Must it be a breakdown always, a tsunami making shrapnel of even the most deeply rooted foundations, to confront a corner of your psyche? Let me put away the bulldozer and turn instead to a trowel, fistful after fistful of dirt brushed away until the skyscraper tilts and topples. Let me turn my inherencies into sand castles moistened by the ocean spray, until the parapets crumble softly into the keep, ready to be molded anew.

A raw stream of consciousness thing that just burst into existence as I wait for my meds to kick in. I’m wide awake after too little sleep. I may try to work it up into a poem later. I’m having serious FEELINGS about crows, but I always have and always do. Tagging @writernotwaiting because… I guess because I Wrote A Thing? ;) And @raven-brings-lightand@lunariagold because ravens/crows/birds-in-general obsession.

—–

The dawn brings enough light
I can just see the dark
green of the trees
against the faint red
of the bright sky.
It’s a color I can’t name,
this summer morning sky.

The little birds twitter sweetly,
tiny harmonies and then
the loud hungry call of crows cuts through the soft texture of noise
like a harsh black blade.

I love them, these insistent screams. They speak to me, my death eater birds. They stay, dark and gothic watchers,
undeterred
by the flame of sun
or the silver ice sky of winter.

I love that they seem not to belong
in these long seasons
but only to the liminal
quickening of autumn.

I love that they remain,
that they slice through
these extremes and seem
always in contrast with the sky.

i.boy feeds on light — a hasty poem i wrote last night for a bps prompt.

dig what’s hollow out of me, past skin that ripens & is unceremoniously peeled away. something or someone reminding me i have a voice. that i have a voice and it reverberates like a backhanded slap. the opposite of which is silence. a silence that prickles hotly at my eyelids. heavy & rolled back. the skull exposed. ribcage a box of fried cables. a green-red glow in evenings. the hand that feeds you, and starves you in the same breath. the fingers bent backwards & acrobat-like. thin and undeserving. the mouth pulled into a taut line. a telephone wire, birdless & humming. craving touch, like the tip of a wing. the horizon upon which, these bone-tired mornings are fleeting. a sudden shock of white, & maybe you’d like me better like that. my body turned inside out. my body in the distance. my body a suggestion of light. and the light is plenty here, gutted & left brutally maimed, its spine crushed & heels chafed. its resolve skinned alive.

In midautumn, the sun sits heavy in the sky. Spine curled up and in on itself. Face paling, almost as if it knows that it is unwanted. That momentarily, it does not belong. The sky ripe with caramel colours and there’s all this careful light splayed out in all of the strangest spots. Beyond your bedroom curtains and underneath the edge of your elbow and tucked behind your ear in the evenings. 22 feels like a deboning, all that careful light sitting in ur garden pulling my ribs out one by one. I don’t talk to anyone from 10th grade, anymore. I don’t listen to music the way I used to or maybe I’m just forgetting the lyrics to every song that got me through high school. I don’t say ‘I love you’ and mean it. My voice stretches and stretches like a declining sunset off a deadend highway and soon enough it’s just blackness. Sparse stars, a light left on in the kitchen but the home empty. Growing cold, growing skeletal. On a late Sunday morning I think about getting on a train, finding a home in the mountains somewhere. I want to plant hogweed and mulberries and I want to drink raspberry tea only. I want to forget this lonely apparition of a life. My hands are still small but I’m a far cry from 17. Back when life used to be warm, honeyed down the throat. All that careful light concentrated in my limbs. A guiding hand on my back easing me into sleep. The sky vast and open. Ripe, fruit-like & waiting to be plucked. But I’m breathing lakewater and J and I haven’t talked in months and I miss the comfort of the hot springs in Arkansas. And I’ve given up on so many dreams.

