#type ohs

[type-ohs]

castle up high, thing of yearning. it’s cooler here, where the glass touches blue, fingertips to horizon. muffled away, some forgotten dreamscape. remember the corners of the Earth? tunneled tight in heat dark soil. how do you handle the reeling? cold exposure, grappling midair, the tower you built? quiet. so much hush. just you, the safety net you wove yourself. staring down a thousand miles to the                           sun.

a type-oh

[type-ohs]

i’d swear to your god that somewhere in that black water haze of not-reality i saw          myself. backdropped by the moon, foot of the bed, shrouded like a friday night all dressed down and                                       nowhere to be. in sleep-muteness, the kind where we could face the devil                        without flinching, you know, heart so sluggish like limbo. what does that say when your past visits and your tongue is too heavy to offer                 sanctuary? what does it say that i was asleep before i remembered the blinds, the curtains, the wall cornering the bed? that i always forget                                    space occupied? what does it mean three years, no wings, ended just like                            that.

a type-oh

[type-ohs]

what is it, then, about winter, who lacks the wild-beating heart of summer? is it the shock which rips, with ice, the laughter from your throat? the snow which rushes, churns, until the whole world is stock still? without a soul, a silhouette, to bear its witness, to breathe? that’s it, then, to scream, to heave, in the privacy of the eyes of the world. so sigh the heat from your lungs, your heart, where everyone can see this proof.

a type-oh

[type-ohs]

penser et croire sont pas  espère  parce-que espère  est être  du ciel-  pas toujours comme  un oiseaux  mais là, toujours.

a type-oh

[type-ohs]

“we are not all made for nicety.

those of us who do not beg pretty, cannot soften our S's, can bend and arch to imitate the dance but it'll always feel like imposter.

voices to throw knives, never to breathe sweetly. find us made out of cuts and bites and never 'yes, please.'

'cause it's simple as this:

i don't know shit about love. i don't believe in anything beyond dusk and lamplight, so here's to hoping i never know my own strength. that i always clutch to breaking.

here's so-long to romance, may it never own me.”

[type-ohs]

this is a lesson in burning gently. smoldering just shy of sweltering. the sun will bleach your eyelids and turn your insides red. you'll shrink so small the sky may swallow you whole. it will envelope you, vastly blue. speak so your voice rushes from you in a whisper. there is refuge in shade, but heat lingers. it does not disperse so easily. may its warmth bring comfort in nostalgia, the memory of this. of too-long grass and peeling paint. of cracks in the sidewalk, in the fence, in the leather of the car seats. of corners that have cluttered longer than we've been alive. of ants on the counters and holes in our wallets. of your thoughts droning, outwards and upwards, like some distant swarm.  this is a lesson in letting go.

a type-oh

[type-ohs]

meet me in solitude. in too deep to see the sky, meet me where creek connects cliffside. meet me barefoot in the mud. in the shade, in the sun-dappled wind. there's nothing for it but to go. strong women are born here, they die here, never really leave here. haunt with me, this place, beneath a bridge that asks, are you okay? wear nothing but a smile.

a type-oh

[type-ohs]

nights like these, i feel like dirty water, a lot of muddy sediment drifting somewhere in limbo. wouldn’t you know that i’m staring into darkened rooms- so much waiting? staring even as my gaze shifts in pantomime movement. the breathing of the curtains, the flicker of the lamp, maybe, if we’re lucky, the wavering shadows of branches beyond the window. nights like these, my heart weighs heavily upon itself, a leaden pipe sunken in the shallows.

a type-oh