things-to-share-with-the-world

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

Old Habits

I used to find it compelling, 

assailing into pits of ‘what ifs’, 

and assaulting the present 

with ghosts of the past. 

Conditioning my brain to favor 

the sag and sigh 

of words 

that denied me 

any fraction of light.

I used to settle into  

arms doused, in

gasoline;

And hands that bred wildfires,

surmising, 

that their stings 

may be a feature of love.

I used to be well versed in

the language of half truths, 

sold at the cost of 

content smiles, 

and persistent head nods

that concealed the

word rot behind my teeth. 

Dreaming often,

in terms of greyscale

when all that I wished for, 

was to be

endowed to a life of color.

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

“The feeling that followed neglected what I’d presumed, would be like, collapsing into the cushioning net of familiarity. It was instead, similar to settling into the ghost of a moment, where all warmth is lost in its passing.”

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

/ / Things you may never hear / /

Your all the words i've yet to speak,

still occupying space,

in the margins of my throat. 

An entity of all my bated breaths 

And 

Nervous smiles 

nestled behind splintered flesh. 

You're every ardor 

I've failed to grant life 

And instead craned in the track 

Of my pulmonary vein;

Until, 

It tore,

and only sang for you. 

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

I wish that photographs were physical spaces, like tunnels; that you could crawl inside them and go back.

— Lauren Oliver, Vanishing Girls

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

‘There are girls with dicks, guys with vaginas, and transphobes without teeth’

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

Bro, christopher columbas was a colonizer piece of shit and all, but if youre not talking about the forced sterilization of indigenous women, the lack of access to clean drinking water on reserves, the missing indigenous women who go missing with no investigation, or any of the other multitudes of indigenous issues happening currently today, your bonus woke points for saying fuck christopher columbus arent worth shit tbh

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

grazes

i allow my hands to wander his domain of skin

and

like an expansion of tethered ground

he blooms beneath me.

petals broadening

at the assembly of light.

that spills past lips

and down to

stuttering hips

(heaven is found in the nighttime) .

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

“let me be your tomorrow tonight..”

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

ruins

i am an assembly of feelings

and tarnished poetry

a throng of severed loves

and creased memories

i am the crumbling ruins

of someone

no one ever knew.

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

1941

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

i keep trying to memorize every detail of the moments i live in. in the soreness of my legs from standing so long at a concert, the chill of the night, the patterns of a tablecloth, the oily texture in my mouth after eating fried bananas. i keep trying to memorize the feelings, the quiet contentedness, the laughter, the excitement. i keep trying to memorize the people, their smiles, the way they speak, what makes them laugh. i’m constantly on the cusp of the next part of my life and that’s just so.. strange. but it makes it so much easier to find happiness no matter what’s happening to me, in a way? because i’m already kind of looking at life with those rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, simply because i know these are times i’ll never be able to live again, and these are people i might not always have, and that makes it so much easier to appreciate everything i might miss later. 

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

tracing trails of veins beneath skin

the harsh rapture of blood circuiting through bodies

half open eye lids

and falling asleep at dawn.

haunting laughs that echo through highways

remnants of unwanted memories

that linger on bedroom floors

like fingers

eager to grasp a hand.

[time capsules]

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

no, analyzing every text to search for homoeroticism and staying up late learning latin and playing mozart on piano and going out at night to explore abandoned castles and getting drunk on wine and kissing girls and boys that i don’t know and throwing a bacchanal and maybe murdering someone and going crazy is not a phase, mom.

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

The melodies of a fruitful heart [falling again]

I met her in my fifteenth year. It was a season of change and inventory. We’d collaborated in English and brushed shoulders in the hallway but my brain remained unhinged; collecting remnants of past affairs and ambling about in what ifs. It took an agonizing six months of repressed observations and glueing back together my broken pieces to realize how loudly she existed. I found noise in the way she was able to proclaim powerful thoughts in a small voice that was rough like grain. The way she lived in a world outside of her phone, and how she held respect and a swirling matter of kindness in her gaze. She was intimidating to me, someone still learning how to embody who they said to be. And so I found myself for days at a time, gazing across whatever thing that divides us, wether it be a table or a small chair, I remained intent on drinking in her image until I was able to “define” her. Sadly I was unable to, as much as we are composed of pages, words, and chapters these things are not unearthed upon a curious gaze. This minor in fracture didn’t stop me however, it only made her more of a mystery to me. It took a weekend to realize I had developed a crush on her.

Seeing her in real life upon this sudden conclusion was a shock. I was convinced she was apart of my imagination, something I’d marginalized mentally. But then she walked into my English class just as she had for the past sixth months and my eyes refused to glare at anything else. She was kind of tall, with pretty eyes that looked capable of consuming Jupiter whole. Her walk was stiff just as is it was soft and calculated and her curly hair was brushed to perfection, not a hair out of place. As much as she was loudly existing, she was also cautious. Almost as if she were aware of her existence and wanted to quiet it down. This factor of her personality I found to be the warmest as it brought a sense of ecstasy to my veins and an overbearing smile to my mouth. In fact I believe that if people were to look beyond my devouring gaze they’d see flowers blooming in my cheeks and the dilation of my eyes. Or maybe they’d hear the melodies of a fruitful heart falling again.

[things-to-share-with-the-world]

Blue is the Warmest Color