a-whisp-of-thought
a-whisp-of-thought
♡ it aches softer here ♡
she//her ♡ reader ♡ writer ♡ existential crisiser ♡ (previously @bookqueeen)
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a-whisp-of-thought · 4 days ago
Text
1.
if love is a wound
ours is still tender
still choking on its own blood
if heartbreak is a scar
ours is still scabbing
still
healing
still prone to breaking open
when your name blisters my tounge
when your memory skates across the surface
of my skin and tears away any knowledge
i have acquired on
how to summon the unbreaking
and i fight to recall how to heal again
and again
and
again
fight to recall
the will
2.
dawn spills over the brim of the horizon
trickles through my fingers
i try to stop the light from over flowing
into the basin of the sky
but I fail
each time again
and in this way I recall your leaving
every
morning
but it does not
stop
me
from
trying.
i am so
sorry
i miss
you
3.
tell me
when the raindrops fell at your feet
my dear
did they deliver every love note
i left scattered in the thunder clouds
for you
my mistress of liquid dreams and plenty
are you dripping in my
promises
yet?
(writing sensless lines until poetry comes back to me)
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a-whisp-of-thought · 5 days ago
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My mother tells me it is not me she dosent trust out in the world but rather that she does not trust the world with me.
And I learn from a young age what a privilege it is to be endangered.
To be wanted into extinction.
To be desired into oblivion.
In this same way my grandmother tells me that sometimes honesty sounds alot like silence.
That sometimes the truth is quiet.
In this same way my sister teaches me that forgiveness comes when she is ready.
~
Most days there is only forgiveness.
Cupped in my palms
Trying to stop it from trickling through my fingers.
I sip it every morning
Which is to say I seek forgiveness
From myself
Everytime I dare show my face to the sky again.
With the knowledge that I will inevitably break promises I made to me
That I will inevitably transgress against the girl I could become
And every morning I ask for her mercy
But she cannot grant it to me
For I have not granted her existence yet
And in this way I live in sin
~
Self destruction dares to taste foreign on my lips
Like rotting cherries
But how much easier it is to relearn old habits the second time around
When the mouth still tastes like burning teeth
~
I flinch so violently at the sound of my name
daring to disturb the molecules of the ether with something so undeserved
Petals fall from grace
It is my fault
Always my fault
Oh rebellious bones
How my blood blisters my veins
I think this is the way
Love moves
~
and this is how it ends
the last notes of my blood composed of subpar symphonies finally slip out into the void
my radio static heartbeat fades to quiet
and this is how it ends
in my final moments
the universe sings me to sleep
with one last lesson
my mother never had the words to teach me
and the endless silence of the infinite
caresses me into oblivion.
i exhale one last shooting star
weightless at last
as i disintegrate into the galaxy
with the realization of what a beautiful mercy
it is
to be forgotten
~
poetry dump of random lines that mean nothing in particular unless you'd like them to
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a-whisp-of-thought · 12 days ago
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write bad poetry. 
wrap your mouth into a cliche. write about icarus, write about roses. write about the flowers in your ribs and the stain of your fingertips and the skin of your knees. write about cigarettes and getting high and kissing the wrong person. and space; write about space over and over in sixty iterations of it, write about star-blood and star-crossed and star-glowing, write about universes and galaxies and gladiators in constellations. write about the space between two people in a small room, write about the space that is too small no matter how big it is, write about the space that is too big no matter how small it is. write yourself a star and eat it, tinfoil-tasting, on the floor of your kitchen, while you regret missing your mother’s cooking. but write it.
write ugly. use too many undercase letters because you’re pretentious. USE ONLY CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE YOU’VE GOT A SCREAM TRAPPED UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS. ,, cut & paste grammar (? who gives a shit ?) ,, r3inv3nt so much u come back 2 l33t speak, dial it down a bit. write in the language of flaubert, then dickens, then the language your father used before he learned english. then write the language of talking to your dog, then write the language of high school essays on books you never finished. utilize the word utilize where it don’t belong. fall in and out of love with contractions. accidentally become bukowski for a hot sec, grow out of it. 
