#writingthestorm

Sleep child, close your eyes & dream. Today is over but, tomorrow will soon arrive again. No need to wait up, waiting for darkness to fade. Morning will come. You will change, becoming different from day to day, although all else in the world will feel the same…

when art was supposed to mean freedom,
you wore it on your wrist like shackles.
writing with the burden of metal weighing you down;
making a bloody mess out of a clean slate.

when art was supposed to be spontaneous,
you chained your legs on time-ticking bombs.
forcing emotions out of your hollow chest;
breaking your insides, but defusing the blow.

when art was supposed to make you feel alive,
you drained yourself of chasing after endless lines.
exceeding limits, cracking bones, straining souls.
enslaving your body to your own work of art;
master it! and turn it into a glaring masterpiece.

it’s not right for you to be just fallen in love with. i will take the whole damn gravity out of the equation if it means i can love you without ever falling out. without limits. without spaces. without ever reaching the ground.

it’s not right to just say i love you in words. i will spell it in constellations. i will carve it in gold. i will drip it in blood. i will sing it even if my lungs give out. and i will never tire of telling you the depth of my love for you, even if it’s the last of my breath. i promise.

it’s not right for you to settle less than what you deserve. i can’t give you the world but i can give you my life. i can give you other people’s lives. i will die in a heartbeat for you. i will kill for you. i’m a slave at your disposal. make me a criminal. make me yours. i will do everything and i will follow you to the edge of the earth or to the bottom of it; to hell, fuck it. i’ll follow you still. if you will have me.

how have revolutions
been merely reduced
from strongly taking a stand
to suddenly standing on our own graves?

how have we been silenced
by the very set of people
whose only duties were supposed to be
making the voices of the masses heard?

how are we to fight back
as a patronizing nation
if our very own opressor
is the one seated in power?

how are we to turn this around?
if in breaking the wheel of the tyrants,
the power must lie within the people.

but the people doesn’t know;
and the people refuses to see
that every revolution has begun
with the people’s plea.

it’s getting harder for me to only touch the tip of your fingers when all i want is to hold your hand and to pull you in closer to my skin. it’s harder especially when you’re this close, moving towards me, at a pace a little too fast for my breath to catch up on. my thoughts, that are forbidden to ever even reach the tip of my tongue, are getting harder to supress. especially when you speak first, about art and the future, with a gentleness in your voice that sounds a little too sweet for my ears to stifle.

you’re making it harder for me not to fall for you love, because how am i to do that when you’re this close? when i can see you this close, in macro lenses, in all of your imperfect glory. how am i to ever get enough of you when i could just reach you if i tried? and lord knows how much i’m clenching my fists to stop myself from ever even trying.

must blood water the streets first
before you draw open the curtains
to the roaring commotion of the people
beneath the tall glass windows?

must the sky ooze red
from the loss of so much innocence
and must the thunders howl
the painful screams of the slain poor
before the cold harsh winds of truth
force its way into the tall glass windows
of you, privileged few?

need a hurricane shatter your fragile ideals
so you can smell the reek of death and utter decay?
need a storm flood your sheltered morals
so you can feel entrapped in the jaws of your own cruelty?

for although you can run, you cannot outrun
the blood that has been left dry on your tender hands
the night you closed your gates and went to sleep
while the streets fought to keep its eyes open.

first, i allow them into the chaos that is my life; not exactly welcoming them in, but leaving the door slightly open for them to find their own way through. 

second, they see me for all the things that i am good for: the woman, the writer, the artist. they learn to love me for the ideas in my head, for my perspective of the world, and for the choices i have made to get to where i am today.

third, they catch sight of me in a new light, or a lack thereof. they get to know the hardships i’ve had to endure, the pain i’ve had to go through, the loss, the childhood, the trauma, the pain, the side of the story that i don’t ever let the public know. that’s when they commit the mistake of trying to fix me as if i was ever broken in the first place; i was not. that’s when they mistake this fixation as love and that’s when

fourth, i start walking backwards. they start walking faster and i start running away. i start building walls and they start to rethink if i was even worth the chase; i was not. i didn’t want to be chased, i wanted to be left alone. in my own space. at my own pace. so i isolate myself and they stop finding me. and that’s when

fifth, i lose them. i always lose them: the people i’ve allowed into the chaos that is my life, the same people i’ve allowed to see me naked, stripped of glitter and light. it’s a pattern i’ve been trying to deconstruct for years and i always lose. i lose all the fucking time.

