musingsforbrilliana

[musingsforbrilliana]

i’m a bad person i’m a bad person i’m a bad person

i should be burned at the stake

nothing good can come from me

[musingsforbrilliana]

when i was four i saw a fox

out on a hunting day,

winter- 07 i think. snow everywhere, the world a marvel. i walked off from the group.

the fox

i should have spoken

called out to say i had seen one.

the fox’s eyes met mine and i realised i was responsible for another beings life or death.

the fox.

the fox.

the fox slipped into my mind and never left

i turn 21 tomorrow

i saw a fox today

the fox was walking away

i think that means something

i never thought i’d see 21 anyway.

[musingsforbrilliana]

i sit in a foreign church, gazing lovingly at mother maria.

she looks different here, still as kind and revered as she does at home, albeit different. she wears deep reds, with jewels covering a blood wine silk cape, she’s royal in appearance.

in my home church she is poor, she wears rags and had no crown on her head. she is every bit the same worthy and kind and good.

the churches here envelope me softly, they hold my hand while i attend morning mass and mumble the same prayers as always. i find some comfort in the golden walls and tapestry’s.

i’m cradled. just as if i am jesus on that december night.

mother maria whispers secrets to me across the empty pews. soft utterings about how she was scared and frightened, but that she was brave. she was brave and kind.

[musingsforbrilliana]

your home for the next year

[musingsforbrilliana]

devout

And I could carve your face from memory like the greats sculpted hercules like appollo you stand golden your divine and ethereal my religions ever lasting despite you not being this stories hero

so let me holy one ill be your disciple your high priestess if you asked me to lay sacrifice i would carve up the lambs and then myself I'd wear my prettiest white dress with blue kitten heals Im devout to you im giving up a part of me for you notice me notice me notice me ill be ever faithful to you ill hold you on the altar ill say my eternal vows forever yours by name and legacy who i was before iis no longer i bleed for you ill bleed ill ble-

I am at your altar murmuring my eternal vows forever yours by name and legacy who i was before is no longer ill be an afterword in your biogrpahy ill be your high priestess and tend to your word likei will tend to your grave because how else would you die other than a matry ill rewrite all your sins to make sure your not ill thought i think ill fade into the background ill be in your stands ]holding onto your every weord i think ill lose myself for you i think ill dig my own grave for you i think ill be your disciple im not divine i bleed im not divine you said so, five months ago, in a beat up toyota on the backroads

[musingsforbrilliana]

love coming home for the holidays from a whole different country and my family just spend the whole time fighting and arguing and making me feel bad about myself. it’s so awesome. this isn’t poetry i just needed to get this out of my system

[musingsforbrilliana]

this time of year makes me think of the church. of jesus and mary and joseph. of the heavenly father. of my childhood. of warped depictions of a god who seemed cruel and harsh and mean to 11 year old me. when i was a child i would seek solace with the mother, the holy mother, who would stare at me from her statue as i made requests and prayers and promises.

a part of me wants to go back to the church, the church that i once desired to be a sister of. but then i think of the woman i love, the woman i love who god supposedly views as sinful to love and suddenly i feel torn and rotten and the sins of eve and lilith trickle through my blood and i feel as evil as the apple. i feel as sinful as god.

tell me lord. are you all good. or are you all powerful.

[musingsforbrilliana]

Some questions ! <3

I found these questions on Pinterest, and wasn't able to find the original creator of them so sorry for that!

Do you prefer writing in blue or black pen?

I've always preffered black pen, it always felt more smart and classy. mature. however, possibly due to nostalgia blue plen evokes something familiar in me, it reminds me of high school english class.

Would you prefer to live in the country or the city?

as someone who has lived in both they both have their charms. while the city is brilliant, i live in one now, i think at a core i am meant to live in the middle of nowhere, i think i prefer by the sea, with long cold beaches that are perfect for seeing dolphins and seals.

What was your favourite book as a child?

the farthest away mountain. without a doubt. or possibly north child as a close second. both were books i found in dusty corners of my childhood schools library, neither had been checked out from the libary in over thirty years (i went on to steal them from the school in my final year in revenge for all the religious trauma they gave me), but the farthest away mountain is truly to this day one of my favourite books. there is something so incredibly kind about it. the message that you can set out to follow your dreams, and sure, it may not go exactly how you planned and the ending may by utterly different to what you thought it would be. but that doesn't mean it was a waste. that being kind and being tough go hand in hand. that book taught alot to young me. i also enjoyed the pure whimsy of it.