write things you wish you hadn’t. write stuff so bad you can’t help groaning. write things that end in “a;sljflk jfg h” because they petered out while you were typing. write things that feel childish and use so much rhyme it throws you out of it. write things that feel grown-up and unfamiliar, too formal to function, up-their-own-asses. write things too enigmatic; forget what you wrote them about, but tell yourself it’s for the best. write things too obvious. go through a micro-poetry spell, go through a prose-poetry spell, fish the bottom of the box for x-ray goggles and write about how the cereal felt. write about your cat and the rug and un-deep fake-deep terrible stuff.
write things you really wish you hadn’t. stuff that hurts to read and hurts to look at later, stuff that makes your skin uncomfy and your body crawl. write stuff that looks better at the back of your closet. but stuff you can’t get rid of, really, not ever. stuff that, afterwards, makes you feel heavier. stuff that somehow, impossibly, kinda makes you lighter.
write about stuff you don’t really understand, write about social problems you barely experience, write about slam poetry. write about power outlets, write in the style of internet poets, write frost-length sonnets on how pink her lips are. 
write bad. write worse. write bottom-of-the-barrel, and then keep scraping it. keep digging in it. god, how many people are too scared of being bad that they just. never get around to it. that they never even start doing it. what if all they have to say is silly shit about lost love or greek myths or a good kiss. what if they’re bad at it.
be bad at it. do you know how fucking rebellious and wonderful that truly, i mean truly is? and that’s poetry, man. the act of being so vulnerable, you’re willing to completely suck at it. big ideas in small boxes. it takes a long time before you get the packaging to fit. 
go write bad poetry. i can’t wait to read it.
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a-whisp-of-thought · 13 days ago
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"Give me a smile sweetie"
And I have always been good at
Giving until I break
So I grin until my teeth crack
And I choke on the shards
Of every sharp thing
I was never taught
I did not need permission to say
The sky bleeds pomegranate gin
And no one dares lay sutures
Across the cusp of her rebellion
And so we sip second chances from
The sewers and wait for the
Wound to clot with sticky fingers and
Stained lips dripping hollows
Gorging ourselves on handfuls of grief
From the gutters, carrying our mother's rage
In our bellies until next rainfall
When I think of stars I think of
Music notes falling from the sky
I think of each of them hitting
The skin of the pavement in a series of
Shattered promises that echo like gasps
Accidental harmonies
I think of melodic dissonance
I think of the collective inhale of rhythm
Rewiring our heartbeats for single
Shared moment of apology
When I think of clouds
I think of forgetting
Perhaps in another life
I could have told you why
But I can no longer remember
Afterall what is my existence but
Circumstantial evidence
For my body aches these days
Stretched thin over the skeleton of my
Mistakes, waiting for sin to split
Skin and bloom across the surface of
My doubt
synonyms for meaningless // 03.31.21
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a-whisp-of-thought · 21 days ago
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Tumblr media
Today I am thinking about Alex Claremont-Diaz with the classic bisexual inability to sit properly.
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a-whisp-of-thought · 21 days ago
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@reveriesofawriter KNOWS WHATS UP♡
Today I am thinking about Alex Claremont-Diaz with the classic bisexual inability to sit properly.
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a-whisp-of-thought · 28 days ago
Text
peonies & pomegranates: when eve meets persephone
Persephone meets Eve standing at the edge of the underworld
A fist full of soil
Persephone says,
Hello there
Eve says,
I thought
I might be able to see them
In the end,
Again.
Her hands unfurl and
Let the dirt fall
You smell like them
Do
You
Know?
You smell like the flowers
Left behind
In Eden.
And Eve turns to look at her then.
And it has been many centuries
For them both
But
Persephone recognizes the never fading gleam,
The twinkle in her eye
Birthed only from
The glazing nectar of
Forbidden fruit.
A mirror reflection
Of herself.
Two women who chose to
Give in
Honour
Their hunger
In hopes of a moments reprieve
From being devoured by their own
Longing.
Persephone says,
You must be
Eve
Eve flitches at her own name.
Merely says
Nothing grows here
And Persephone understands
Her heartbreak
Says
No.
