#naology

[logopoetics]

You're fumbling, fingers slipping on the bottle cap, and my heartbeat is stuttering in my chest like you've asked it to recite all the things it's ever thought about you, but the steadiness of your eyes belies you. Your gaze is somehow always on me when I'm not looking, like you've synchronized to the rhythm of my nervousness. Outside, the sky is an infinite abyss that does not frighten me but the constellations in your irises make me weak, leave me trembling like I'm ready to fall apart, like my entire body has changed frequency to get your attention.  I do not remember the glass in my hand but I know your fingertips grazed my skin and it still feels warm there, the echo of your touch a beacon burning brighter than the sun - igniting on my guilt and your goddamned gravity that draws me in no matter how many miles or inches or months or excuses I throw between us. We've stopped laughing, sticky glasses pinched in our fingers, our breaths hovering between us. It burns going down but everything does, in the end, and god, sometimes I just wish you'd fucking kiss me already.

piacular (© nico snyder)

[wooingwithwords]

naology

naology n. the study of holy buildings

“Ah, Héloïse, my dearest. I have taken up naology, mostly because your body is a temple.”

[logopoetics]

I was always a little ahead of the crowd, always hungry for what was next - tethered down by my mama’s voice always calling me back.

[logopoetics]

i We are always on this trip, always putting distance between the moments in which we almost cave. I put pebbles in my mouth to keep it full and quiet, to keep my loose tongue from unlocking all the things I've stored behind my teeth. I can hear the rattle behind your locked jaw, I know the rhythm and the rhyme - and we hum it quietly. ii Over the summer I grew so sad over you I let myself get swallowed up in the sunlight, lying on the floor in my spare room. But winter came and my bones were too tired to be unearthed so I let the moss grow over me, and I didn't mind the darkness or the silence. But even with all that soil in my throat, your name still sprouted on my tongue as soon as I rose up and nothing else was loud enough to drown it out. iii There are seasons where my ribs go dark and white at the same time; bone-dry and brittle like all the half-truths we've used to lay this foundation. I planted forget-me-nots all along the path I walk when I can't shake you from this skin but they grew too fast and followed me everywhere I went. Call it friendship, call it nothing, call it imagining things after too many drinks. We can name it whatever we please but I think it's time we stop hiding these great trees in our ribs and let them hear each other.

good god, just fucking kiss me (© nico snyder)

[logopoetics]

I am gutting myself - publicly - not allowing for shadows to distort the true gruesome fashion with which I will cut myself apart, waiting for the hushed awe of the crowd, waiting for the rush of adrenaline as my body crumples to meet the earth in a violent, harsh embrace. I am nothing but shades of sin cast in light, shadows distorting on walls and floors and hearts like secrets only half told and only half remembered. I welcome the darkness more than I welcome the light.

untitled (© nico snyder)

[logopoetics]

I wake up in this place, in this body, but they are not mine and the flavor still on this tongue is envy tinged with cowardice and I recognize your face even behind these strange eyes but you are so far away, so far away. This body loses pieces of itself, sheds them like debris in its wake, leaving trails or evidence or messages. These are not my lungs sputtering in my chest, this is not my heart, stuttering around the kernel of a memory where this mouth found yours in a darkness that absolved us of the sin, this is not my ache that's nestled into this stomach.

i have nowhere to run when you're in the room (© nico snyder)

[logopoetics]

Today, my boss kissed the loaves of bread he threw away from yesterday and I stood there, watching him, knowing he didn't see me. I have spent the day chewing on this. There are some of us that have so much that our trash gets fat, too. I thought about the times my husband told me he was hungry and there was nothing I could do to fix it and I thought about how lucky we were that those moments were not more frequent. There are some of us that have so little, that somehow there is never enough to go all the way around. I thought about the times I might have shared what I had and felt no comfort in knowing I do not have much. My mother taught me well enough - to never be selfish about my food, that a full stomach means nothing to an empty heart.

and still, i cannot do enough to quiet the voice that says "do more" (© nico snyder)

[logopoetics]

I still think about you and I hate the way you creep into my head like roaches, making your little home somewhere dark and quiet. Mostly, I think about you when I follow ambulances in traffic. Mostly, I think about you self-destructing. Mostly, that's because that's all you ever taught me to expect.

confessions (© nico snyder)