i’ll learn to be small. i’ll learn to be quiet. i’ll stop asking things of the world, i promise. i’ll be the husk of a moth on a dust-rimmed wooden tile. i’ll be the flickering kitchen light. i’ll split the universe open down the middle & carve an X into its chest & when it says “ouch, that hurt” and curls up on its side i’ll walk away from the murder. i’ll stop asking for things i can’t have, i promise. i won’t demand anything of the sky or its trembling knees. i’ll bite down on my tongue; swallow it whole. i’ll be an apparition in the mirror. i’ll be a late october chill. i will close my fist so tight the white of my knuckles will be all that remains of me. i’ll be Nowhere. a childhood bedroom forgotten. all my 22 years of growth or a crucial lack there of. i’ll be a primal regression, a sad inching back. i’ll delete every poem i ever Wrote about you i’ll be Covert. i’ll be two fingers crossed behind your back i’ll be Liquid sunlight. on warm waters. i’ll be a child gone missing i’ll be listening to ‘nobody’ by mitski on repeat for 4 days. i’ll be blue. a picture of a moon in a storybook. bent nose, soft eyelids. see, i’d very well like to be Nonexistent. the bee that bit into sweet skin and died instantly. the mouth never meant for speaking; the teeth rotten and skeletal. the body that sits down in the middle of the road and patiently awaits being run over. the thin, frail light. the pulled curtain. a body that is not a body so much as a silhouette of one in white chalk. caution tape & police sirens. i won’t Write about you. i won’t write. i’ll keep the words in my throat until they make me sick. i’ll hold back. i’ll say, here, you can have all of me. or none of me. i throw an ultimatum like a knife that never lands its target. i become a lake. i become a dried leaf in autumn. i have nothing. Left to Give anymore. nothing makes any sense. i’ll just close my eyes. i’ll run screaming into the woods. i’ll be an incomplete thought. i’ll wake up and i’ll take it back. i’ll take it all back. the hurt and the spit and the body bag. i’ll listen to my ribs hum. and nothing. not even the stars with their eyes rolled back into their heads–will be the same. 

Body swap

Hey, would you like to swap bodies?

You know, I’m getting tired of living in my body

Cause it feels so exhausted like it has lived too long, yet not long enough

Only at night, does it feel energetic like it could run a marathon

Give me your fit, almost perfect looking body

What’s in it for you?

Oh you see, my body has so much potential

A little exercise and a diet not based on chocolate cookies will make it look instagramable, I promise!

Plus, it will carry you wherever you want to go

It will breathe for you even if you don’t want it to

It may feel tired, but I assure you, it can stay awake for days with no sleep if you push it to this limit

Actually no, I don’t want to swap bodies with you

So don’t touch me, don’t touch me

Get your greedy hands off me

You say I treat it as a trash can, you’ll treat it as a temple?

So what, this is my body, my home

I can’t believe you’ve seen me naked

I felt so exposed

You think feeling vulnerable is a bad thing

But I’ve felt how much food you throw up to stay so thin

I don’t care, it’s not my body, it’s your home

Your body, your rules; consent works both ways

My body may not look so good, but I’m glad it carries me

I’m glad it’s my body, my home

Yes this is a shitty stream of conscious writing that sounded way cooler in my head … anyways, I’m not abusing my tag list for this, but I’m sharing this to get over my perfectionism cause most of my good ideas started out like this.

Is this my trauma?

I was up at 3 in the morning after a heavy conversation with my best, pouring forth my unfiltered thoughts and gutting my heart on paper the stream of consciousness of a deaf, black male who has to balance those two predominant spheres (along with being queer) while battling the never ending introspective thoughts that constantly make me question my self worth and whether or not my friends are REALLY my friends, or just people who pity me and are being polite while I misread all of their cues and tones, all the while addressing the fact that I have avoided confronting the real issue that my disability is an obstacle when it comes to building genuine (ergo, romantic) relationships, while people won’t actually SAY it….we all know it’s there, and it’s great that I’m like this “AMAZINGWONDERFULGENUINETALENTEDFUNNY” guy, but I’m still “too deaf,” “too black,” “too intimidating.” And internalizing THIS message, this stream of consciousness, in a way that people cannot look at me and go, “Nah, you’re being a #paranoidminority” or “you’re #attentionseeking and #playingthevictim” because we are often taught that our experiences are invalid. That it’s all in our heads. But it’s me holding up a portrait of myself that contains fragments belonging to different places while not fully belonging anywhere.

I’m not asking for pity or your opinion. There isn’t a right or wrong. It’s just me. My experiences as the results of biology and fucked up circumstances and being a clusterfuck of star stuff.

Yeah that’s my headspace.

Not in a bad way. The opposite, actually.

But prior to joining this site after a little over a month spent lurking as a guest, when it came to RWBY I shipped, in order: Dragonslayer, Winter Knight, Silent Knight, Scarlet Knight and Knightfall/Arcfall. I used to really like Strut and Stumble, but I always feel guilty about shipping Jaune, as a dude, with Coco (unless he’s genderbent).

And Professor Arc/Transcripts, but that’s hardly a surprise since I think basically everyone has a thing for Glynda and as such she can’t really be counted. XD

But in the week or so I’ve been on here I’ve been reading a lotof White Knight and I can honestly say it’s become one of my favorite ships in that time. I’ve always liked Weiss, she’s easily my favorite character in the show and I’ve definitely been digging the White Knight moments in the show and have been low key hoping the trend will continue and we might see a couple with some real chemistry hook up by whenever the show ends…but I never really sought it out to read and I definitely didn’t think I’d be writing it.