I am sorry.
And Eve flinches at that too.
Breathes,
No
Whispers,
No more
Apologies
Here.
I have lived a life time of
Repentance.
And I
Am done with
All this
Asking for forgiveness
For things we are not to blame for.
For things we are not sorry for.
Persephone
Still scented with Eden’s greenery says
I know
And Eve looks at her with
More ache
Than doubt.
Let’s the goddess assure her
That
You do not have
To be sorry anymore
Here.
And she takes the woman's hand in hers.
Smeared with the kingdoms
Dirt.
A handful of miniscule stones
Ground to sand.
Caught beneath her nails.
Persephone can feel
Life rolling off the
Girl
In gentle waves.
Even here,
After,
She ought to have been
Drained.
As though
The only way to
Take her
Had been instead,
To drown her
Completely
In the sea of
Existance.
And she
Was still
Dripping.
I did not want
To go back
To a gilded cage.
Even if the bars were wound
In vines
And blossoms.
I just
Missed
The flowers.
Persephone sits with her
At the edge of the underworld.
Says
I know
And Eve
Is tired of a lifetime of
Biting her tongue.
What do you know
Of wanting
Persephone?
A Queendom in Spring.
A kingdom come fall.
A million miles below the ground,
When the frost strikes.
Do you know what it is like to be
Cold
Persephone?
To be exiled?
To be
Unwanted?
And it is Eve.
No malice and all
Curiosity.
And Persephone wishes
She could give her
The answers
She needs to be
At peace.
I know
Much of wanting
And the unwanting.
Persephone looks
Up
To
The ground
Above
They blame me
For the plague of
Cold and barren land
And Eve knows too
Well
They blame me
For the plague of
A lifetime of repentance
And Persephone knows too
Well
For paying the price
Of my spent desire.
And their contempt
Drips
Acidic
Into the soil
Eve picks at the dirt
Beneath her nails
As though
She can feel
The burning.
And replies
As though to say
How dare you want,
Woman,
More than what we have
Permitted you to have.
Don't be
Selfish
Persephone finishes for
Her
Own heart and fists
Twisting
Curling
Into themselves.
And Eve
Goes on.
As though to say
How dare you disobey
What you were told to be.
How dare you
Attempt to become
More
Than we have let you
Be.
Eve looks at Persephone then
And it has been many centuries
For them both
But
Eve recognizes the never fading gleam
The twinkle in her eye
Birthed only from
The glazing nectar of
Forbidden fruit
A mirror reflection
Of herself.
I was only
Hungry
Says Eve
I know
Says Persephone
And I did not know
What could stifle
My appetite.
I did not know
What I craved.
Just that
I was starving.
And that
Nothing
Was
Enough.
And he came to you
In your instability
And they both know this story
By heart.
And he said
Eat, love
If you would like
Only
If you would like
And he dropped it into your palms
And she can almost feel the weight in her hands.
Where it once rested,
Before it was digested,
And left for her to carry
In the pit of herself
For eternity.
And it smelt of sweet possibility
Eve inhales.
Though breath means
Nothing here.
But she does it anyways
For the sake of
Nostalgia.
And he gave you a fruit
And I brought it to my own lips
And he gave you a choice
And I laid it on my own tongue
Peresphone watches her
Mirror
Knowingly.
And you chose
To bite
To swallow
The consequences.
And it hangs between them.
Tangible.
Ripe.
And ready
To fall.
The culmination
Of two seeded
Choices
And it
Drops
Into
Persephone's lap
Persephone's palms
Persephone's mouth
And you would do it again
And the fruit always looks deceptively
Delectable
But the nectar
Of the truth
Is always
Bitter
And Eve cups her hands below
The goddesses chin
And lets the golden syrup
Accumulate
And
Sips
Yes
I would
Do it
Again
And they do not need to speak
To say:
If I was given the chance
The choice
To save myself
Again
I would do it
I would take it
Over
And
Over
And
Over
Again.
Because
I do not think
I could ever
Be sorry
For being
Hungry
And eating
Until
I was full
And Persephone
Nods
Understanding
The all consuming nature of
The desire to
Know.
