Wordle #285

Photo by Christopher Parker on Unsplash

All the flowers in the garden have been plucked and repurposed into halos, vase-fillers, and oracles. None of which have served me particularly well. My life is mostly decoration and sleight of hand. People enter. Bridges burn. Hearts puncture (my heart has more holes in it than a colander).

I still view everything through the speculum that is trauma. I am vulnerable. I am exposed. I am open from the inside and stretched to my limits.

I am an ordinary person living violently at the bottom of a well. I have no outstanding features, unless by outstanding you mean distinctive. I am a pile of bones woven together with flesh and red string. I would rather be a kite than a thimble-full of brackish water. I would rather be a catalyst than a consequence of reason but you can’t have everything and that’s why I settle sometimes. If I could have everything then I would have a cabin in the woods, an attentive lover, a Pagan wedding, the soul of a poet, and the heart of a dog.

The sky is gray and gluttonous I pour my sorrows into the rain and the mud that wallows underneath my chilled feet. I have no stories, only rancor and a vague but unshakable sense of hopelessness. The only service I am capable of offering is lip service and like anyone else I search for meaning wherever I can find it. Mostly my life feels like a series of roundabouts and one-way streets. I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast. I dance when I hear music. I think in words. I feel in words. Sometimes my soul comes loose and I drop to my knees and wait for the moon to strike me dead.

Just gibberish rambling. I have been writing intensively for several days and now I need to recharge myself.

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Wordle #284

Even the flames of appetite

pass unanswered and unremarked

in the faux pas and arrogance of a new dawn.

You were never final,

never trustworthy,

never one to answer my prayers,

spoken or otherwise,

but in a dank and inscrutable darkness

we made use of our bodies

and created a moment

which felt very much like an always.

I watched you sleep

from a distance

and from a distance

you looked very much like love.

So much so that

I left my number

carelessly beside your phone

and put on your sweater

instead of my own.

Wordle #282 Hiraeth

A raw overcast sky

hangs softly outside

of my insolent, unblinking window.

A milkshake of monochromes

and bald-faced satellites

march unseen

behind the ashen veil.

I can feel myself sinking

with every breath.

My thoughts are heavy and insistent.

My hands are caged birds

weakened by tension

and fragile as they pound

fruitlessly against my pillow.

No one but me

can hear the cracks

taking hold of my heart.

No one but me can hear

the terrible, taunting hiss

of my liquid pain released.

The stars

count my wishes.

Wishes that I will

someday follow

from one adage to another.

Wishes that must be forgotten

to reach fulfillment

because more often than not

I get in the way of myself.

I am not patient

the way nature is patient.

I would rather destroy

something than contemplate

the hours between

one moment and the next.

The space between us

feels especially solid,

it has fangs and claws

and if I let you in

too deeply

I know your absence

will consume me.

We will always have

the moon floating

like a pumice stone

on top of the water

by the lake.

The leafy hands

of a primal nation

extending towards

our bare legs

like needy children

as we spin in circles

from one end

of your unkempt yard

to the other.

As I sit here,

in a state of hiraeth

and mild panic

I wonder

if I really have what it takes

to belong to someone,

to have memories of someone,

to be at home with someone

and not get lost

between the words.

Wordle #280 and Dream Interpretation #3 “Unfinished Songs”

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Photo by Jamakassi on Unsplash

A cluster of butterflies

should be called a jest

because of the way

they tumble through the air.

We were wild once,

our gardens ripe

with forbidden fruit,

our words falling

carelessly into space.

There is no cure

for love

only a slow

amelioration of guilt.

The heart

which exists

within and without

is turned

so that the nerve endings

are totally exposed.

My blood is sludge,

it pools and gathers

in the spaces

that you once occupied.

When I close my eyes

I am vivid

with your memory,

vivid with the taste

of my tears.

Tears that run both

hot and cold.

Tears which beat

against my cheeks,

gentle as pixie wings.

If I were diaphanous

I would accompany you

to the dark places

and the bright places

simply to be at your side.

In a universe

where time does not

move in a linear fashion

forever is an unbreakable promise.

A day eating sundaes in the park

could be eternal

or it could be two shadows

devolving in the light

of a new day.

I am inside out.

Humiliated.

Alone

with my memories

both good and bad.

I am not sick

so much as fallen.

God may not love me

any less

but you do

and that hurts

more than enough.

To you I am the enemy,

the interloper.

I know too much.

I understand nothing.

We lost each other

in a simple game

of hide and seek.

There are scars

where the stars

should be.

Furrows

of indifference.

Dreams

without fire.

Dreams

like small bones

which crack

when tested.

To me you are life itself.

I miss you

sounds trite

because you

were and always will be

momentous.

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Preview of the Wordle

Wordle 203

I anchor myself
to your tumultuous frame,
a little sea forming
between my thighs.
Your potent root,
wet with hunger,
searches deep.

In the inanition of darkness
you set fire to my skin.
I rock against you,
a shell of craving,
of curt, ravenous whispers.

