#keyboardghost

[keyboardghost]

time is but a concept, but you are not. you are so incredibly real. take care of yourself.

2016

1. keep working hard. you have made so much progress and will only make more. remember who and what you are fighting for. 

2. love yourself. you have spent far too much time in your life mistaking your reflection for a monster. you are a product of God, of thousands of atoms filled with light. remember that. 

3. love others. when you die, your love is the only part of you that will live on. love others, as flawed as they are. 

4. respect your body. you only have one. 

5. be more open. you do not deserve to cultivate the pain inside of your body. tell others your story and fuck those quotes that say you don’t need to share. you do. keeping things inside only leads to internal bleeding. 

6. free yourself from the past. you’ve survived things so dark and cold. you’ve made it. remember your past, respect and acknowledge it, but do not anchor yourself there. look to the future, to the beautiful present. 

7. forgive. it won’t be easy. 

8. unlearn negative habits. in moments where you have hurt yourself or someone else, reflect. how can you unlearn it? you will never be perfect, but you can always be good.

9. pray. for everyone and everything. recite your nightly prayers. rekindle your relationship with God. He has been waiting so patiently. 

10. read. you’re blessed with the ability to pass from world to world. rediscover the lands you miss so dearly. 

11. write. you’ve been much too quiet lately. unearth the poetry that you’ve tucked away so neatly. 

12. be soft. you will be the braver for it. 

13. be yourself. you are so full of light. 

14. spend more time with nature. smell the trees, the dirt. feel how soft the world is. 

15. breathe. take it one day at a time. this year will be the year of healing, of growth, and maturity. you will get tired. you will get frustrated. remember to breathe. you are so good. you’ll grow softer. trust in that. 

[keyboardghost]

on the seashore of your life,

i found hollow shells--

parts of you spit back to the earth

by whimsical ocean gods.

l.c 

[keyboardghost]

i keep dreaming of angels, of their massive, winged hulls lined with the scars that they earned, like medals for tattered soldiers, when they crash-landed on earth. (they were sent down to keep us safe; to kiss the heroin-addicts in their sleep-- but their skin cracks in their ache to escape, back to the heavenly and the divine) i keep dreaming of angels, of their natural tendency to destroy. and in the darkness of the nightmare when i wake, i keep seeing their shadows burned like tattoos in my retinas, blindingly bright. i keep my hands held in front of me, praying for salvation or an apocalyptic decimation.

they arrived by the flock, l.c.

[keyboardghost]

men who love with their fists

when the world stops at my front door, asking for some leftover change i will hand over that ring you gave me when you still thought love could cure you. because honey, there is not enough tenderness in the universe to incubate your heart. there is no saving grace and we’re all losing. my arms are not your temple and you were never meant to worship me like a long-lost goddess, leaving impressions of your palms on my skin like they could heal you and make you immortal. well, you had another thing coming, didn’t you? because men who love with their fists and mutter apologies through vodka and flowers do not have the privilege of confessing their sins and hoping for redemption. men who love with their fists think they are invincible, think they can outrun gods with the words on their tongue. but what men who love with their fists do not realize is that women who love with their heart and fight with their fists dismember gods in their sleep. l.c.

[keyboardghost]

before i turned seven my mother liked to hoist me onto her shoulders so i could munch on the night sky. it was my favorite treat. i loved the way the stars burst like sour lemons on my tongue, the excess shimmering down the side of my mouth. some taste like dinosaurs and molten lava, others like daisies and the breeze that runs through them on a tepid spring day. my mother used to pick the plumpest of the stars like ripe apples and balance them on the tip of my nose. she told me the best part of dining on the universe was watching it inhale and exhale before your very eyes before you consumed it. i would worry, think that before long there would be no more stars left. but my mother only laughed and stood a little taller. the celestial feast was ours to take forever. even now, when my belly aches with the churning of stars still digesting, i know that she was right. even now, when the night is so dark not even the moon can give us first aid. i know she was right. manifest destiny, she used to say. the universe is ours to take.

l.c

[keyboardghost]

the baker died during intermission

i am made of marmalade and half-baked sentiments. the dirt underneath my fingernails is a cold reminder that you failed to keep me safe though i can’t remember the last time someone held my hand, i can recall the last time you said my name you said, “it isn’t worth it” and i don’t know if you meant that we weren’t, or i wasn’t. whatever the case, i am made of marmalade and i am crumbling in your palm i am half-baked sentiments, burnt at the edges raw and trembling at the core. enjoy me while you can.

[keyboardghost]

everyone writes about love like they actually know what they’re talking about. they think secret kisses underneath the stars make their story immortal. young lovers hold hands in the dark and think they are the light of the world. well. they should see the way we dance. they should see the way our eyes burn the skin of each other’s lips. we do not love quietly, we do not neck after school and call that romance. our love is wild. our love is a desperate attempt to tame deep sea creatures that were never meant to be discovered. we do not hold hands--we never let go. we do not leave hickeys--we leave maps. we do not sip coffee under the stars, we hunt for the bastards that thought we didn’t deserve to be part of their constellations. our love is not like yours, tame and soft. our love breaks yours like cigarettes crushed beneath our boots.

keyboardghost

[keyboardghost]

day 10

i hate that you taste the best not in my arms but caught between my bite l.c.