you tossed me lifejackets when i drowned in days that turned hours into thrashing waves.

you douse me with extinguishers when i burn down like a house

because i can’t make my body feel like a home.

you put strength in my bones like it’s a gift of love,

but when you feel most forlorn and the universe looks pointless,

i will slip power back into your pockets like it’s something borrowed,

because we are not ever truly alone and you have always been the point.

- “something borrowed”

misery afflicts me like a disease, 

but hope makes an addled physician out of me,

as i devour paintings and poetry, love and lyrics 

and everything in between as medicine,

in hopes that the Polaris 

or a forget-me-not 

or anything, 

anything, 

anything could be

the remedy. 

- “remedy”

i am a fighter even if my fight looks like 

cowering in a black room because bleak thoughts 

make the world spin, when i yearn to be motionless, anchored to ceramic tile—anchored to something.

i am a fighter even if my fight looks like 

cradling my quivering body when the world says 

i should wield it like machinery, 

as if these soft hands could ever tear down anything besides myself.

i am a fighter even if my fight looks like 

seeping blood, sweat and tears as i mourn the wounds instead of stitching them up.

i am a fighter even if my fight looks like

longing to surrender, but lingering for hope to trickle in like light through a cracked door. 

- “another kind of fighter”

i buried the map to my body, my being, like it was something to grieve, 

but you discovered it like treasure; you unearthed places only i knew of 

with such tenderness i would swear we’ve swapped bodies through kisses 

because how could anyone else find flowers in a wasteland? 

how else could i be loved, as i have always ached to be loved, 

if not through my own hands? 

- “buried treasure”

you cannot tell me that time is an arrow, as i stand taller than my mother, 

yet shrink in her shadow like it’s my first day of school and i am 6 years old. 

and often i still am, as i transport worms out of gutters and mourn snails squashed on pavements. 

but sometimes it’s 12 am and i’m 7, dissecting dark corners in my room like it’s a crime scene

and i’m now the investigator searching for ghosts

in place of monsters that once made me the victim. 

other times it’s 6 am and i’m 10, but i’m not stirring from nightmares, 

i’m slipping out of bed and into them, like shackles instead of slippers. 

then i’m 14 with secrets that mark me in scratches, in bruises and insecurities,

but i mask them with lies and schoolwork and sweaters and smiles

that split my face in half to distract from the pit that is my chest. 

suddenly—perhaps finally—i’m 16 in August and every hour is 3 in the afternoon;

the hospital bed feels like the precipice and everything that comes after is the descent

because time is not linear, it is not the arrow or the bullet. 

sometimes it feels like the plunge before the collapse,

like forever pointing the gun, but never pulling the trigger,

or standing with the bow drawn, but never letting go because you’re always pulling back. 

- “time is no arrow”

if turning water into wine

could make a man divine,

you must surely be sublime

the way you turn a February moon

into a waxing gibbous,

and a city sky’s dull stars

into clusters of wishes,

and the way you make

poetry from prosaic sentences,

and backseats and bedrooms

into replicas of heaven.

you change music of any genre

into gospel, of which i sing

in love and in reverence,

“you are divine,

you are divine!”

of this, i’m certain.

should you ever question your sanctity

or—god forbid—my worship,

may these poems be the proof,

the evidence,

the testament.

- “you are divine”

you were dollhouses and cartoons on Saturday afternoons, sleepovers and shenanigans and secrets our parents never knew, you were my first home away from home, the kind of sister you choose through love, not blood. you were swimming pools and root beer floats and amateur duets in the back seat of your mother’s car. 

you were letters from California and loneliness in classrooms and school buses in Florida. you were open arms and ease and faith that friends can stay friends despite how they leave. 

now you’re a birthday party i won’t attend, but you’re still a birthday i won’t ever forget. you’re a single picture posted on a screen, as i wonder what you sound like or if you still think of me. 

you’re Sunday brunches with people i don’t recognize, but sometimes envy, because i wish they were me; they get to know who you are now and i’ll only know who you used to be.

- “you were dollhouses”

Take the good with the bad

Here’s to the ones that never leave

Here’s to the ones that left

Here’s to the ones that have accomplished something they can be proud of

Here’s to the ones that are down on their luck

Here’s to the ones who keep trying

Here’s to the letting go of the past

Here’s to new beginnings

Here’s to living for tonight

Here’s to the future

Here’s to 2020! Have a Happy New Year!

To whoever feels lost this holiday season

To whoever feels alone

To whoever feels sad

To whoever feels like things won’t work out

To whoever feels hopeless

Jesus Christ the light of the world was born today to bring hope to the world.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

Christmas is something that I loved as a kid but now that I’m older it doesn’t feel right anymore.

I know in my heart it’s supposed to be more than buying gifts, commercialism…etc but now that I’m grown it’s hard to get past that.

Christmas doesn’t feel like a magical time anymore, it just feels like a day where estranged relatives are forced to catch up and realize why they never visit each other during the year.

My parents have such strong family values but to me, family is more than just blood.

Family is the bond we create when we choose to unconditionally love someone.

And to me, just being related to someone, isn’t a good enough reason to call them family. Not when they don’t treat me like family.

So to everyone out there with a tense home, Have a Happy Holiday

Forgiveness is the greatest gift you can give yourself

I have no expectations, yet somehow I still keep getting hurt.

Here I am, alone again

without you, without them

I never thought things would really end.

But after that fight, are pieces never seemed to fit back where they were supposed to.

As we grew apart I definitely took it worse, while you got friends and success, I found heartbreak and depression.

I didn’t loose just you, I lost our friends, my motivation, my confidence, and myself.

I didn’t know who I was anymore. But I kept thinking that someday everything will work itself out, we are meant to be in each other’s life’s.

After now months of internal turmoil, I have come to the realization that you don’t need me anymore.

You don’t love me anymore. And with that, I with leave you with this,

Thank you for teaching me to love when no one in my life has every loved me before.

And I’m sorry for hurting you the way you hurt me.

I hope your life is full of growth, prosperity, and love.

bye

The mighty oak was once a small acorn that stood its ground

The woods are mostly quiet. The animals
seem to slumber, well, most of them.
If you listen closely, you will hear a mournful song
by a distant bird, one that weeps for the constant
destruction of its home.

It weeps for every tree that is cut, for every
animal that dies.

And that bird song is the kind of song that
makes you think of and mourn
for the beauty that is lost. For the things that
no longer are. However, amidst the grief there is hope
for a renewal, for a new cycle of life
one that will come another day, another time.

-Ely C. Winters.

I’m fine, I whisper at my reflection.
I’m fine. I repeat over and over,
for with every time I say it
I hope that I’ll believe it.

-Ely C. Winters.

nosebleedclub:

What does power feel like?

Like a surge of electricity
running through my spleen, my blood.
The way it thrills in the knowledge
that I am mighty.
Something that raises goosebumps
in my flesh knowing
that my voice will be heard
and my command, obeyed.

-Ely C. Winters.

How easy you make my lips
say please.
You’re such a tease.
You, with that glint in your eye
and velvet voice.

My knees go weak when you
are near. There is
something magical about
the way you move,
the way you talk to me.

But I still can fight back,
so I raise my hands
and touch the tip of your elven ear.
How sweet it is to make you shiver
and return the please
against my lips.

-Ely C. Winters. |@nosebleedclub#30

One thousand warships set sail 
Against Troy,
To recover the fair Helen.
To heal a wounded pride
And yet no one asks,
What Helen wants.

-Ely C. Winters. | @nosebleedclub#31