Musings

Nomad, Naiad, Melancholic.

[severeseverance]

I knew of a boy overseas

Whose red flag list went down to my knees

He wandered and wept,

Downed whiskeys and slept,

He’s “worked on himself”, oh bitch please.

[severeseverance]

Limericking

There once was a boy in my bed

Whose hair was slicked back to his head

I gave him a shake.

He won’t come awake!

And to my chagrin, he is dead.

[severeseverance]

about a boy I can not know

I am so clumsy alone

All knees and a hoard of bees

Like air

Buzzing with whatever fills me

Slow and cold

Hot and frenzied

And fast

Patience was a virtue I never learned

I want it

You

Now

Always hastily made like a bed

That you won’t be sleeping in

Though there’s space for you

(You don’t want it)

(I do)

My lips move

Later I hear the sound

“Wow you’re beautiful”

I swallow it

Like a big pill- it takes work

To keep from spitting from my parted lips.

[severeseverance]

I never got to bleed.

I got to suffer all the wounds, all the words, all the silences and the space when the doctor prescribed them to me.

I got to sew them shut myself, unaided. No nurse. No rag to bite, no morphine.

I had to put the cast on myself- a home-made paper mache plaster that set around me so I could heal.

But the wound didn’t get to close,

The cast didn’t get to set,

Nobody took out the sutures.

Instead they were pulled apart with little snips every time I threaded my needle.

My own words used like tweezers to try and wrench my heart open, to try and salt the wound.

A preservative, they call it.

But preserving wounds won’t heal them. The congealed blood at the surface ruby-red and clotted and ugly and barbed.

I’m healing out of order, bloodying the carpets now with my dagger-tongue.

The blood isn’t mine this time, but it’s on my hands and it smells like pennies and self love.

[severeseverance]

several iterations of the same sentiment:

Stop.

Please stop.

Quit it.

Por favor, pàrate.

Leave me alone.

Ne continue pas.

Please for the love of god back off.

Get.

Fuck off.

Please do not continue this behavior.

I’m calling the police.

[severeseverance]

I understand what Ms O’Hara meant

when she said “as God as my witness,

I will never go hungry again.”

I will never let myself starve again.

I will never let myself wait for crops in a field that I didn’t sew myself.

I can rely on me: I trust her with my life.

And maybe I’ll be hungry.

But I won’t ever let someone starve me out again.

I will keep me fed, and watered, and sunned.

I will make myself write even when it hurts.

I will hold my tongue even when it begs to turn into a dagger and tear my world apart.

I am allowed silence.

I am allowed peace.

I will never

Never

Go hungry again.

[severeseverance]

I am short for words

That might describe the stroke of luck

That greeted me

When you did.

[severeseverance]

Vsg

[thegirlsinthecovven]

[severeseverance]

Medusa.

[severeseverance]

Happy Pride vsg

[yarrowforboundaries]

[severeseverance]

[severeseverance]

[yarrowforboundaries]

[severeseverance]

(uncaged) Familiar

Caramel-colored companion,

You (burnt, on one side)

Rattle the earth

At your leisure.

Still sometimes,

Sometimes rather un-still,

Or

Unsettled.

You speak only in

Whispers

And thumps.

Discerning tilts of the head.

You unfurrow my brow

Like plucked strings,

Like a well-timed

Santana solo.

[severeseverance]

To the Pantheon:

Oh,  gods.

Once again the insistent desire for love

Has rattled the wrought-iron

Bird cage

In my chest.

How long to wait until

the feathers settle?

Will the hopeful canary

Finish it's cadence

And echo, and dim,

And silence?

[severeseverance]

Theory

Before time when earth wasn't quite earth-shaped yet and we all were neighbors, we spoke a unified language.

As time passed and political and social boundaries were created the language was lost, forgotten even.

Consider reincarnation,

Our souls pass on one vessel for another but they keep inhabiting this earth. Maybe they inhabit others too. But certainly this one.

If under the effects of hallucinogenic substances one experiences an alternate realty and a heightened state of consciousness,

Is it not possible you can remember the mother tongue?  Learn to speak it even? Perhaps your soul deep deep down,  far far in, does in fact remember.

 Maybe we'd be able to remember our humanity a little better. Maybe if we all remembered we could actually hear each other.