What does an ideal day sound like?

an ideal day includes waking early, seeing the sunrise over the mountains, walking around a museum, taking a sketchbook with me and attempting to draw my favourite paintings, sitting in a cafe that has soft music playing- a tasty sweet treat and a warm drink, spending the evening with my dear girlfriend, making dinner together and playing our most loved games as we debate random things.

What do you wish you did more of?

I wish i created more. i used to create so much when i was younger, before responsibilities wrangled me down. I wish i wrote more songs and poetry and made art and wrote silly stories on the internet. it makes me sad that i dont do these things as much. i am working on creating more now though! my aim at the moment is the creative something everyday, even if its small and not 'really' creating. even just making a silly tumblr post like this.

Would you rather be in middle earth, narnia, hogwarts or somewhere else?

love throwing in a majorly 2013 tumblr question. but im trying to heal my inner child so who cares. right off the bat ill say not hogwarts, while i had a harry potter phase when i was younger it was quite short lived. middle earth and narnia were the object of alot of my daydreams as a child (and teenager in truth). they both were so magical and beautiful. but... i think i would choose narnia. i loved those books, i still do. but the world i imagined when reading them was so brilliant i can't turn it down.

well i think that is it for now. i had fun. i ended up taking questions from a couple of different posts on pinterest.

[musingsforbrilliana]

Sage of Arboria

[musingsforbrilliana]

i met death for the first time when i was 5. Standing in a hospital ward, she was greying and wrinkled and happy with the life she had lived, my mother was asleep, it was 2 pm and no one had come to visit the old woman that day. Her children were kept busy with their own children. She smiled at me and told me it was nice to talk to someone so bright- so full of life. I held her hand as she fell asleep. She went slowly and peacefully. Death was kind and patient and loving when I was five.

Death sometimes isn’t kind and patient and loving. Death is sometimes cruel and demanding and spiteful. Death can be a unfunny punch line. Me wishing for a reason to not go into school and Death replying with a car crash. on an empty road- too far for a ambulance to arrive in time. A man. Too young, he could barely grow a full beard. laying with his head in my lap clutching his rosary asking me to just pray. i told him how it’s okay, i sometimes think about how the last things he heard were lies. i saw death fall into him, letting him gaze upon the endless skies one last time. i didn’t go to school that day.

Death doesn’t come to me much anymore. the years have been kind to me. to others. Death is all of these things. death is a mother tending to all her children. she sees the sunset going down and knows it is time for us to go home for dinner. She knows better than I.

[musingsforbrilliana]

i haven’t met myself in years.

it feels strange to put it like that. i meet myself every morning in the mirror as i do my eyeliner. or everytime i stare at my ID before boarding the bus. but it’s not the same as how i used to meet myself. i was constantly creating when i was younger. whether it was songs, poetry, novels or art. i could see myself in so much. i was so at home with me. and the things i loved. i loved things. even silly small things like tv shows or video games. i adored them i actually consumed them. now i barely exist. i think the internet is partly to blame. partly myself. it’s a complex issue. i wish my evenings were like what they were when i was 12. how i’d come home from school. id eat a snack, in silence, but i wasn’t lonely or bored. id do homework and then find an activity, usually music or drawing. or id sit with my brother and play chess. or knock on a neighbours asking to play on our bikes. i don’t do these things anymore. i’m too old. i’m too aware of myself and yet completely unaware of myself at the same time.

i’m not even sure what i’m trying to say.

i miss greeting myself.

[musingsforbrilliana]

call me by your name but make it sapphic 🌷🍃

[musingsforbrilliana]

god running through the streets of small towns in northern italy. the hills hug me and the rain coats my skin like the olive oil my mother would cover me in. i am in love with the sun. i am becoming more and more a summer child. maybe i always was one. i think i refused this part of me. i am most true to myself when the golden sun is shining into my eyes with leaves casting shadows over my clothes. i wear linen and cotten shirts. the grass stains do not bother me. i am forced into white dresses on sunday and then run into a river. my parents laugh. my friend joins me. i am in love with the fish that swim by my feet.