is it possible to leave a breakup unscathed?
should there be bloodshed in places
where you and i used to dance on?
should my memory of your lips when you smile
need be stained by the memory of your lips
curving into sharp, twisted words?

does a breakup entail forgetting?
is it a requirement to walk out with the door slammed?
is there a need to leave with a heart burdened with so much pent up anger?
should it warrant an explanation?
will words soften the impending wound?
i don’t know, maybe it just needs to hurt like a fucking bullet?

men, to me, are walking pages of raw emotion.
they breathe color into this ashen world.
as i welcome them in, they snap my walls
and i break into pieces, but i let myself fall.

men force pain out of its thick silver chains
so it could enslave me in its shackles.
when the iron burns my skin, i’ll watch it glow
and i’ll immortalize the memory of the sting.

men unhinge the cold metal doors of torment
so it could entrap me in its dark little cages of despair
and when i’m lost and i lose track of my own sanity
i’ll let myself be completely consumed by the madness.

for men, you see, when they leave,
they leave all the sting and the madness with me.
so i let this kindling burn through my veins in the most primitive way:
writing, with a passion too naked and brutal for this world.

Endless escapades and

earnest midnight dreams

Haunt the world after dark,

beneath a sad moon’s gleam

A breath taken,

But not a second passes by

—You could bike to the stars

The once taut rope

Loosened and stretched far

There are spirits that come

To fill souls and liquor cups

Gold and flashing dresses

Solid to the touch

What wonders exist

In the corners of night

Oil lamps, candlelight,

Dewed eyes sparkling bright

They all conjure such rise,

These late hours

Swathed in shadow—

Amidst fantastical lies

The night is illuminated
By the blue light
Of my computer screen
Blazing into my brain
Wrenching out my fears
Grown hot in the dark

My hair is still damp,
The shampoo smell
Sinking into warm fabrics
Joining the evidence
Of other late nights—
Quiet nights—
By weakly typed poetry

My fingers feel old
Tired and worn 
—And by four o’clock,
They await certain doom

Why must I always
feel like I am dying
The rusted cogs
Ceasing to breathe—
My conviction
Grinding to a halt?

Madness eats 
My crime is life
A reflection
Mirrored
In bloody sheen

It’s all too sterile,
All too white gray
The marked path
Traveled by droves
of certain men

Without value
I continue on
Diminished by 
My still-beating heart 

For on the rooftop
There is a weed
Damned be its growth
In direct path
Of an unforgiving sun

I can’t sleep—

Last time I allowed

Whales to dance

Through my brain

But I cannot sleep

My thoughts are running

Like moving water

Where fish dance—

Sparkling river

Leading them

Downstream

Reel all my thoughts

Impale them on sticks

Roasting over flame

Let tomorrow

Burn them all away

Warmth emanates from

the singular chimney

Housed within the heart

Of a drafty mansion

It’s where the deer go

To lie upon rickety floorboard

As sparrows acquaint themselves

With the abandoned rocking chair

Preening their worries away

Serenity melded with serendipity

The course of the universe

Ivy stretching over bricks

Decomposition of matter

And the soul

An Internal Dispute From Sleep Deprivation

Blatant words befalling blue lips

Smeared the color of sadness

Tri-coated depression

What is art to sadness but apples to applesauce

thefortymillionsomethingpoems

Some statement minus punctuation and declarations of woeful broken love

Gorge upon the sales of music to public ears

I gave my blood, the likes which you’ve never seen and apparently do not want

Pages of fine ink multitudesofwordsmeaninglesswords

The alternative framework lost—

Eaten in the mainstream, some cherry picker we have to thank for this

Poets ought to rip the world to shreds with a pen

Splash ink onto pavement, blacken the world into a deep void

Gross schemes, where the fuck is reality?

