and suddenly it’s another november of another year
of another year
of another year
and so on and so it goes and every september you think the next october will be better, perhaps the next november will be more healing than the last and and you can never live in the present because you’re so focused on the you of the future figuring it out
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I am brave in ways my mother could never be. And so was my mother, in ways hers couldn't be. They give birth to their freedom and pain instead of children. I think she looks at me and sees herself. Her pain is doused like electricity on a live wire. She asks for more morsels during dinner and to satiate her I cut myself into tiny pieces and give them to her. So that she can call me her daughter again without her jaws beginning to hurt. The same way I call her mine each day and taste copper on my tongue.
— when mothers and daughters are reflections of each other, S.R.
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Soul's Home
I birthed vinyl floors and
Shiplap accent wall
You said “Brilliant!”
But I felt my soul fading.
Bleached out
And compartmentalized
In this industrial structure
Metal and too much glass
Intense craving
For old wooden floors
That have seen years
Of anguish and tears
Ancient turret rooms
Where hours were
Spent reading
Long novels
Wrought iron fences
Topped with spikes
Designed solely
To keep out
Malevolent entities
Yellowing wallpaper
Stained by
Pipe smoking
Beside an ancient hearth
Bright Butler’s Pantry
With cabinets for
Laughing children
To hide in
I shall lie
In the attic dust
Whilst the essence of
Such a place
Fills my being
To completion
~Zelpha Frost 2023
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you, latte lover
gold iris, copper flecks
glowing bright with siren song,
take me, punch-bowl satire
beach babe hair, soul-reader,
to bed; belong; lifelong.
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You Are Love
You have brought upon me a sense of warmth that is akin to that of a boiling cup of tea
So many layers to your love and the words that you carry along with that beautiful crease of your lips
You don’t need a dash of cream or sugar for your grandeur to wash me away with awe
For only the sweet traces of the dried lavender leaves that is you has caved its way into the trapdoors of my intricate heart
And not the bitter lies and whispers people have deluded themselves into believing
My darling
A boiling cup of tea when waited for patiently
Eases me into a state of pure solace
The waft of the delicate layers that constitute who you are seeping into my very soul
Branching its way to my fragile mind and entangling a flower wreath into the twines of my unsightly thoughts
A water droplet of condensation ushering me into a pathway littered with bottled messages of ardency
So utterly compelling, I dissociate into puddles of love
My darling
A boiling cup of tea when consumed right away
Burns the width of my very tongue and leaves me in a state of bewilderment
The convoluted and concentrated love that you bring upon everyone that knows of you
So dauntingly illustrated in the presence of your burning gaze that it leaves me speechless like a gasping grey robin perching on the branch of a eucalyptus tree
My darling
A boiling cup of tea once rendered cold
Thaws its way to the burning heat of my apprehension and mistrust in mortals
The chilling truth of your very perspective and interpretation of life that I will never find anywhere else but in that of flowers that die for the sake of another to bloom in its beloved patch of dirt
So hauntingly incomprehensible that I can’t help but drip cerulean tears into the unapproachable cup of tea in my dust-cluttered hands
My darling
There will never be a being like you ever again
My darling
You have brewed and instilled all of the humanity and ideologies that make up all I am now
My darling
No words are enough to describe you
My darling
You are love
A/N: This poem is written for Kim Namjoon, and only Kim Namjoon
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You don't know how many ways the world has collapsed to create my small tenderness. I am not gentle by nature, but occasionally it comes through.
- Excerpt from This Anatomy of Melancholy || L.H.Z
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“No matter how dreamlike a love I have found myself in, no matter how delightfully drunk I have been, in my heart I was always aware that my family consisted of only one other person. The space that cannot be filled, no matter how cheerfully a child and an old person are living together—the deathly silence that, panting in a corner of the room, pushes its way in like a shudder. I felt it very early, although no one told me about it.”
― Banana Yoshimoto, Kitchen
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‘I am the one who tears open your ribs for the sake of becoming less of me & more of you / I am the one who cradles the heart inside / tell me to close you up again / I will close you up from the inside’
— haley nichole green, excerpt of the unwell will be fed
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I am in the middle of that road where you discover that no matter if we love/like/admire/adore a person, it gives them no right or license to put us down. We should never let anybody feed onto our insecurities, even if that means loosing that anybody. Because people gone leave a space that can be filled later on. But once that love for oneself leaves, it leaves not a void, but an abyss.
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I Need a Sign…
I need a sign
to let me know
your heart.
Whether I’m having too much hope,
or that my heart is right.
Sometimes I’ve caught you looking at me,
when you think I don’t notice.
When we’re not distracted from this mess,
you smile at me.
In moments when it’s just you and I,
it feels like I’m stepping into
your world.
I need a sign
that there’s something
more
in between the words
we speak.
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Nightmares, can’t sleep.
wrap my arms around you
You don’t even touch my arm
how amazing
to be the little spoon again
to be enveloped in comfort
When I need it most
What an amazing memory
Arms around my waist because
He can’t help but touch me
What a wonderful feeling that was
But never with you
You resist
You don’t see me that way
You don’t burn for me
You never have
~Zelpha Frost 2023
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