Or actually adding it to the list of “yeah, I’ll ship the fuck out of em.” But here I am with Dragonslayer, Winter Knight, White Knight, Silent Knight, Scarlet Knight and Knightfall.

Not all that interesting or entertaining to read, I’m sure, but threw me off my game.

So this isn’t all just me rambling about boring shit, the next couple posts should focus on:

Blackguard

Winter Knight (possibly several)

Scarlet Knight (possibly several)

Strut and Stumble (I feel like fem!Jaune and Coco are mad cute together)

(Possible) Rose Gold (if I can actually think of something that entertains at least myself and that’s currently a fat no)

Stung Knight

Sherwood Knight

Whatever you call Jaune and Ciel.

Plus the usual random assortment of everything I’ve been posting so far.

Today, my heart is broken.

I lived streets away from the terrorist attack just last summer. It’s a quiet, devout, warm, spiritual community. Self-contained, content and unassuming full of people who just want to live their lives by the Torah. That it could be tainted by something as crude and vulgar and senseless as what happened today is beyond me.

That the media can show such disregard for context, such bias and downright disrespect angers me to no end.

My heart is shattered, scattered from the tops of the hill at the end of our 293-step uphill trek to class. So much unfulfilled potential. So much grief. So much love that has been lost. What a tragedy for the world.

Seeing the blood-covered tallitot and sefarim. The trail and splatters on the walls that house such kedusha. No more. No more. The faces that should be shining with awe and light are instead creased in fear, hurt, devastation. No more.

I wish more than anything I could be there.

??עד מתי

i fell back into you like gravity. because being with you is like falling and theres no place to fall but into your arms and we never were any good at being friends anyway. it was okay for almost all of it it really was i was laughing and joking and staying just far enough away but its like we’re fucking magnets we can never stay so far apart and i found myself so close that i could feel your breath on my lips and your smell oh god your smell it was like you’d never left because being with you is lightness and remembering and laughter and a two piece puzzle. and driving down route 33 in your car (what is it about driving and cars and that goddamn road) listening to the mal blum song i listened to the very first time we broke up i remembered what it felt like six months ago racing the clock to fit in as much love as we had left crying while we made love in your room because goddamn we both knew it was the end. we both knew it. and driving with you today it all came back after i’d tried so hard to forget and i wanted to hold your hand but instead i drank cold coffee tasting your lips on the cheap styrofoam of the cup and i closed my eyes. and then later pressed behind that frozen waterfall you kissed me like i knew you would because we never manage not to and you pressed me into the ice and stone and kissed me warm again and i put up walls behind my eyes because i couldnt let myself look at you the way i wanted to so instead i laughed and made a joke and turned to look at the pale green ice instead. then later tangled up in eachother hot sweating all lips and teeth you told me you wanted to fuck me and i broke a little bit when you said that because maybe that’s all i am to you, the easiest fuck, and shit i can’t be that to you because you’re still so much more than that to me. you’re the center of the earth hot and burning in my hips and i can’t stop falling. and now lying in my bed im listening to the music we listened to that night in my bed, that golden beautiful night. i know i will think about that night when i am 80 and dying i will think about it and feel this same ache in my heart. that moment is a part of me and you are a part of me and i really thought someday we’d wake up next to each other like those lakeside mornings and the late nights with winestained kisses and fervent silent love. and yes maybe we’ll have those bitter blackcoffee spats, torn pages of lolita and torn feelings in my chest but we’ll make it up by falling asleep in a sunny patch of grass by the water together and picking out lacy cottages to live in when we’re old. she could tell, you know, that old lady on her porch. blind as she was she could hear it in your voice that you loved me but i can’t help but wonder when you kissed me goodnight. and you said ‘let’s do this until one of us is in a steady relationship’ this whole ‘fucking’ thing and i wished for a moment that it was us and i couldn’t help but remember that deal we made in february of last year. we said we’d be friends with benefits whatever that entailed but god we both fell in love didnt we? and here we are february exactly one year from then and i cant do this again.

You feel bad for stealing the car in the middle of the night but you have to leave here because

Crying feels like a bad habit and when you clean your room it’s clear that everything you own is a disposable waste of space and the bits of dust on the carpet make you vomit and the basement is perpetually wet and the longer you hang around the easier it is to rationalize your old knack for digging around in your own insides

And anyway this is the place where you died once already