[musingsforbrilliana]

Im not very good at drawing but this is a little sketch of ganyu! she’s so pretty and such a lovely character with a very interesting backstory.

[musingsforbrilliana]

i don’t know how to convey it but i’m yearning for the female saints who comforted me in church who would appear in ghostly forms at the altar glaring scornfully at the priests and bishops who tried to tell me to bow down to a world that would be unforgiving to me. i yearn for their comforting gaze held in their statues and i want to light candles for them but i can’t go back to my childhood churches without crying. mother mary would hold my hand, she still does

[musingsforbrilliana]

on plaiting hair

i am eight years old and i’m messily plaiting the teachers assistant hair. i think she’s so old, but she’s barely twenty and i think she’s so cool and smart as she shows me how to braid correctly, how it’s not just two pieces of hair warping around each other but three, or four or five as she joyfully recounts the different styles and smiles as she tells me about her sister teaching her the art form. that it is an art form.

i’m 12 years old at a sleepover and we are telling each other our deepest secrets. the boy i like is blank. my dad hit me again last week. i think my parents are getting a divorce. i called becky a bitch in maths class. i got a C on the homework. my older cousin touched my ass. i kissed my crush at the disco. my hair is being braided by two girls. one is doing a dutch plait while the other is doing a french plait. i don’t care that they are different. their hands are in my hair and their words are locked away in my heart.

i am 16 years old. i am sat in the changing rooms before a netball game. we are sat in our too short skirts as someone asks if anyone has any deodorant. someone shouts from the toilet for a tampon and someone is crying from nerves. taylor swifts dear john is playing in the background, one of the girls got broken up with an hour before. there’s only two girls on the team who can braid well. me and the ginger haired one. we run our fingers through each persons hair with accuracy and love and a little bit of luck. mixed matched hair ties on the end and it’s the perfect combination for a winning game. we all sing along to taylor stating don’t you think i was too young.

i am 20 years old. sitting in an apartment with a girl whose become a best friend. we are giggling like 8 year olds to videos of our favourite pop stars on the tv. our hair is dripping wet from the rain outside as she suggests that we plait it. we sip at our tea and take our time. we are busier than we once were.

[musingsforbrilliana]

it’s an unspoken thing between all of us- the grief of all the friends you never got to say goodbye to. like, the friends youd make in science class because the teacher sat you next to one another, the friends from your childhood who you mightve only spoken to in school, but whose existence sunk its teeth into you and left a permanent mark. even the ones you were closest to, the ones you called best friend for a time, somewhere along the way you parted without even noticing it. somewhere along the way, you played outside for the last time, shared food for the last time, stayed up talking for the last time, said i love you for the last time. when was the last time? we didnt decide to stop being friends. we didnt even say goodbye. but ‘see you next week’ turned into ‘it’s been a long time’, and now, if you saw each other in the street, you might pretend that you didnt. you might not even recognise them. they might not even recognise you. you can’t remember the shape of their nose. and what about the connections you made online when you were a child, playing games that meant so little with nameless friends that meant so much? or when you were a bit older, talking to strangers but loving them like family? here, raise a glass to the friends who disappeared one day, who deactivated, who stopped messaging you back, because online friends can bring you just as much joy as real life ones, too. when the adults told you dont talk to strangers, they didnt consider the good morning! :) texts, the have you eaten today? texts, the trying to hold in your laughter at 3am texts, the i wish timezones and continents and countries didnt exist so i could hug you texts, the little pieces of a persons heart texts, blue light flooding across the world just to say i love you. sleep well. i love you. i love you. the grief comes in waves. it’s slow, and soft, and steady- you dont notice it pooling around your ankles at first, you dont want to- but it comes. childhood is where the grief begins. it’s reared like a well-loved pet, a hungry mouth under the tablecloth. a passing thought from time to time, when you remember the girl you befriended a long long time ago, and when you wonder where she went. it doesn’t feel like much at first. it doesn’t break you yet. it’s not like real grief, not like anyone died, but you had something in your hand and now it’s empty and you can’t remember where you put it. it’s like that, except the thing in your hand was a person who loved you, once. a person whose face you couldn’t draw if the world got on its knees and begged you. when you dont get to say goodbye to someone, your memory becomes a funeral, every conversation you ever shared with them a eulogy. because this is how the story goes. i had a friend. this is not a poem. i had a friend.