#isaac.poem

[faithdeans]

mine, yours, you

uhm, love as becoming one through consumption, anyone?

transcription under the cut

would you cradle the deepest parts of me,

trace the ribbons that they weave?

wrist-deep and ripe in the cavern between

is the buried fruit they’ll never grieve

my pump-pump-pumping heart

held cleaved and slick where canines part

in praying palms, your butcher’s art

our sacrament of sinew starts

suck the marrow sweet, from my bones,

gorge until i’ve naught to show

mend flesh to flesh as we are sewn

oh, let me in and bring me home

i am the body, from which yours drew

twice ancient and once renewed,

until writhing worms do kiss our tomb

never parting: mine, yours, you

[faithdeans]

lassie, fido, tali, isaac

wrote this based on a dream i had a while ago during a gender crisis so. it's kinda about being trans/rebirth and also just about uh feeling an intense sense of protection over my childhood self now that i'm an adult

transcription under the cut

i am the starving dog and i am the body

of the putrefied twelve-year old girl

it whines and lurches over

on the grease-tacky kitchen floor

now, here’s the part where the dog shifts

as the bones grow in and the teeth fall out

spilling out onto the floor like an anointment

like the milk the body always cried over

and here they are replaced with knifes-edge pearls

and skin stretched like cotton in an embroidery hoop

bones sharp as needles pierce the surface

starving dog, broken dog, howling in agony

the body, still and unchanged beneath him

and here’s when the starving dog starts to gnash-

hot splashes of saliva join the scattered teeth

and red pools from the mangeld stomach

at the first starved bite of what he once was

destroy thyself, devour thyself, become thyself

do not deny a starving dog the right to feast on his own innocence

and do not deny the body of an unhappy child the right to be held

[faithdeans]

guilt sacrament

anyone just feel the guilt. all the time with the guilt.

[faithdeans]

deliverance

i am gayyyy

[faithdeans]

lambs

just a thing I wrote about being trans and uh. names and uh religious trauma lol

[faithdeans]

OF ALL THAT BEATS

so uh. to me this is about being aspec and finding joy and purpose in your singularity and also not fearing dying alone because your story will be told in the earth and the continuation of nature!! also there's a direct reference to my qpr destiel fic hehe

transcription under the cut

so the moss-kissed stone

will read, once i depart:

here lies the hollow body

of one with thistle heart

but see how the burrow worms

have made my aching ribs their home?

and how the fox feeds its growing cub

by stripping flesh from unheld bones?

what is a grave if not a garden

of which you're the fruit to feast?

and what could be my body’s purpose

if not to nourish every beast?

now tell me what's the difference

between a wildflower and a weed?

is it how we press the petals

or how we sew the seeds?and in decay i am not lonely,

cradled between the teeth of friends,

how could my heart be lonesome

when it exists in each of them?

[faithdeans]

nothing but the night

maybe my favourite happy poem i have ever written also i'm gay

[faithdeans]

Snail and Worm

a little thing i wrote. they're best friends 🐌🪱

[faithdeans]

oprah hid love under the seats

you ever feel like each singular act of love is an act of love towards everything that you love? you ever feel like love is just pouring out of you so hard it flows through you and to one person and the next and the next and the next?

transcription under the cut

i want to write a poem for you and you and you                           and you and you and i want them to feel the same love i give you when i kiss their cheek i kiss his too and yours and theirs and you and you and when they hold my hand                             they hold yours too and theirs and his and you and you and there is no singular when i speak of “you” when i say i love like a free mountain stream, there's always enough, enough, enough for all, for you,                           and you and you

[faithdeans]

fathermirror

i don't really like this but i needed to get it out lol love and light. image under the cut of the 3rd stanza because lmao

transcription under the cut

father, ever my undeserving paladin a weekend with you every 3 months qualifies you for sainthood it seems and i pray for your facsimile from my own mirror father, do you see your likeness in me? how it blooms in me differently than my sisters? do you see how the tiger roars beneath the surface of a young girl? father, are we not one in the same? the black smudges around my chin tell me so i painted my face up to look like you! all girls my age do this, i’m sure of it father, see me, see yourself within me teach me how to be, call me my name tell me you knew this all along hold up a mirror and say; “like father, like son.”