I do not think
I could ever
Be sorry
For choosing to live
Over
Survive.
I was never
Sorry
Even when
They punished me for
Knowing
For wanting
For being something other than
A good girl
A docile daughter
And Eve laughs
And Persephone is struck
By how much the
Sound tastes of
Fresh bloom.
Have they ever met
Mother Nature
She is
No
Soft
Or
Submissive
Thing
And Persephone smiles then too
And Eve is struck
By how much the
Image looks like
The creation of
A universe.
My mother
Warned me
Her breath is breeze after
Rainfall
To be wary of bitter men
And their sweet offerings
Her gaze is an ocean
Rippling reflection
And my mother said
It is a dangerous game to play
Persephone
She is
The symphony
Of life.
And my father said,
Listen to me, Eve
And my mother said
Come home to me
Persephone
Or their will be consequences
You belong here
In the sun
In the garden
In my gaze
In my grasp
And they both
Know this story
By heart.
Muscle memory
Fear
Hate
Rage
Longing
Stillness.
And I thought,
I belong wherever
I please.
And I thought
I deserve
To know.
I thought
I will not be afraid
Of the dark.
I thought
I deserve
To eat.
I thought
I will not bow to death.
And Eve is looking at
Persephone.
And the reflection
Is cracking.
And instead
He lowered his brow
To brush his lips
Across your knuckles.
And Persephone is looking at
Eve
And the reflection
Is shattering.
And instead
He bent a knee for me.
The glass is
Falling.
I do not know
What that is like.
I do not think
He loves me
Anymore.
And the silence
Aches for them both
How do you
Know?
And Eve
Considers this.
The quiet
Holds her
Softly.
I do not think I know
What love ought to be.
I do not think
The tree
Taught me
This.
And Persephone
Picks up
The shards,
Dew drops of light
Healing the image
Into a make shift
Mosaic.
Hands still gentle
When they brush away
Her doubt.
Love
Is
The way
The truth
Made itself
Soft
And
Sweet
For you,
Love.
Love
Is
The way
You choose
It
And
It Chose
You.
And Eve is
Not staring
At a mirror
She is gazing
At
The entirety
Of the universe
At once.
And the truth is
My lover
My sin
My salvation
That I was not
Naive
Or
Ignorant
Or
Victim
To a man's
Deception
And when I committed the
Transgression
Of
Making a choice
That was wholly my own
I did not beg to be kept
To be released
I walked out of
Paradise
With my head held high
Bid farewell to the
Light
And entered
The shadows
Let the gates shut behind me
And I left
And I stayed
And it was
My
Choice
And it is
In Persphone’s arms
That Eve learns
For the first time
Of what it is like
To be held
Other than as
Grudge
Or
Guilt.
And Eve
Is embraced by the universe
Until
At last
She knows
e v e r y t h i n g
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a-whisp-of-thought · 29 days ago
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I lost track of the wounds
In the end
The only one that mattered
Was the one you gave me
In the end
The only one that mattered
Was you
In the end
It was the betrayal that slaughtered me
Before the blood loss
When your eyes sliced into my soul
Puncturing the vital organ
I was dead before your blade parted flesh
Ghost before my body hit the ground
~
In the end
My final breath
An exhale of your name
That still tasted like home on the tounge
My blood forgetting to be afraid
In your familar palms
~
But if I am spirit
Why I am the one haunted?
By you
Or some part of you that perished
With me
Begging for mercy
I do not know how to grant you
~
And if you lived
Why did I find you
Haunting your own shell
When I returned to
Forgive you
~
~And Caeser Thinks: If Betrayal Is A Kiss, I am Glad I Tasted It Last From Your Lips
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a-whisp-of-thought · a month ago
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You have softened all my edges.
And I am afraid
That when you leave,
(As they all
Inevitably do)
I will be left
Defenseless
Against
The world.
~
I run my fingers over all the places my skin is pulled taunt.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to."
"I know."
But I want to want to.
For you.
There is not enough space
Between the lines
To hold
Everything
I failed to say.
~
I wonder often
If they will remember me
As anything other
Than what I helped them forget.
