TripsOfTheSoul @triplewordscor3 - Tumblr Blog

The moon is presumed mute—its silence is the silence of death. But when it does speak, it speaks in the language of shadows. You speak this language, too. It was your first language, our shared first language, the language of the dark. When you can’t scream in nightmares, it is the moon caught in your throat, a bright white rolling marble that garbles the voice, makes it choked and animal. Moonlight smells like chalkboard, like snowcloud, like a rock in the dirt. You can skin it with a glimpse, lay its pelt down by the hearth, and wrap yourself in its furred light. No weapons, no blood. A glimpse as it shifts in time; what a thing to witness, the full moon’s monthly resurrection.

The Hunter’s Moon is up, and “The Moon in Full” series continues at the Paris Review.

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Knock

I am not a being

Of divine and shining light.

Born on a cold

January afternoon

My heart was halved;

50/50 ice and fire,

A natural disaster

That I could weaponize

As I grew.

I have the gift of cruelty,

Cutting wit that slits

Metaphorical wrists

In an instant,

Just a blink.

My brain contains

The finest laser

Genetics can build,

Zeroing in

On deep insecurities,

Leaving a peaked path

Of destruction and damage

In my power-drunken wake.

Baking fightless bones,

Flightless in cauldrons

Of my callous coldness,

Stirring, stirring

Until all the walls

Are broken down.

Do you remember

That part in Breaking Bad

Where Walt says

"I am the one who knocks!"

And Skylar stares at him

With unsettlingly

Green eyes,

Dirty fishbowls full

Of desperate disbelief?

I was looking

Into the mirror

And suddenly

Fear was upon me

Because I felt myself

Knock - knock - knocking

On the doors

Of ambiguous figures,

Undeserving of my sharp tongue,

My brutal mouth,

My savage script.

And suddenly

The sadistic dance

Of cutting down

Someone formerly deserving

Was washed

Of the black glitter

It was coated in,

Minute diamonds

Finding their righteous way

Down the shower drain

As I sat in the steam

For countless hours,

Letting my body

Scream sweat

And cleanse

The wayward way

Of my rule.

But still,

Sometimes,

When the bad side

Hitchhikes right back

Into my brain,

I wade waist-deep

Into the swamp waters

Of direct hits

And emotional gunshots,

And I hear myself knocking,

I hear myself knocking,

And I can't stop.

rllygay

sugarmint-dreams

sustancy

fuckyeahchinesegarden

光严禅院 and 无漏秋山, chongzhou崇州, chengdu, sichuan province

riversofample

Happy 29th Bearthday, Bea.

5 years ago, I destroyed myself. I broke myself down. I went so far deep into my pain, I could not see a way out. I wandered the streets aimlessly, in tears - talking to myself. I harmed myself, physically and laughed as I watched myself bleed. i destroyed my safe space. When I woke the next day after that night, I was still in pain. I was sore from the previous nights self harm, but I realized I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t want to be alone inside my grief, inside my ptsd, inside myself.... I didn’t want to be by myself. 50 minutes shy of my birthday, I am emotional. I am so happy to be alive. So happy to be allowed another trip.

I've evolved so much, in what is seemingly such a short amount of time. I found myself in the nooks and crannies of all that pain and resentment I harbored. I came out ahead of all the things that were supposed to make me less than what I am. I am a necessary fixture of this existence. Individually, we are but a drop a water in an infinite sea of rarities, I’m pleased to just be a drop.

I celebrate myself this evening leading into the day I came to be; for my tenacity. My perseverance, my heart and soul, my entire being. Even on the days that I forget, deep down-- I know what I possess.

Happy Bearthday, Bea. You are loved & cherished for who you are- right now.