#freeformwriting

[silvers-writing]

I’m used as a spare tire. You get a flat, you pop me on for a few days, then, when you get your shiny new tire, you toss me back into the trunk. Day in day out. I’m there to fill a void for someone, never important enough to be my own thing to anyone.

All I’ve ever wanted was to be something real to someone again.

I’ve never been one for physical touch. It gets too hot, too weird to be that close to someone else. But god what I would give for a hug from someone right now.

Well. Not just anyone. But you’ve been gone for almost three years now. You were one of the few who made me feel like an irreplaceable part. Something that, if you got rid of it, the whole car would fall apart. Someone who matters.

She can try and wear the badge of “best friend” all she wants. If that makes her happy, fine.

Only we’ll ever know the meanings of that.

[olivesinthegreengarden]

[cassiaflow]

Forgotten Art

A new chapter was emerging

and one I didn’t feel I had

the time

to witness

.

Loneliness

is a forgotten art

and a dimly lit bedroom

I call upon

.

Unkempt

In my hot arms

folding into

the covers of gravity

.

I learned little

jumping from one host

to the next

digging

.

Flesh on flesh

forgotten (you will always have meant something to me)

Feels

(like a season for now)

finished

.

10.29.20

Poem by Cassy Brown

.

[olivesinthegreengarden]

I don’t dream of labor

Is it so bad that I don't dream of labor? I don't want to become a doctor or a lawyer or a businesswoman. All three of those types of jobs that I have listed have someone's life in my hands. And I just don't want to do that. I also don't dream of having a 9-5 job 5/7 days. But I also want to make over  100k a year and not have to worry about money. But all society has been told is to have this lifestyle you need to work, you need to go to college. work. activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result. work is such an ugly word. I wish I was one of those rich people who don't have to work a day in their life because of their generational wealth. They were brought into this world with anything and everything. Their only problem being is that their parents got them the gold Versace instead of the black one. Or having to wake up early to get their hair and makeup done for the fashion show. But I wasn't born into those things. But I'm not them. That doesn't mean I can't be. I will be for a matter of fact. - By me! :))

[cassiaflow]

Misplaced Dreams

I brought this bag of belongings with me

filled with birds, a tiger, a sprinkling of ink pens

when smoke coats the air

lungs are a brazen, tannined tomb

.

I cannot tell who the weather decided to be this lazy morning

sit out on a sunlit day when she gleams

lose myself in oracles of dancing white

sit in on a day of her tears and lose myself still

.

in the shadows

It took an unspecified amount of pacing to revive

what it is to rest- I am still embodied

by a buzzing that will not settle on a rose

.

My fingers are bowing and I have hollowed

the hope scooped out of me like a gourd

a dense scraping thick and constant

gutted. guttural

.

It’s not much of a feeling at all

rather the remnants of memories

that were once embued

driven out by a dull yellow yearning

.

8.2020

Poetry by Cassy Brown

[xoxo-moni]

Thinking about today. • • • #narrative #freeformwriting #writing #thoughts #life #journey #growingup #comingofage #personal #poet #writersofinstagram #writer #poetsofinstagram #poetry #poem (at New Orleans, Louisiana) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnEimzqH6vs/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=8lcjqis16qyt

[chingchongblazinbong]

You may never find me but it feels good to talk about you.

To let you out. To let you go

[cassiaflow]

Mary Jane's Last Dance

This song reminds me of losing my innocence -middle school- the fleshy coma of my first break up, my first round of tearing myself into tiny bits to learn to rebuild-

This song reminds me of first finding solace in nylon strings, opened in the hours of solitude after school before my parents would come home, where I would come to know myself in all my exposed rawness, pain and joy-

This song reminds me of my Grandpa Francis, cedar wood burning in a fireplace in Northern Idaho, trips to the hardware store and for huckleberry or moosetrack ice cream-

This song reminds me of Morgan, my best friend from high school, her pursed-lip guitar playing face, car rides through Spokane & Nine Mile & Suncrest listening to Tom Petty & Jimi & Sublime, and late nights lying on fringe carpet in one of our rooms, music still going deep into the night, as we would try our best to tell each other everything was alright-

And now I think this song might be embedded with memories of a phase ending~ of leaving my college town, college community, sea breeze breaths, to find expansion in solo expeditions-

Of this house on top of a hill, with the orange kitty, where I sit in the bird watching chair writing poetry about cherry blossoms and wide open skies and love slipping away-

Where I felt real love in my own embrace even amongst the chaos of life’s uncertainty -and somewhere lost inside all of these layered memories- I feel ready

4.16.17 by Cassy Brown