So I make promises
Knowing they will be broken,
In an attempt
To collect sins.
Hoping
In the end,
I might
Cash them in
To see you again.
~
I say
I forgive you
But you tell me
It means nothing
Because you do not
Forgive yourself.
Then what am I worth to you?
What am I worth to you?
For are you so staunch in your belief,
That you do not deserve
To be loved,
That you would shatter my heart
To prove yourself right?
~
I tell myself,
If I could not make you love me,
I will at least
Make you
Miss me.
But I do not hold it against you.
For if I left me
I would not
Long for my return
Either.
~
I title this chapter
Lessons on forgiving
Myself
When I deserve it
Least.
In it,
Sorry
Is not used
Once.
~another compilation of thoughts only beautiful out of context
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a-whisp-of-thought · a month ago
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"Beautiful things can still come out of tragedy," he offers sincerely.
"Like what?" I scoff.
"Like you."
I freeze. It might have been a compliment. Once. Before I knew better. Before I learnt the hard way of what people do to pretty things. Of what pretty things do to people. Of how beauty both comes at a cost and is the cost.
"Is that all I am to you people? Beautiful?" I spit the word out and spin on him, "Some beautiful aftermath?"
He flinches.
"If this is the cost of beauty. I do not want it." My voice fractures under the weight of my anger. "If this is the cost of beauty, I would rather be hideous."
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a-whisp-of-thought · a month ago
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l o v e l a n g u a g e
language: the principal method of human communication or
a systematic means of communicating ideas or feelings by the use of conventionalized signs, sounds, gestures, or marks having understood meanings
~
93% of communication is non-verbal. and i tried to learn a new language for you.
it was not an easy one. there were no textbooks, or online review tests, or vocabulary sheets. there was only my hastily scrawled notes trying to understand. there was only me, practicing my pronunciation in the mirror, watching my mouth form around unfamiliar vowels, my hands trying to learn how to hold the consonants so you might be able to better understand my accent. there was only you, trying to teach me a language that had never been transcribed.
you lend me one of your earbuds on the bus and play a song i cannot understand because there are just chords. just brushstrokes of sound. just melody threading notes together. the music is trying to say something. but you are trying to say something too by giving me this rythem. i cannot understand. but i listen anyways. and these are the ways in which i try to learn. you memorize my coffee order but forget my birthday. you never say you miss me but you look back twice exactly when we part every time. your eyes are always closed when we touch. i do not understand what these things say, or what you are trying to tell me but i listen anyways. and these are the ways in which i try to learn.
once, we don't speak for too long and the first night you spend in my bed again, i ask you, before i turn the light off, what it means. you don't look at me. you say you don't know. so i flick off the light switch and curl around myself under the covers. your hands find my hair, find my waist, find the soft skin of a scar, find the place where the flesh is thinnest between the world and my heart. i ask you what that means. you say it means, "you still have me." and so i kiss every one of your finger tips and in this way i respond, "i am glad." i let my legs tangle with yours under the blankets and in this way i say, "you still have me, too." in this moment you have not learnt my language yet either. but we are both learning. and some things are hard to misinterpret.
you take me to the movies to watch the same film for the second time. i do not understand what this is trying to say or what you are trying to tell me but i listen anyways. on the drive home, we take the leftover silence of the theatre with us, and i ask you what you meant when you did this. you are still picking the quiet out from your teeth with your tounge and so i say, "in my language, this means, 'i would choose the silence over your voice.' in my language this means 'you are only worth the past, over again. there is no moving forward, only backwards. until we fall into the oblivion from which we came'. " you pull off the road. you shake your head. say, "in my language, this means, 'the quiet is hard sometimes but never with you.' in my language, this means 'i think we have time enough to reread stories twice'. this means, 'you are the familar and for this i am grateful'. this means, 'i do not need adventure to stay'. that I am content to sit with you and the dark and devour a peice of the world together."
