theromanticallyrepressed

[theromanticallyrepressed]

langston hughes

[theromanticallyrepressed]

i am very quiet today, i am reminded of the good things and the things to look forward to. there is fresh air to hold in my chest this morning, there are smiling faces i get to see today. i am loved, i am safe. this is not the end

[theromanticallyrepressed]

primed and pattented,

particularly prim and proper.

i cant help but stare at myself in the mirror waiting for the reflection to talk back to me. like a dare.

the old ways living among us.

they are vibrant, and burning into my eyes like a fire.

like staring into a dark closed store front,

the anticipation that you'll see something dash in front of your eyes.

the macabre, an isolation in oneself. running from the feeling of aimless wandering. maybe because we never felt content to begin with.

snowshoes laced up, as the arctic tundra prepares us for the coldest journies. waiting, till another walker finds us along the way as well.

[theromanticallyrepressed]

in a world full of jack harlow wannabes,

who is taking the time to know themselves

your hobbies or distastes

likes or misuses.

so focused on the second chance of fame

a spotlight to shine on your reverence

but alas, like the shoe against a door

you are just everyone else is. hold that thought close,

be at peace that you are to others

an equal

[theromanticallyrepressed]

republica’s ‘by the fireplace’

a walking memory, with drags from my cigarette

the glow of street lamps shining down below.

smelling like a walking old fashioned over the rock of a cold heart.

a second shift drink, or a wink from someone over half my age.

old habits die hard, but memories die far harder and sweeter

maybe i’m kidding myself when i really disguise sour as the sweetest.

[theromanticallyrepressed]

Night Moves

folded sheet, folded chair

2am phone calls, stiff cold air.

ivory skin, tall dog, cat hair on my clothes,

milk glass and embroidered throws.

kentucky blues whistling through the tall grass,

swimming, swirling clouds in my coffee to cream,

empty frames hung from the highest points on the wall,

and the sweet decor replacing my personal sours.

rolled down car windows paired to melancholic tunes of a midnight move,

if it weren’t for my need of nostalgia— who am i make believing myself into?

If we learn to live like this maybe we can learn to be content with ourselves more, in this certainty we call life.

A year by, but i am in the same place a last.

Who am i chasing this time? What?

[theromanticallyrepressed]

Oh to be so many versions of myself in one,

simply because the fear of being one is far too great.

sitting with what rejections will be at the hand of my new found predecessor,

humanity and her pull to be more than herself

pulling me closer towards you in your bed

blankets weighing us down with the warmth between our hearts

close but never close enough, because your fingers are slipping from the tips of mine

[theromanticallyrepressed]

whiskey tears, whiskey truths, whisky lies, whiskey blues…

holding fast and dreaming over and over, these glorious mountains, morning glories

i feel the grass between my toes, hear the streams and water throw, feel a burn that coats my throat. all the while, misty morning air grows from below.

the sun touching me, and my chest falling soft and sweet.

[theromanticallyrepressed]

i’m finding it hard to trust myself

this version, the last one, previous to all the versions i’ve been.

stamped for approval, fresh off the press.

i’m tired, and feeling it in my body a lot. who am i to say, what am i to say.

[theromanticallyrepressed]

Wine stained thoughts,

It’s all too similar

These hedonistic comforts eb and flow, sway us through the nightshade. like a dance to end all waltz’s.

The smell in the air is muggy, a deep thick weighing heavy on my chest.

This need for a thought, an action, direction..

lost, and found in the moments. like staring into a voidless mirror.

my wine drunk thoughts, whiskey lips, it’s all thoughts written down, scratched to a page

[theromanticallyrepressed]

the lights crashing 

flashing 

booming noise and sound 

stagnant screaming on and on.

silent glances

Sweet hello and how’re you’s 

corner passings

embraces, reactions 

your Soft eyes Are fixed looking in Mine

while I can barely breathe looking into you

[theromanticallyrepressed]

big dog

folded, seated on the chair.

huffing loudly, the air she held close.

snow peas, swimming in soup on the stove.

this is kentucky living i say

[theromanticallyrepressed]

drafts///

What is it to love, 

What is it that attracts us as people to the feeling of being lost in one’s thoughts? Arms? To surmount this feeling in everyone’s search for the lessening of lonesomeness. The feelings of belonging, group settings, or another. Oh to love, to believe in an utter rapturous kind of love, to be void of daily do’s. To strip the clothes of utter responsibility, all that consumes is the feeling of pleasure. The orgasmic desire that has my breath thick at a moment's notice. If I was able to be covered In a wave I would, swooped over in the endless cycle of desire. 

Why am I so captivated by the thought of that? The pit that grows in the stomach. If my body was weighed down by a stone, I'd drown by the very beast that swallowed me whole. Dragged by the tongue that traces down my body. I sit and breathe in, and out feelings of ecstasy. My soul is captivated by the intrinsic wirings within me. 

[theromanticallyrepressed]

Solemn mind

tracked down as her trail dwindles in the snow

[theromanticallyrepressed]

love; trial, and error of the many, few? most. I'm kicking and staring deep into snow-covered trees, waving with the slow gusts of wind. a slow waltz back and forth. a deep roll. a stream breaking from my eye, being met with brisk heat on my cheeks. somewhere in this cold-ridden hell, I am being called to yearn. for a moment I romanticize the array of clean white. untouched by dark particles. call this my escape from the otherworldly beauty of my natural beating heart. a fortitude of some hidden adversity, the things of dreams. wet dreams. soft rushes of blood to my head. body rocking with the flow of creaking. jerking my head back, sweat falling down my legs. this sweet satisfies the deepest of hunger, partake or be eaten by its hoard of indulgents.

[theromanticallyrepressed]

remnant girlhood, the test of true comfort and trust.

ripping of shirts overhead

‘don’t mind me’

the dashing glance, averting eyes,

she’s glowing, skin sweet, soft, perfection.

soft lilies decorate, as they lay in reflective ponds.

tussles of hair floating down feminine hills

her shoulders drape, as the cloth folds to her body.

women.

bodies whole and without errors.

a painters last stroke of genius,

a potters perfectly molded clay laying softly.

sun shining, delighted in her honest form. chest boldened, puffed with air.

she is safe under my eyes.

[theromanticallyrepressed]

rather mismatched

and although permissible

we wonder about our place in this world,

a slice of swiss cheese, not a single ordinary fraction available. spying with my eyeglass into some ‘distant future’. maybe not.