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redundantz
Redundant Thoughts
himself-involve-class-style
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Precioso Lirio
leonardsnarksalot
All That Freezes
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No I'm good bro it's just that for what feels like a timeless eternity I've had a profound sadness in me far more vast than the wild lakes I've baptized myself in. Haha
#anyways heres Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn. try not to think of formative lonely peaceful nights in your hometown!!!!!!¡!!! good luck!!!!#i was so sad at my core for so fucking long and now im not really or rather definitely not as much and i didn't even realize it#until i began to feel a strange emptiness that was only momentarily filled when i faced sad stuff. wild.#i miss the tranquility of it though. of being a little bit sad. really evens out moods and puts everything in perspective all the time#i would wander through the highways at night howling along with the radio and facing the darkness and finding all sorts of new little places#id be out under the sky lightly freckled with stars and the clouds and the moon and smell the night air on the cool winds#i would be driving and free and happy but also entirely alone.#not really feeling the loneliness as much as the loneliness was what kept me company.#it always rode shotgun and i could wrap and weave it around myself and through my fingers at any old time#served me well all i will say
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remembering the absence of something is also a presence induced madness
#he is the light and i am the darkness. we are each profoundly defined. by the absence of each other.#saved
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Enlightenment
Take this
light
and hold
it.
•••••••
Keep
it
within you,
let
it
move you.
•••••••
Radiance
becomes
you,
a halo.
•••••••
Tell me
darling,
do you
feel
holy,
holding me?
#probably from early 2021? if i had to guess. i really like this one i think#fuck it two poems today why not#i think i like what i did with the rythym of reading this one. you have to focus on each word and what it means to you/for you#rowetry
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Orange
Sometimes you will meet people who are not the type things happen to, as much they are the type who happens to things.
These people will shine, and everyone will find themselves to be a mirror to their light, reflecting it back, amplifying it.
These people glow brightest when they are given an audience to entertain, an audience who seeks to entertain them back.
Hearing them speak is a vibrant thing. Not to say only their words or performance are vibrant, as well they are, but the very nature of their speaking fills those around them with the same vibrancy.
A tantric, empathic way of storytelling.
It isn't taught, it grows from a life well lived, and from a heart open to kinship, and a soul/spirit that seeks adventure as much as it does harmony.
Any dark feelings you may have upon meeting them melt as they connect with you, as you bask in their flare, their spark.
These people have the rythym of fighters but they are lovers who fight for love. They are old souls whose essence has gathered the sunlight from each past life, and now are here to break the dawn.
They aren't fire but they are rather the warmth of a hearth, they are the burn of homemade ale, the strong and reassuring cacophony of a heartbeat, they're lightning on a bright and cloudless day.
#this is from like. 2020 or so? I was daydreaming about the types of people I get drawn to and ruminating about it.#the server talking about poetry makes me more okay with posting this one here. idek if this counts as a poem.#rowetry
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Spit Palm
Some men speak of handshakes with a reverence unseen by any deity.
They describe handshakes like sex.
The ideal is painted as firm without being aggressive, warm without being clammy, not to fast, not to slow, not perfunctory but nothing that lingers too long, for fear of causing dissonance.
Perhaps that's as close as they'll let themselves come to the real thing.
Tantalizing, is the way they regard a good one.
Their opinion of the other soars and they pique mutual interest in another.
Their good impression is the heart pounding orgasm of the ordeal.
Eyes are the windows to the soul but hands are near indescribable.
Not for lack of ability, merely for there is no equivalent which humanity interacts with to compare to.
A window is something seen, something to look at and through, a clear barrier that enhances clarity of intent.
Eyes hold in the ways hands can't.
But what other aspect of a home can be likened to hands?
What constant of a dwelling can craft and give and take and caress and bruise and tear and mend?
Eyes are the windows but hands are the spirit of a home.
Hands speak in tongues foreign to the rest of our bodies.
Hands are the personification of the heart itself.
What do your hands do.
What do you want them to do?
What's stopping you?
Touch is sacred.
Why not give yourself to sacrilege?
New forms of the divine to be crafted in moments of touch and you refuse to give yourself to them, because it's not what you're meant to be doing.
You're not supposed to pray like this, but it's a prayer anyways.
Are we not our own gods?
Did we ask the gods for consent to worship them, to be devout?
Was this something they wanted or was it something we needed, that we needed to hear we were wanted?
That we were loved?
You want to touch the other man.
He feels the same.
How strange it is that the only place acceptable, the only place offered, within an outstretched palm, is the heart.
You take the proffered heart in your own, you mustn't squeeze too tight, nor must you seem uncaring.
You want to make it good for him, you want to show him his worth and you want him to see you as a soulmate, even if you're soulmates for this moment.
He is thinking the same.
Hearts intertwined, you move up and down.
The crest of which you both hold fractionally tighter, pleading with him, don't let me fall, while at the same time reassuring him you exist in this fraction of a second only to raise him up.
It's your only purpose.
On the descent, the trough reveals a looser grip, you're each preparing for heartbreak.
You're melancholic, you don't want it to end but it must, how else would it be worth anything?
You finish together, in the middle, where you first met.
It's over and you're no longer touching.
You might never touch again.
You think of who else has held your heart before, those who were too rough, held you too tightly too long, overstimulating.
And you think of those that didn't care for you enough, who let you go before you were ready, (not that you were ever going to be) who left you unfulfilled and wanting.
Where does this man place?
How was it for you?
Some men talk about handshakes like sex.
Because to them it is.
It is because it has to be, it is because they can't ask for more, they fear it.
They want to give their heart to other men so they make rules and regulations, they make it normal.
Yet frequency doesn't lessen the hurt or sting of yearning.
#I had the original in my notes app but slapped it here for ya to read also for formatting?#I wrote this Dec 15th 2020#rowetry
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