and so i come to learn that your leg slipping over my hip when i am just on the cusp of sleep means: i forgive you. learn that a sandwich found in the fridge made the night before for me to take to work means: im sorry. learn that the hour long shower means: not now. learn the bitting of the nails means: now. now, please. i learn the sunday morning pancakes mean: i love you. but so do the forehead kisses and the 1:30 am texts about tomorrow and the you telling me about your day. i learn the offer to fix my car means "let me be something for you, please." i learn 2 dirty mugs in the sink mean a bad day unless one of them is the red one and it's thursday, because then that just means working late, and in this way i learn about the context of a phrase.
you learn things too. pick them up slowly. through daily conversation. murmmer things in passing. nonchalant and nervous. i don't correct you. i just smile. because I know what you are trying to say.
i wince sometimes at the misused vocab and poorly built sentences that crumble quickly, but i do not offer to teach you until you ask. because i know for certain what you are saying then. saying:
i want to know how to speak to you in the language you feel most at home in.
i want to be able to know you in the words there are no direct translations for.
i want to be able to find you in the dialect you retreat to when the day has gone on too long.
you are saying:
i want to be able interpt everything you think there are no words in my language to say, and so you don't say them.
i want you to be able to tell me everything
you are telling me:
i want you to know that i want to try and talk to you even when it is hard.
you offer to walk with me in the fall afternoon even though you hate the crunch of the leaves that you say sounds too much like endings and i ask you if this offer means "i love you" or "i don't want to be alone right now" and you are looking away from me when you explain that sometimes things can have more than one meaning.
i tackle you half screaming half laughing when you buy us the concert tickets for my birthday and you ask me if this means "thank you" or "i love you" and i am smiling when i explain sometimes things can have more than one meaning.
i come home late to find you sobbing on the bathroom floor and i hold you for hours. i show you videos of baby's laughing until the tears subside long enough for you to kiss me with salt sorrow stained lips and i ask against your mouth if this means "thank you" or "i love you" and you whisper of how different things can have the same meaning and in this way i learn of synonyms.
sometimes the learning of a new language is difficult.
is frustrating.
is silences that scream two things in dissonance.
for the hardest things to define are the absences.
for there are a million subtle ways the pronunciation of quiet differs depending on what you are trying to convey.
sometimes learning a new language is
mistakes.
is misunderstandings.
is apologies
for violating customs
and muddling unfamiliar proverbs.
i'm sorry,
this is not my native tounge.
but i am trying.
i am learning.
if you are willing to teach me.
sometimes a new language is something we become fluent it. the bilingualism comes easy. it rolls off our tounge like second nature. you realize now there are new ways to love in this language. but there are also new ways the hurt. and new ways to heal. and new ways to apologize. you realize there are new ways to know someone when they are not afraid to be misheard.
sometimes a new language is a patchwork quilt of simple words and poorly stitched grammer. sometimes i pull out a few words at the restaurant to impress you. you smile less at the phrase, more at the gesture. sometimes i stumble over the words and you help me up, help me along the sentence, because you know it means the world to me to try for you.
sometimes all we can do is learn to understand. the words never come out right so we stop trying. but we listen. we nod. we laugh. we hold them at all the right parts of the story.
sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone is to understand
what they are trying to say.
when she makes paper flowers and sends me photos of them. i know she is trying to tell me: "look. i got out of bed today and created something beautiful. i thought of you in the slow process of the cultivation of this miracle." and i don't know how to reply. not in her language atleast. and so i don't. but i know what she means.
sometimes it is enough to understand someone.
sometimes it isn't.
sometimes a new language is not for us. we tell ourselves we are too old to pick it up. we tell ourselves it is too difficult. too forgien. too complicated. we try for the sake of saying we tried. but we don't.
in the end, we know how to say hello and goodbye and thank you and a handful of curse words. sometimes we know how to say i love you. in the formal tounge. with textbook pronouns and rigid verbs.
sometimes learning a language is
things lost in translation
is
how was I supposed to know what that meant?
is
why didn't you just tell me?
is
i didn't know how.
is
being too tired to roll your r's and remember the right tense.
sometimes learning a language is screaming everything you cannot translate at the language barrier between you. hoping they understand. hoping they don't.
but there is something unmatched about being welcomed home in your mother tounge.
something about being forgiven in words you could never misinterpret.
about being called to bed by the familar.
t h e r e i s s o m e t h i n g u n p a r a l l e l e d a b o u t b e i n g l o v e d i n
y o u r o w n l a n g u a g e.
