Soft Sickly Quotes From A Treacherous Little Soul

[sapphosoap]

Oh to be a lesbian in Ancient Greece feeding your lovely wife a vine of grapes and sipping wine

[sapphosoap]

there’s this little book

i’ve seen it for a while now, here and there

it’s actually been all around me for months

perhaps even years

i don’t know what this book beholds

or what it’s trying to spread

maybe it will have some message i’ll carry around just about forever in my head

the book isn’t something i know

after all how could i?

it’s as if someone is speaking and shouting

words from such a lovely little book

the little book i see is black

the page cream and burnt

i think it will allow me a little escape from my head

or perhaps some knowledge of the truth

there’s this little book

i’ve seen it for years

five if you wish to be exact

this book now sits alone

it saunters on my desk

right next to the smell of coffee

both abandoned just like the rest

there’s this lovely little book

this one i will not read

i love the little book

although i’ll never have felt the need

to spread the pages right to left

that lovely little book

forsaken on my desk

-kay

[sapphosoap]

I’m mourning you. You’re not even dead yet and I’m mourning you

-kay

[sapphosoap]

Bugs

My grandfather always said that the winters in Michigan were way too cold for larva and insects to survive. We went to our cabin every weekend up north, and when the winter would come along there would be no life. There was no fluffy bunnies or brown deer walking and hopping in the woods. There were no fish or no frogs croaking and swimming along the stream, all now covered in frost and ice. It was beautiful, sure, but it was all dead. All gone and covered in white. In the spring it was all present, though. All the feisty red foxes and the long antlered moose, even the vegetation in the area was well past flourishing and lively. We must all live just as we must all die. Were we go, we do not know, but inevitably we all perish. The deer are killed by the coyotes, the bunnies too. The trees are munched on by green slimy caterpillars and the caterpillars by their respective bird. So evenly so, the earth spins around and tilts and curves while mother nature switches up her seasons in all her usual glory. The news talks about her death, too. She kills the leaves off every fall and brings them back every spring. Resurrection, maybe that is all that is meant, maybe were all just big orbs of energy just waiting to die only for mother nature to let us be reborn again. Either way, the bugs are killed off at the first sight of frost, their absence makes grandfather upset. Much like the bugs, he passed on too, beautifully, and naturally. When he did, he turned to me and smiled, his many wrinkles bunching at his eyes, forehead, and cheeks. “Keep the bugs warm, keep them alive this winter, that’s all I want,” was all he told me, all his rough voice croaked before his body lay stiff in which I assumed he was due to be reborn again. I kept his wish, that night I collected all the bugs I could find, brought them all inside, and that is why that night when I went to sleep, I covered myself in bugs.

[sapphosoap]

Bad News

Waiting for bad news is sickening

Stomach dropped too far down to reach,

Tears cling to the puffy pink inside of the eyes

You think, maybe this time this will be okay

Maybe this time you don’t need to fear,

it can’t be that bad

Yet your heart still sinks

Further bad further into forgetful nothingness,

Tears won’t come though

It will be months till salty water prickles your cheeks

And chilling thought become intruders of the brain,

So still you weep

The phone becomes an unexpected enemy

Every time your mother picks up,

You wonder who is to have died

— kay

[sapphosoap]

His mind was loud, as if filled with choirs. Only, the choirs weren’t so heavenly, as they seemed to refuse to stop until he too, was dead.

— kay

[sapphosoap]

You were linen, soft and tart. She was more like an empty glass jar vacant of jam, sides scraped to little red trails and bitter nothingness.

— kay

[sapphosoap]

Or so it’ll seem

They say, if you look at yourself in the mirror long enough you’ll begin to see things that are not really there. Maybe you’ll gain a few eyes, your skin grow pale and hair darken and turn to worn rags and clumps. They say if you turn the lights off and just stare, you’ll no longer be in he presence of yourself, or so it’ll seem.

