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Aurora by tatasz

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Mr Robot (2015)

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Daily reminder!

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At this point in my writing, I think I need the poems more than they need me.

Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib, interviewed by Sarah Seltzer for Flavorwire (via bostonpoetryslam)

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🍒Red Blog 🍒

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Angelina Jolie photographed by Michel Bourquard, 1994

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All around you are spirits, child. They live in the earth, the water, the sky. If you listen, they will guide you.

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       — vincent van gogh

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Love Letters and Goodbye Notes

1. I could still feel you on me, we muttered words in the night about growing apart. A distance that wasn’t here before. The way your lips said each syllable as if you were giving honey through your tongue. 2. In the world, we found ourselves divided, I’m not sure what’s worse, that the imaginative borders kept us away or the seas tore us apart. But all I have is an abyss within me. 3. My mother tells me that what I have is worth more than anything to anyone, I hope she knows that to me that the value of myself is completely obliterated. 4. The sunlight was worth getting up for whenever the light gently kissed my skin. 5. Beneath my fingertips lies a storm, a hurricane caught in one’s eye, I am weak. 6. It’s hard to leave the bed, loneliness in my heart resides like an unwanted guest. The other side must be warmer, with you. 7. My father tells me stories of his youth, there’s some sort of twinkle in his eye each time he speaks of a love taken away from him, something I wished for. 8. I’ve spent my winter nights staring over thesky, making wishes on stars but I realize that they’re no longer alive. I hate that I’ve wasted my time. 9. He promised me gold within his touch. 10. The coldness has taken me as her own, within her touch my skin turned into a rose pink. 11. The bedside feels empty, lonely without you. 12. Stardust flows through the veins, beneath my skin lies universes that I am afraid to explore. 13. Do you think there is a life on the other side of this chaotic world? Often I dream of portals that could take me to alternate realitives. There are cracks between the concrete, flowers grow. 14. They kissed sunlight with their wings, but they’ve melted. 15. I’ve tried so hard to be something you wanted me to be, I learned that in this world there are things you can’t control. 16. It’s nothing new, believe me. 17. I’m sorry, for the end

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Wildfire

She’s a wildfire running through empty forests, burning through the trees to carve across like it was her own paper and she, her own ink. I wonder what it’s like, to have fire dance across my skin and scar poetry over me. Perhaps I’ll feel again, or perhaps empty will be of me like the barren lands she claims hers.

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Exist

“Most of the world doesn’t even know we exist, we hide among the shadows and try to live a quiet life.” She thought of Wolfram’s words, fingers brushing the wrinkles of her dress. It seemed funny to her that seven years later, her life would consist of hiding within shadows. Scenes replayed over in the girl’s head as if it was a projector with memories, often wishing that she never possessed. A horrid memory instilled within her in years spent working alongside her Watcher, he worried little of her. Shaking her head to rid of the memory, Lucy averted her eyes to him, somehow his once youthful features faded, patches of grey hair formed in unusual places, perhaps gifted by her whenever she returned late from her hunts. Wrinkles lined in places she never thought possible. Perhaps this was the first time Lucy stared at Wolfram. “And our memories? Are we supposed to live as if nothing scarred us?” A laughter carried out in disbelief it was to his ignorance that prevailed a sarcastic humor within her, but a lump grew in her throat as the last words struggled to come out “Don’t you think it’s a terrible way to live?” Silence stood between their conversation, in his hesitation it was clear her answer never needed to be answered. “I’m afraid so, Lucy.” Wolfram spoke, breaking the quietness, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten any of it.”

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i need you to love me in the same way the moon orbits around the earth. without intention to stop.

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If the boy who draws

lets you look over his shoulder.

If the poet

smiles

and shows you her words.

If the girl who sings for the shower only,

hums a song

in front of you.

Know that you’re no longer a person

but the air

and dust

that fills their lungs.

When the world perishes,

and all things cease to exist,

you’ll remain inside an ink stain,

a paint brush,

a song.

—

Alaska Gold