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a-whisp-of-thought · a month ago
Text
D • e • l • i • r • i • u • m
James & Cordelia
~
You shift in and out of focus.
When I catch your gaze across the night there is only streaks of gold.
Your breath a blur against my skin.
Your love a shadow.
~
I see you clearest in dreams,
In a feild of daisies.
There is a cliff,
But you hold on.
You hold on.
For some part of you trusts,
That I am coming for you.
You trust
That I
Am coming
For you.
And I do.
I am falling through the layers of the universe.
I am facing the possibility of the person I could become.
He does not look like he remembers you.
And this scares me most.
So I grip the hilt of my sacrifice
And shatter the mirror.
I am wounded a million time over with the flying shrapnel consequences.
There is darkness.
But I hold on.
I hold on.
For some part of me trusts,
That you are coming for me
That you
Are coming
For me.
And you do.
~
I left you stranded on a dance floor once,
Amongst a sea of spinning laughter.
I don't remember why I did that.
I don't remember what your face looked like when I turned away from you.
I remember...
You
My hands ghosting along your waist.
Phatom pain when we were palm to palm.
Your softly blooming joy.
Your wilting smile.
It haunts me still.
I don't remember why I did it, now.
But I would finish the waltz with you
If I could.
I would give you as many dances as you cared for.
If you would take my hand for them.
If you might trust me long enough,
To lead you through the steps again.
I promise,
I will not let you fall
Without catching you
This time.
~
I held all of you in my arms once,
Only to let you go.
I don't remember why I did that.
I don't remember how the walls were not engulfed by the flames consuming us.
I remember...
You
Dawn spilling from your edges as you overflowed.
Beads of light brimming where the stitches of us tore.
I remember...
Burning
Not minding if I turned to ash in your palms.
Smoked filled senses with nothing but you.
Your skin a wildfire.
You dance a story that flickers in your eyes like flame when you looked at me.
What I would give for you to tell me a tale again.
For your voice rustling my eyelashes.
~
When I read,
I catch the brush of your hair
In the flutter of every turning page.
I see you,
In the glimmer of light,
That catches on a drawn sword
In the sunset of battle.
I do not know why loving you is so easy
~
Excerpts from a James and Cordelia poem that has been sitting in my drafts for a while, thought I would share some parts before Chain of Iron comes out :))
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a-whisp-of-thought · a month ago
Text
The silence in the aftermath of an apology is a conniving thing
Greedy for forgiveness
Pulling assurances from you before you are ready to give them
They say forgiveness is a small price to pay for peace
But the question is who's?
Is my clemency enough to buy redemption for 2?
Are your sorries enough to purchase you freedom from guilt?
And if I cannot find my peace without granting you yours too
Then so be it
A lie is a small price to pay for justice
I promise myself I will unforgive you
That I will unaccept the apology somehow
That the sorries you mail in cheap white envoples will be returned to sender
That the meager words you offered me that I swallowed for the sake of hospitality will not be digested
I tell myself your suffering is worth the cost of mine
That if enough of your guilt devours you from the inside out, you may soon become emptier than I am
But we are both being eaten alive
For some things in this life are insatiable
Are merciless
For this we both know
So let it be be a waiting game
To see who holds out longest
Before mercy takes us
For herself
~ i do not care if you are sorry anymore (02.21.21)
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a-whisp-of-thought · a month ago
Text
what if when icarus fell apollo caught him before he hit the sea, arms as warm as the sun, but safer.
what if when ariadne cast the rope across a broken branch aphrodite stepped in with a reminder that this, this is not the kind of love you die for.
what if when achilles was ready for war ares appeared with a smile and said “you win well when you win, but what are you unwilling to lose if you lose?” and achilles knew the answer.
if you could retell the tale wouldn’t you want to tell it kinder? wouldn’t you want to give them peace, even love, where you could?
l.s. | I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE © 2016
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