They say, if you think about someone enough, you’ll fall in love with them. Can’t you just picture their bright eyes? Then late at night you find yourself eventually falling harder and harder though, not into a beautiful slumber—but yet a terrible wormhole of disappointed love and longing. Because thinking about something isn’t satisfying enough, one can become easily touch starved and weak when needing to rely on someone to love you. You’ll no longer be able to live without them, or so it’ll seem.

They say, the more you miss a lost loved one, the more you’ll see them. Religion speaks highly of it being their way to finally say goodbye, especially if it was unexpected. You’ll find them out of the corner of your eye, in the backseat of your car, or on the side of the road waving at you as your car passes by the downtown street on your normal route to work. They say it’s a way to tell you “it’s okay, I’m alright, go back to living now, I am okay”

So go on, go on and stare, stare at all your flaws till you find yourself to be a real monster.

And do continue, that overused obsession of that person who barley even recognizes you, it’s said the weakest people always need someone in their life to love them.

But my dear child, do say your goodbye. Give a pained smile and love their shocking appearance, they have only came to give a hello, one last final goodbye, it’s been hard on them too.

It’s okay, you look fine. You’re absolutely beautiful, show yourself some love, and don’t be afraid to tell people how much they mean to you. Enjoy the present. Go slow, take a breath, you are fine and my darling dear, you will, in fact, live to see another day.

They love you out there

[sapphosoap]

🄲🄾🄻🄾🅁 🅃🄷🄴🄾🅁🅈

“Color is a power which directly influences the soul,” Wassily Kandinsky said so himself. His life revolved around color, whether the world around him saw it or not. He was a successful man, a lawyer, a musician and soon took up the life of color and studied art, beginning at the ripe old age of thirty. His interpretation of life was glorious in his art, with the creation of abstract paintings, one could only presume he was looked at as if he was a complete madman, maybe he was, or possibly he just saw life in a different matter, rather than black and white, rather than boring old inks and lead, he saw glorious globs of poisonous paint, he saw his world in lines and simple shapes, all so very odd and unnatural and yet, all completely magnificent.

And so did Zaire. His eyes were an extraordinary sight, a deep crisp sapphire, the kind that lit up bright around the pupil and expanded outward, also the kind that most certainly caught an onlooker’s busy eye, wondering if they truly were real, so extraordinary yet very real and unmistakably original. His skin was dark and perfectly smooth besides the minor blemishes on his cheeks and near his jaw. His hair spun naturally into coils, tightly overgrown into small hairs that hung out over his forehead, letting him know it was time for a haircut, though just a small trim. His eyebrows were rather bushy, long like his lashes, maybe a little too wild but they most certainly made sense that way. His face already showed many similarities to Kandinsky’s abstract pieces. His eyes a beautiful blue, his hair a rich charcoal, skin rather a light mocha that dotted little freckles that mixed in with some acne that lay across his right cheek-to his left, and bumping over his nose, and to the little mixed in shades of pinks and reds on the center of his bottom lip, that soon melted into more shades of brown as it reached the corners of his mouth. He was a masterpiece of his own, and so he saw the world that way as well. People and things were colors, as were shapes and as were numbers. This was something his mind couldn’t really recall the reason why, he couldn’t tell you...it simply was the way it was. The number six was dark purple, the letter C was blue, the supermarket down at the end of his block was a fine evergreen, and the little old lady in the apartment next to him, was a vibrant orange.

It was a rather automatic thing, the way your mind sets itself on auto pilots on your drive back home, you know the route so very well. It’s unintentional and completely unexplainable. Some people didn’t have colors, some came more naturally than others, it was all just like a little sorting game his brain likes to play. The cool colored people belong in the class with the cool colored teachers, the warm colored people belonged with the warm colored teachers. It was simply the way it was, something he certainly had not yet realized was odd and abnormal, he hadn’t bothered with it much. It was simply the way he saw the world, the way it morphed itself into something completely and utterly different than what it actually was. It was the mind of an artist and someone with quite a rather different outlook. And what an interesting take on life it was.

Don’t be afraid to show your colors