I accidentally threw it down the garbage disposal

But the corporations forced my hand

The meaningless throb the echoes of time ticking sand

Mind wrenching melting numbness pain

Contradictory hell

What more is left to do? What more is to be achieved?

Light a metal garbage can,

Set all the books on fire

And all the art as well.

Deafened ears 
Silent eyes
Rippled waters—
Reflecting murky skies

What remained
Laid in sullened tune
—With calla lilies
In godless demise

My organs wrung
Then clotheslined—
Like some
common rag

Discarded lungs—
Airbags for the worms
And my
once sharp tongue
Sits ’tween teeth
Delicately dead

This damp cavern
Punctured by 
A singular watery tree
The branches splay
Beams of light

Where I lay—
Skin haloed 
in mossy wreaths

Peace with the worms,

Consciousless things

How I’d like to join them

In holy matrimony

With the earth

As the skies weep

Crank me

Jack-in-the-box

Cricks of rusty parts

As music tinkles

Softly

Through floorboards

Dusty as the attic

And the locked chest

From where it came

Your fingers could

Draw lines

Into the age

Of that wooden box,

The one

With a precarious lid

It delights in your touch

Waits for the skip

Of your heart

When anticipation

Is empty

And

P O P

.

.

.

.

The spring dashes

Firmly into your eye

A lone thing

Without a clown’s company

Reinvention

Feels like a sin

i t’ s backpedaling

Don’t I deserve

To live

Without

A

Hi-polymer

Eraser

?

I gathered people like dewdrops

Collect upon a lonely leaf

They were made in the clouds

Of pollution and acid rains

I beckoned and waved—

The wind forced my hand

Yet upon my lonely branch

Ne’er a hopeful bird did land

Only dewdrops grew

Little parasitical things

They burned and ate

And I turned yellow with grief

Pocked with holes

In sickly sheen

i told you i loved the night we spent together

i wish i could have captured the grin you wore

so proud of the terrible things you did to me

how i love that smile

the same lips that grazed my skin not long ago

the same hands that caressed my doll-like body

the same hair that I tugged on as i made a show of your acts

it was only an act

all of the good things came to an end

the heavy breathing started

my lungs were collapsing

my heart forgot to beat

it was too busy aching to love you

wishing to be more than just a body

how i envisioned the night sky sitting next to you was so much more beautiful when i hadn’t experienced it

whenever i felt my dream coming true there was a different feeling in the air

you were never there to watch the stars and fall in love

you were there to push me to your car

to rip of my clothes as i let out sweet fake moans into your ear

i couldn’t see the sky from the backseat

as my heart sank into the driveway below us

all i wanted was to fall in love

all you wanted was to fall into the rhythm of sex

making love they call it

we didn’t make love that night

my love was lost

somewhere out in that bright beautiful sky that i wanted to experience with you

i wanted to feel the rise and fall of your chest not feel the rise and fall of my body on top of you

we had very different plans for that night

i just wanted to see the stars

not every dead man was noble and neither are the dying

has every fall from grace been exonerated

now that your date of demise has been established

long have we honored the fallen as kings

with little regard for their true archetype

have the moribund beings been pardoned of their wrongdoings

now that they face deaths eternal grasp

-sundayafternoonsedentary

i’ve witnessed the cavities slither their way into his brain

etching out the desire to get out of bed

rotting teeth were never so beautifully maddening

the poor man didn’t stand a chance against the decay in his mouth

-sundayafternoonsedentary

i really wish i hadn’t charmed my therapist

maybe i wouldn’t be sitting in the position if i had

i wanted her approval just as much as anyone else’s

so i lied and cried at the right parts

reeling her in until-

snatch.

“this is not your fault”

but you see sarah,

it is.

all of it is.

but if i reveal my tactic of manipulation

my whole facade will come crumbling down

and you’ll begin to realize that i am not the victim of my own story

i’ve been pulling the right strings and moving the right pawns

but again, here i am

wishing i didn’t have to lie to you

because right now. i need you.

