gird your loins @piratequeen17 - Tumblr Blog

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everything that dies

i was born afraid

and grew fearless.

i was born like a weed cracking

the ocean floor

and i learned the moon in tides and spells.

i have loved women with the voices

of sirens, which is to say,

i have loved galaxies.

i became, i became

i will be born in tempests like

everything that dies.

#poem for class #birth myth #poetry after lucille clifton

Canyon/Eulogy: for thomas, alexandra, and niko

I sit in this space of unknowing, I have merited this prison, I have wanted these things to be true: the eternal grasping choking orgasmic fact of Self and also of You

sad and rough and honeyed, damned oblivion, violet enchantment our

mythic price to pay in the swinging sweet streets of the apocalypse the end of yawping Me the end of glorious You

What if we grew like enormous loving weeds, living from the inside

out, abandoning relativity? Reversing the sterilization of our stumbling souls, asking:

how may we use this inside-out freedom, awkward and wholesome, green and

filled with an unaware grace, hearing strange melodies on every sorry road of kings?

Traveling the thin fine threads of hope not as lifelines but as possibilities? It’s better just to howl. Here is the train,

the train will teach you to howl.

Hot october, nuclear twilight and

not long ago, we watched storms descend upon this corner of the universe, ran

out into the night to catch toxic green rain in our cupped palms to drink

its candied poison in fine-stemmed wineglasses to toast self-destruction

Sunrise, I am here walking cold by the ocean tossed by faraway winds the same wind

in my throat and the rain in my rhythmic soak of tawny hair

And all the places you haven’t seen all the Desires Unrealized.

Bare icy footprints they’re all become poems without even knowing it and I have lost

things when a boy picked my skinny shining hips up in his big boy hands and rammed

me down onto him and howled like a train in the New Year’s blue moon light, how

rich

the trespassing long-fingered night that brushes bones with silken touch and then there is the shades of resurrection bringing a changeful spark and O how coarse and blank this rising muted dawn!

Conductor of pain darkness pretending to be light, that

matchless darkness and starry song fleeting floating fleeing the Womb the Word

You are here in every whisper of every many-eyed aspen tree.

Cat on the red tile roofs, grey-gold dawn like the fur of the damn cat that keeps

eating my mother’s daisies and making her cry

I stand firm and total at the station, waiting for my next connection,

rooted in what I have seen

This is how we tried to love, heart-sister, knitting words like bone fragments

in an emergency room, calm like steel and full of love, too much love, hard and deep

and overflowing can’t contain it can’t maintain it can’t erase it

there is love everywhere in this room and it hurts. I have done these things and

lost them at the sunrise when the train comes

and their faces are branded onto the map of me, my tunnels and exits and fire escapes, fiery loss like the weight of the moon,

scattered like the blown-out brains of dandelions into the red stone canyon.

#poetry #niko and roxie #em #poem for class

What I Remember About The First Night We Made Love

“If I love you, is that a fact or a weapon?” –Margaret Atwood

“I just love you, and that exists beyond space and time, and beyond this universe, and all the universes that might exist before, and after, and parallel to this. That energy will not be extinguished in a thousand cycles of creation and destruction of the matter that composes worlds, and stars, and nights, and days, and rings, and knives, and bridges and skyscrapers, bathtubs and bralettes.” –Niko

My skin was born in May, with the coming of the 2:17 train that wailed

like a lost child, because blood must be shed for something to breathe,

and there was the realm of bricks and beaches and midnights in its weary heart,

a perfect vessel for the strain of birth.

You were there, ready to take me out of myself, somewhere, away. I got into the car and sat on the carton of ice cream you’d bought for my dinner. We laughed, two unwieldy creatures , and drove off

into the tangled lilac forest, under the moon,

water, war, the railroad tracks at sunrise. I woke you for that sunrise,

after love, gasping purples on my new flesh and yours, rich with breath.

The dimmed lanterns lining the staircase on the way down to breakfast were stained glass; I dipped my fingers

into their waxy bodies and it was sweet,

so

sweet.

and then, and then. the dark comes in, my heart of hearts,

love and money, the way springtime in the jungle looks to a soldier.

This was not the deal we made. When the rain comes, when shots are fired,

I will want my mother and she will be miles away,

singing in the cornfields and caring for her other wounds, and all your embraces and

your attempts to brush out my knotted hair will be for nothing

And only you can save yourself,

only you,

always

you. But

you have never known this.

#poetry #niko and roxie #poem for class #sophie battles her shitty issues

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Nature | via Tumblr on We Heart It.

“She didn't quite know what the relationship was between lunatics and the moon, but it must be a strong one, if they used a word like that to describe the insane.”

~ paulo coelho, Veronika Decides To Die

happier, more foolish times

#niko and roxie #nostalgia #memories #horrid

poem fragment: boneyard

I buried our love in the boneyard. Its beautiful corpse still rots, tongue in cheek by the gravel path. I visit it now and again, to further truss it up. No one’s ever managed to convince me That dead things do not move.

#poetry #sophie and the writing process part eleventy four thousand #sophie battles her shitty issues #boneyard #poem fragment

battle song

Touched by madness and a silent

first snow I wander the Sabbath dusk a shadow on the gate, my thick-soled boots graphing the nearing winter’s prospective power. I am something wild tonight. And I love myself this way—this girl-creature who will not be held by anyone, who enters dark labyrinths by herself without a ball of string or so much as a candle, who dances alone under the chilly winter sky with electric-singing veins. When he comes for me, I will be ready. It won’t be like last time. I am Kali, Vashti, Enyo, devourer, lioness, destroyer of men. I drink moonlight and howl. Kiss me and find your death upon your lips.

#sophie and the writing process part eleventy four thousand #sophie battles her shitty issues #creative writing #poetry