[faithdeans]

i think will graham built my clock

oh well you know. this is just about how dissociation and loss of time feels for me. i wrote this at 3am so idk okay byee

transcription under the cut

i think will graham built my clock

i burnt my coffee this morning

at 8 am and i don't know how

and i- i- i-

was stopped, stuck, staring

at an empty beige wall

and    i-    i-    i-

blinked my dusty eyes

into the sunstained clouds and

it's been 10 seconds but it's 7

it's 7 pm so i guess i'll-

and      i-      i-      i-

feel that scraping from inside and

it's all shadow but the slice of-

the trickle of moon, red moon on my

on my cold bathroom floor

and        i-        i-        i-

catch my beige wall eyes

in the sunstained mirror and

and it's 1 am and the sun and

the sun is rising into the slice of moon

and it's 7pm and    i-         i-          i-

stare at a trickle and

i burnt my moon this morning

and it's 8am and    i-           i-           i-

sliced my eyes on the bathroom floor

and it's 2am and    i-           i-           i-

blink the mirror scraping

and it's 7pm and    i-           i-           i-

see the clouds are staring

and it's 2am and     i-           i-           i-

and i burnt my coffee

and it's been 10 seconds and

it's 7pm this morning

and     i-           i-           i-

i-                      i-                      i-

    i-                                   i-                                   i-

[faithdeans]

Leonardo DiCaprio Is Not In My Bed

Leonardo DiCaprio is not in my bed. Not that he was, I mean, in such a way You see, there's a story here: In a bag on the landing, his smug feline face Staring up from a magazine in 2017 I chuckled. A plan, forming at my fingertips- From cheap ink pages I tore his face A hole on the otherside left in an article on love I slipped his now crinkled head Between the floral linen of my sister's sheets I wait in my room, giddy ears trained on her footsteps Up the creaking stairs I knew like an old song Grinning at the laughter she howled through the walls For two years we passed him like a classroom note We find him between pages, in drawers and taped to the back of stained kitchen cupboards Each time, wordlessly saying: "I thought of your laughter. I want to hear it. Again and again and again." I haven't seen him, or her, for three years proper There are no mischief notes or laughter through walls And Leonardo DiCaprio is not in my bed.

[faithdeans]

twenty-five

sorry i am just getting sentimental because my 25th birthday is coming up i can't believe i made it this far. and this just kinda fell out of my head while i was at work so

transcription beneath cut

twenty-five

my youth belongs to my wonders and my sorrows,

my body theirs to sculpt and to annotate

here is your joy say the notes by my eyes

here is your agony say the ones between brows

what privilege it is to see life begin its etching;

to bear the ridges of time and still be unfinished

they tell the stories of nine-thousand days:

times in which i have mourned stars that i can't see

and befriended ancient ghosts.

when i have falsified my tongue, though never my heart

and loved in ways unbeknownst to me.

days of soaking bridges so they never burn

and weeping when i beheld the rotten wood.

i heard my mother sing like god stood beside her

until she sang her song no more.

i feared what it meant to hear my father's voice in my own

while knowing i would grieve its absence.

just as i have levelled forests with my bellows

so too have i replanted them with contented sighs.

i have traversed skies on great steel wings

only to play rabbit to the hawk.

many times i have removed my armour before strangers

and allowed them to feast on the words of my soul.

i have prayed for death and cursed it

and echoed those same words at life

but still living on,

i am,

when the moon silhouettes the trees

and on and on through the cresting of dawn

and on still through the lamentation of dusk

and on again into the mysteries of night

and on and on and on

and on and on and on

[faithdeans]

ode to a grapefruit

(aka i haven't been able to eat grapefruit for 10 years due to being on antidepressants and i miss it)

transcription under the cut

I long for the vibrant whisper

of your bittersweet mist.

For when I would taste you for hours

Once I'd placed your delicate flesh between teeth

and let your sharpness claim my tongue

as I swipe your sticky nectar from my chin

in animalistic evidence of enraptured enjoyment.

Still the irony follows me like your scent;

how I only mourn now that I know joy.

Would I risk my stable contentment

for the unbridled rush of your fragrant elixir?

Tell me once more that I may not have you

and maybe we shall find out.