Your touch summons me
from the sheets;
back-carving contortions,
a bridge of exaltation.
A beautiful dream
of flowers wasting beneath
two carnivorous satellites,
I promise to love you after
just as now.

I can feel
your startled breath
tickling my face.
Your mouth
cherry blossom-soft
presses against my mouth
and one by one
all my beautiful words
fall to pieces
in the swagger of your smile.

Pull me under the water
like a whirlpool
with your unruly tongue.
Kiss me until
the air melts
from my lungs.
Go wild in me,
shake the doubt
from my immaculate heart.

Your pulse swells
with every gulp,
a crescendo of heat
and thunder.
Stars detonate
in milky hollows
and we are remade
an atom at a time.
I nod in and out
of consciousness,
blueprints converging.
I find my soul pinned
to the constellations
of your scared, hungry eyes.

You Are The One Wordle #200

Wordle 200

I sense you in the dark,
in the weight of stars,
in dreams both
evanescent and obfuscating.
I place my faith
in the realness of you.
You are the one.

I want more
than a breath can hold.
I want to capture
your prayers in my mouth
and suck them until bursting.
Soft and verecund,
I want to lick
the wounds inside of you.
You are the one.

I make sketches of your hands
just so I have something to hold.
I want to wear you underneath
the simpering halo of dawn.
I can’t fathom your touch.
You are the one.

I am lost in forever.
I am lost in the spaces
where patience breaks.
I don’t know why
I am in such a hurry.
Everything you do
makes me love you more.
I want to eat the hours
inside of you.
You are the one.

Wordle #197

Wordle 197

My lips stumble
under a blood orange sky.
My bruised and blessed breath
breaks apart in repetition.
You plow me like a field,
patient until bursting.
I swallow your seed,
your vox populi,
your furnace full of stars.

I am a beautiful way to drown.
The ocean in you
feeds the ocean in me.
I will always find a place for you,
a place where everything
is taken whole
and nothing is rejected.

I watch your lips sulking
beneath a blameless horizon
our silhouettes eerie in the half-light,
our silhouettes throbbing hot
like a meteor shower.

my writing is still off

Wordle #196

Wordle 196

All I ever do is write
but words can only
take you so far.
Sometimes the air curves
like a waning satellite,
sometimes it takes
blood even to breathe.

My intuition falters
in the face of my fears.
I have forgotten
what it is to be
autonomous.
Advice never comes
free of expectation.
How do I stay wild
and still belong?

I am just a series
of regressions.
Sometimes it takes
greatness just to survive
from one moment to the next.
I gave it all away
without a thought
as to how I would ever
replace it and I just fell apart.

Now you say to me
do it again.
Do it again.
Give it up.
No one gets to have
No one gets to be
Writing just isn’t
something that
you can afford.
Be useful
go and shine
someone else’s shit.

Wordle #195

Wordle 195

I have not been
totally honest with you.
I have held my hands
to prevent my words
from crashing into you.
You are lovely as you are,
a confession wouldn’t make
you any more or less so.

The moon is so low
I have only to reach out
and I could take her
into my trembling arms.
When I dance with her
I think of all the ways
we could fall together.

My heart turns cartwheels.
I find ways to occupy my hands,
my time, my fragile, augean ego
just to keep my emotions
from my spilling over.
My sleeves are stained.
My sleeves are red and torn.
I pull the covers over my head.

The stars are so close
I can smell the smoke
rising from their golden skin.
Each breath is a prayer.
I count them under my breath.
I count them until
the numbers cease to make sense.

I spend my days
breaking myself down
with my fingertips
and a conjured image
of your gorgeous smile.
I would burn to cinders
if ever I found myself
underneath your body.

I am pretty only
when I am alive.
I have not been
totally honest with you.
My hands shake
even though they don’t speak
as my heart wills them to.
What is a goddess
if not a woman
overflowing with love?
I will keep my poems to myself.
I will wait until our destinies collide.

Wordle #194

Word Art (9)

Stridulate with anxiety

I search your face

for permission to speak.

I don’t know why

it has become so hard

to talk to you.

I don’t know why

I keep forgetting

who you are.

I don’t know why

I let your words

conceal my beliefs.

My heart is miles wide

and riddled with cracks.

My heart is wabi-sabi.

My heart is beautiful

when in use.

I wash the blood

from your wounds.

Wounds big as windows

but too dark to see through.

I was the girl with the stiletto tears.

I was the girl that spoke

about extraordinary love.

I was the girl who scared

you senseless.

We are walking backwards

in a room that smells of copper,

in a room wet with virtue.

I am your downfall.

I am lost in your sadness,

in your infinite guilt.

The soles of my feet

are bruised and torn.

I have walked for miles.

I have walked for ages.

I have prioritized your pain

over my own happiness

and you have done the same.

You attach your thoughts

to everything.

You eat up all the space

inside of me.

You let me throw

my love into a black hole.

You feel only

what you think

you deserve to feel

and you haven’t

felt even half

of what I’ve given.