I bite the pen so no matter how much I tell you I love you, it’s ruined in blood. Damn you, God damn you, if I have to paint you then it’ll only be in red.

[mydevilsweet]

It is what it is. (I look out the window)

It is what it is. (I think of you. You live somewhere around here.)

It is what it is. (I admit I would have loved you.)

It is what it is. It is what it is.

My god, I brought it with me. The hair clip I’ve held onto for two years now. The one I bought for her— “For if I ever see her.” Why did I bring it? I was supposed to leave it. I was supposed to leave it. But I brought it.

It is what it is.

[mydevilsweet]

I am afraid of your power. I have as much power as anyone. I think you could cut me with it. With my power? With your rejection.

-

What you see as power is only love. It is self love. And love for you. How could I hurt you with my love? You can. Of course you can. Love can be a blade. To cut you with? To sever.

-

Do you fear not being good enough? I fear rejection. Rejection doesn’t have to be painful. But it is. Right now, it is. I have a bond with pain. You are trying to love yourself aren’t you? I am trying to sever.

[mydevilsweet]

[mydevilsweet]

You once told me you had an interesting relationship with pain. I could never tell you, but I do too. I don't like hurt. My fulfilment lies in growth. Achieving it, witnessing it. There is no growth in in hurt. In pain; but not in hurt. Hurt is not pain. Hurt is the place you wake when something has gone wrong. When you've made the wrong turn; when you've been abandoned by some cruel mother. Hurt is the place. The pit. You open your eyes and when you blink to adjust your vision, you realize the emptiness of your dream-less sleep is just as dark as the place you're in. Pain is different. You hold the uncomfortable position, and your knees are just about to give. Your thighs and calves are burning, but it's okay, because you're counting the seconds in your head and you're just about done. When you finish, you think your legs will fall off your body, and they shake. "I need to sit down" you say, smiling. You close your eyes as you lay your head back on the sofa. You're gonna be sore tomorrow, but your legs are gonna be stronger. The pain feels good.

Do you know this, too? That hurt and pain are not always the same? The lady tells me to grab one weight in each hand. I get to fifteen and start to get tired. When I reach twenty- she asks me to do twenty every time- I hold it for a few seconds before finally dropping my arms. Nobody told me to do that, but I like to. Because it's a challenge. Because I'm excited to push myself to grow and heal. Because pain can feel so good. Okay, here, here's the little poem I am meaning to write: It's not the sting I like but the ache. Not the strike of four fingers but the ache in the bruise a punch leaves you. Not the defeat, but the battle that leads to it. Here: I don't want you to hit me. I want you to fight me. Teach me to know you. Teach me to see you move before you have, And tell me like I know you will-- "Punch me like you're going through me. I'm water." You once said you were from the ocean. I'll throw my arm into you; and water- water is just a serpent. I'll have become the branch you coil around-- I'll have become the body that falls into the sea, and in her Grace she opens a space for me, makes way for me, and envelops me, embraces me-- I throw my right arm into you. You dodge left. Down. Right. Up. I'm lost somewhere in the shock of your speed, and I forget to retract my arm. You have made space for me, coiled around me- "You are very close to me." I whisper. "Yes, I am." you say. You hug me, and you tell me, "Let's keep practicing." before getting into position again. -and embraced me in all your grace.

[mydevilsweet]

The secret of my desire is that I want to make you feel. The thing you hide. The thing you fear. The thing you love so good you cannot bear to touch it. Face my moon and transform into your terrible thing. Yes, you are so monstrous and so am I; My love, so we all are.

[mydevilsweet]

I would steal the words from Andrew H. to say my soul was born in cold rain and your kindness to sit with me while I wept; stumbling across the words shown something so known to me I the Lamb, now bowing before its Lion I build me, my paradise Was the first light I’d known; Sunlight        Sunlight              Sunlight.

[mydevilsweet]

The grasshoppers that broke on your tongue

The sun peaks through the trees

looking for you Running behind the leaves.

Sister

The star has nestled under your skin

I lay with you in a dream

The warmth of survival on you. I touch you;

Sister, eldest sister

[mydevilsweet]

whenever I read your works I always find myself blushing and sighing longingly and kicking my feet. keep up the great work ily

hey thanks 🖤🖤🖤

[mydevilsweet]

I’ve made of myself / a metal

to cover you while you drink.

From the lakes in our valley

The wine lakes of their blood

Our valley, our land.

My princess, Eldest sister of the Sun—

Wear me, wear me;

I will hold the warmth of your skin, the tears of your changing body.

I make of my Self, these plates, this Armor; I love you to the ever racing point / of transmutation.

One day I will rust, and for you I will allow it. My baby, my baby. Entropy takes me, because I love you.

[mydevilsweet]