it's so simple but it took me so much time to actually DO IT
(do you know when you want to do something and you just... don't?
okok so now.... I did it! ihihihih)
I'm folding the printed versions here as I type and tomorrow I will take them to the library, coffee shop, and other little art shops in my town :) and you can get yours for free here!
Download, print, and fold: the mini poetry zine is all yours! xx
GO MINI ZINES
does love exist without sacrifice?
and does sacrifice exist, with no pain?
painless life, I see no gains!
just another robot in the rain
unable to feel the drops
chilling their veins cold
these are ages of veinless love
but the soul is in the blood
we have no artery, no bump, no heart
no ups and downs
as God intended
we are lifeless!
if it doesn't move
it's dead, they told me
but on that calm Sunday
no suffering, no thunder
and I realized
I would rip my chest apart
just for you, for a smile
to smell your breath
or anything like it
no big problems required
the sacrifice was
already done inwards
me, lying down at the altar
while love aches, in invisible
pure and beautiful slaughter
In the wilderness of my heart,
I was wandering, listening
The wind cried, and so did I
But my dry were my tears
Until I saw him
Against the horizon line
Shining as the sunrise
The mountains far behind
falling apart, silently
They bowed down
and I reached out to touch
The light
The fountain of wine
Exploding in the middle of my desert
Good things take time? Sometimes. There are dreadful things that happen for too long, and amazing splits of a second. The amount of time and effort are not the main indicators that something has value.
I was thinking that specifically because of my poems — because I was arguing with myself the other day about how I feel they have no value, even though I'm aware this is the wrong thought to think (and I will always defend thinking and feeling something is a real experience, but not necessarily rooted in truth). But poems... What are these little creatures? It's just that they happen so quickly! They burst from my mind and I type as fast as I can so I don't lose the line. They are not perfect, but they are mine, and they are true, and they are... Valuable.
I cried one day on my way to the coffee shop to see my new friend and give him the poem I wrote for him. Our friendship was two weeks old. The poem took me less than ten minutes to write, and while reading it, he cried. We sat under the sun for about three hours (not the whole day, not a whole life), and then he walked me back to the bridge — probably a five-minute walk.
All of that had immense value. Priceless treasure. It happened fast. It burned my heart forever.
To me writing it's just what I do, something I can't stop doing and I will never stop doing even if I don't ever publish anything at all. I don't struggle to write, I struggle with physical pain/fatigue, my own wrong thoughts, a busy routine and other shit, but writing will happen. At some point in my day, I just have to do it.
So yes, we live in times where things are immediate, and I will always advocate for the slow life, slow growth... I don't believe in rushing the process or jumping stages. It takes time to build true skills even in the creative, intuitive realm. It does! But also, sometimes, things happen fast. Maybe you have a talent, or you practised so much that know it just "comes naturally." Maybe you've been deeply inspired. Maybe your brain is wired that way (@goodluckclove). Whatever it is: what you do still has value even if you struggle to do it, or when you do not struggle at all. Value is within.
I decided to do with this one that was waiting in my draft for the first tag list post. Thank you, angels.
His lips are shaped like mid-flight wings, his tongue, in the grace of feathers. The sunset-pink shade, two tones darker than his sharp cheekbones (when it's hot in the summer), swallowed me whole: my heart exploded; expanding in his safety, magically contained. I'm kept, I'm sane—perhaps I'm cracked open, devoured by love. Golden, ginger hair, as the light strikes his face; the warm brown of his kind, smart, all-seeing eyes shine upon my fate, and bring my soul from the pit of myself, putting me high in the mountains of somewhere else: a place I've never been before, higher than my intellectual shelves. He takes my hand, my icy fingers against his warm skin, and I don't think. I follow his lead, as he stands like a collum made of marble, in truth and spirit. Backbone and spine: he will smile and the world will be silent to hear the music of his laugh, the world will blush on the curve of his neck, and with his words, I faint a little closer to the death of the flesh. He covers me, and I bow down. He rises and I descend into the ground. At his feet, I sit down, on his lap, I rest my head—taken, inebriated, undone—navigating the beauty of what is unavailable to the old worldly world: the dissolving of two in one.
Unease feeling, throat squeezed tight
Under the orange sunset’s dying light
Moon burns bright as a candle at night
Crying for the earth, where nothing is right
A little morbs here and there
It’s alright, no rush, no despair
We don’t have to be always so joyful
Sadness doesn’t make life that awful
But loneliness, at the end of the day
Vulnerable creatures, our defenses we lay
Before all these photographs of dead faces
And the quiet words, unjustly suffocated
In this void space there is no winner
We search for a hand in the darkness
Only to find our backs in the mirror
Only to find in our necks a harness
And reconsider, we are but beginners
Oh, light—please, disarm and forgive us!
Take yourself for a walk, leave the sketches
Behind, and also the poems, despise
The billions of empty books and voices
Search for His footsteps in the ashes
Of all the vain distractions, all the burdens
Of all the things we do and fight so hard to keep
Search for truth and let it open the curtains
Expose these false gods and rulers, so cheap
That’s when the sadness turns into joy
An arrow pointing our way to the north
We are not yet where we wish to be
Be brave, sailor, as we cross this sea!
To home, bought by the blood of His wounds
All ugliness, soulless spaces and their gloom
all traps of the heart will be gone—predators too!
No more sunsets or sunrises, or wandering at noon
For the light of His face will be our sun and moon
Eternal joy and beauty, for me and for you
Endure now, sailor, these stormy waters with me
The lack of meaning, the sorrows, their cruelty
Grab your sword, for the stars will soon be black
And once we are called, don’t ever look back!
Even when your rest is all you can give
Or a whispered prayer, wishing you could leave
Lay down now, be safe, his promise is peace
No fear: eternally in His kingdom we shall live
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