☽moonlight☾

thoughts, poetry, and witchcraft she/her | 24 | wayward soul | chaos

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

i could hang out in your window pane for a thousand lifetimes, like a withering flower bestowed by a lover much too long ago.

i could lay under your blue sky immobile for a decade, accompanied only by the rush of the leaves in their desperate cycles.

i could very well marry the sunlight travelling your garden, who kisses my cheeks red and burning, whose garments’ threads i can only weave by your window.

i could veil myself in the purple of your flowers, cover my wrists and neck in their golden pollen, the image of a goddess sculpted in the walls of your body’s temple.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

the sun is of a summer’s day. the same sun appears to illuminate my feelings. although i struggle finding my way through the fog, every molecule around me is vibrating with exacerbated heat. i feel their warmth coddle me. all is better if not well.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

Faded Purple

you haven’t been 9 in a long time,

the flowers in your hair withered

and no longer sprout witchcraft

or wisdom untethered

in colours you no longer perceive.

monochrome spectra,

monochrome dreams,

a world barren, barren of thoughts,

of amber embraces, of light yellow words,

emerald touches or cerulean whispers.

the sun ceased kissing your forehead,

lonesome wanderer with rose eyes.

your wrists are solely held by the grey lens

deprived of benevolence, compassion,

even inspiration it knows not,

yet to some it appears as god?

i suppose some bushes it has burnt,

and more are to come, a desert,

vast emptiness awaits you,

and not the meadows promised.

i’m sorry.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

Reverence

i stand still, knees afloat,

rarely weight defines me,

buildings swipe at my sight:

orange, yellow, yellow, white,

i cannot comprehend them,

nor the weight of the life they hold

colourful parallel lines

to the string i was sold.

branches dancing their crowns,

enamoured with the wind,

still yet so far from me -

everchanging nymphs

chained to forever.

while my foot fits easily

between the tiles of the pavement,

it seems utterly futile to even try

to capture the world between few lines

or rhymes for that matter.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

if i could i would,

give you a million kisses if i could,

paint a billion more i should,

torn apart by a longing oh so crude,

burning yet not smeared by the lewd.

darling, i mean not be rude,

i’d rather devour you if i could.

three pleas to a flare too good:

eternally adore you

i would, i would, i would.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

dear lover…

you continue to be the sunlight reaching the southest parts of my being. gentle and beautiful human, you’ve left no side of mine unturned. you’ve made me a dancing moon following the steps of your soul’s song.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

I saw the reflection of the red traffic light in the glass panel at the bus stop, plastered on the background of the morning sky, and I thought it was the most magical setting moon I’ve yet encountered. The foolish and blind truly are the happiest. Maybe I ought to watch the world with only half eyes open, then the scattered and diffracted light spikes will guide me to meaning.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

I’ve seen the most gorgeous sunset of my life at the end of a truly wonderful day unlike most. The whole sky was burning pink with a golden aura and it simply took my breath away. It took away the ache in my body as well even if just for a moment. Why can’t I wrap my hand around it and let it in turn wrap itself around me? To colour me in its colours that are unknown to my pale and tormented body full of brimestone.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

I’d much like to walk into the sea:

let my blood flow into its water

‘til it becomes translucent-

eternally woven to the eternal,

the sea a vessel for my body-

my body a vessel for the sea.

Long and prolonged damnation,

sable horrid ink in my veins,

is my feather enough to release thee?

Or is my blood thy sole bearer?

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

today i am in the mood to just scream and scream and scream i am filled with so much rage that i feel i could split the globe in half

[cutecipher]

science has always been political. what gets studied. what doesnt. who gets to do the studying. on and on and on.

[cutecipher]

scientists on this post: yuuuup 👍

people who aren't scientists: um actually ☝️

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

lord tell me how to fight my disdain for the mundane, for i am losing integral parts of myself every passing second in this chair

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

on careers

as of late i’ve been particularly stirred by my own place in the world. I have had concerns about my condition as a human being since way too early in my childhood, courtesy of the needles my brain was born with, about how to be a proper person in this society that has always felt foreign to me. the more i seeked to understand humans, the more enamoured i became with humanity, specifically with the details of day to day existence in which we lose self awareness and truly show ourselves. alas, i became comfortable with my place amongst people, but i further alienated myself from society. i knew from a young age with certitude that i wanted to be an academic, and i followed my path with ease, but the more i advanced, the more my confidence in my choice has dimmed, and the more it felt like a curse. i no longer know what my place is in academia, voided of the interconnectedness it requires to be meaningful. instead, i feel like i must become a machine of ideas if i wish to continue, ideas devoid of the beauty i grew up loving. all of this has fuelled my alienation from the work i do and pierced the love i had for it.

i am overwhelmed with all the wonderful things i could be doing. i’d much rather be the jack of all trades than the master of any. i don’t want to be an academic. i want to be someone who works in academia, but who also writes poetry and paints, who also does activism out of a deep love for everything human, i want all of these to equally define me as a person. i do not want to lose myself to a single label that determines who i am viewed as by capital, i just want to be a human.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

The Smell of the Sea Makes You Dizzy

The smell of the sea makes you dizzy, The distant sound of trumpets, the whooshing of the harbour, A whisper riding on thin air to remind you: You’ve been here before. In another life, Or perhaps it was the tumult that flows throughout you, Its waves crashing on the walls of the cage you call a body, That you’ve abandoned years ago.

The smell of the sea makes me dizzy, Its waves rhythmically crash at my feet, And with their sound I am reminded; I’m but a pawn in the greatest game invented, And this very life Is just a small price to pay for all that is, all that was, and all that will be. Perhaps i’ve seen it in the varnish of old paintings, And the cracks in the city’s walls; In a wall that’s fallen not so long ago For ideals none remembers now.

Then too my body shall fall Like the shells of the bullets still stuck in old buildings, And in the rotting bodies of revolutionaries Who made the pain of the world theirs; Such that with no life, It shall be I that returns as a whisper and a shiver like a thunder, Riding on the salt coming with the breeze, From the sea whose smell makes you dizzy.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

i was once a gifted child

i once used to hold the sun barehanded, bind familiar pearls with its light, but suddenly the thread unraveled, crushing me beneath its weight. now eerie bruises slowly circle my neck, as if the string of my fate is knotted yet.

the pomegranate crumbles under my foot, its bloody seeds splash with empty aphorisms: a future once held in a fine porcelain urn, becomes fragments crawling amongst dust and worthless shards once it hits the ground; i was born with fingers too stiff to gather them.

in a past life i was a blue flamed fire, the smoke whose fingers touched heaven, only to rapidly be buried in dreary ash. no star wanders in my eyes no longer, and my limbs might as well be cut off.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

falling sand

bloody and passionate tongue licking scrawny circular ribs over and over and over and, with a terrible screeching, each second its spikes scratch the meat brutally off the bones.

violent kaleidoscope of instances, (days, hours, minutes, seconds, seconds, seconds, seconds, seconds…) of infinite degrees of freedom collapsing with every blink: to right now.

insufficiently lost in this body, on this map described by arrows; the arrow of the clock is held against my back: just enough to draw blood, to paint the trace of false inevitability. its pierce smells of pain that so far i’ve mistaken for guidance.

i will rise against my fate.

i will rise against cruel time.

[wordsofaweepingmoon]

of course i search for you ceaselessly in the empty spaces between the mud of reality and the clouds of the absolute. oh, silly, i have no will of my own, i only crawl helplessly over your footsteps, guided by the bloody leash that entangles us.