-sundayafternoonsedentary

he finally told me he was proud of me yesterday

after i had given all of myself

searching in other people what he didn’t give me

selling parts of my soul for short lived validation

but you’re proud of me dad?

all that is left of me is my heart in your hands

what i’ve become is great he says

but i look in the mirror

and i see a few strands of hair falling from a broken down body

morsels to appreciate

but finally, he is satisfied

-sundayafternoonsedentary

was i created to lie here forever?

molded into a cancerous being

rotting from the inside out

i have been running from existence for so long

only to find out that i will never be able to escape my predetermined demise

so i will remain here

letting a once lovely creation rot

-sundayafternoonsedentary

something about falling snow is unsettling

peaceful to the eye

silencing the havoc throughout homes with a foot of soundproof encasing

sure the purity of the winter is breathtaking

but my lawn has been walked over time and time again

and the chaos is seeping out through the gaps of my snow boots

my screams echo with snow flakes hitting the ground

this chill in my bones is not serene

i spend hours upon hours lying sedentary within my porcelain throne

filled to the brim with the tears of my past lovers

soaking in the glory of being alone again

~sundayafternoonsedentary

will you turn my brittle body into poetry

when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse

will you interpret the path i skipped along

writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind

or will i be forgotten?

just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface

scribbled lines in the once lively flesh

it was never pen ink that cherished me so

if my name has not been lost

and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book

run to my tombstone

letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing

recite to my grave lovely words

soothing my wandering soul

remove my past from the chain around my ankle

let my image seep into the setting sun

allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime

an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body

permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being

but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence

please oh please let me be poetry

- sundayafternoonsedentary

make me a goddess

shaped out of pure divinity

mold my features so that they appear to kiss the setting sun

search my soul with eyes full of lust, love and wondering

so sweetly set me on your pedestal

displaying my celestial substance for all of the mortal beings to gaze upon

as the liquor crawls down your throat the phrase I love you is drunkenly forced out

fatherly compassion that only surfaces when the alcohol has engulfed your body

submerged so deeply in a drink that love is just another meaningless word

a silly phrase that slips off of your tongue with the sharp taste of whiskey

too intoxicated to hear the crack in my voice

when i tell you that I love you more

more than your addiction

more than myself

but my words are tossed into the trash

clinking with empty bottles

colliding with conversations you don’t recall

memories of an absent father that loosely maneuver through my conscience

I have to compete with a $58 bottle of bourbon

but you seem to love being numb more than raising your daughter

it’s alright dad

i’ll carry the both of us out of this mess

maybe one day when you wake up you’ll thank me for it

but for now, I love you and I can spare enough love for the both of us

I should’ve jumped when the ball-point pen across the room started scribbling

scratching the surface of a worn down notepad

hovering over it, I saw my name

in bolded letters I read the word ALONE

how dare a mystery writer reach into my soul

ripping out my deepest feeling

addressing it like you would the day’s weather

I would’ve complained, if there were anyone to hear me speak

the invisible critic marked another word

AFRAID

my hand connected with the paper as an arrow pointed to my destroyed nail beds

I guess the analysis wasn’t wrong as I drew back my shaky hands

oh lover,

how I miss us

things were simple

the world wasn’t so big

we didn’t have to be anything to impress

it was just you, me, and a sky full of newly named stars

i’m sitting here in the peace of midnight

just trying to reciprocate the terrible feelings i’ve felt

never will i be able to comprehend how i felt with you

and nothing will be said about how my heart shattered when you left

all i have left is the darkness welcoming like an old friend

i’ve dreamed of death countless times

oh how i wish to not have woken up in the last moments before my demise

the sweet seconds before a forever peace are whispering to me

taunting me to stumble into deaths eternal embrace

how beautiful is it to be lonely

whenever the air you breathe has only been touched by your lungs

the emptiness in the echo behind your screams

thoughts to be sorted in the cavern of your cranium

how beautiful is it to be by yourself

i found myself ripping out my eyelashes

blowing them off my finger

wishing that you would find yourself falling in love with me

hoping that star that i pray to every night

would take pity on me

granting my wishes true