High fences of realization built on the liquid like foundation of my murky soul.
My desire for love when kept untouched grew into resentment towards myself.
Soothed only by the hands of death on the base of my spine stitching me back together I, her only leftover with words of comfort.
"Life goes on". Is its construction mantra.
Out of deaths lips its arbitrary, a stolen promise; like all the souls that it deemed unfit to be renovated.
The hand of death on the base of my spine, on the back of my neck
it grounds me; I find comfort in it.
the way it caress me so lovingly, a threat of a postpartum psychotic mother to an oblivious child.
Death was never particularly appealing to me, it’s the thought of not existing
not now, not in the past, nor the future. to never be, with no trace whatsoever.
To cease to exist all together With no leftovers, nor broken lovers.
It’s not a constant desire, more of a lure, a forbidden love. A slow burn romance with a happy ending
One that I’ll never reach out to willingly but if it ever reached out to me then I know for sure that I’m not strong enough to reject it.
Because life loses its colors from time to time…
And that leaves me, like a person suffering from aphasia. I lose the ability to understand the point of it all…
I try hard to redefine everything, yet, I can’t express it not even when I reach for a semi-stable ground with all my words.
sensitive, i let life play me like an instrument, so responsive.
i increase the tone of whatever melody goes through me..
do it so i hurt anyone who loves me enough to listen. And because I can’t just fade…. And because I don’t have the upper hand…. I make sure to leave my mark, I make sure I have a way to I leave.
And then I choose not to.
•••
•Quotes: Christa Wolf / Joyce Carol Oates/ Sylvia Plath/Susan Sontag/ Virginia Woolf / Ocean Vuong / Molly Brodak/ Halsey
•Original context: Sinligh
•art reference:
1. Painting by John Bagnold Burgess (detail)
Painting by Roberto Ferri ( detail)
2. Painting by Émile Vernon (detail)
3. The Grasshopper by Jules Joseph Lefebvre. (detail)
4. Painting by Valeria Duca.
5. red" by Hei Shan.
6. Sleeping Beauty by William Oxer.
7. Halsey from her Ig post: iamhalsey (detail)
“It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”
— Chuck Palahniuk, Diary
“Tell me darling, would you still love me If I told you about the monsters I need to sing to sleep every night? If you understood the way I need to tiptoe across my own mind so I can fall asleep before daylight? if you knew where the nightmares came from, if you saw my scarred soul, would being with me terrify you? If you knew the full extent of the damage they have done to me, would you stay, would you still want to?”
— Nikita Gill, Questions I Am Too Broken to Ask
Black women deserve to be vulnerable.
Black women deserve to feel soft.
Black women deserve support.
Black women deserve love.
Black women deserve peace.
Black women deserve comfortability.
Black women deserve grace.
Black women deserve the world.
My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never vibrated to thunder—my blood felt their subtle violence as it had never felt frost or fire […]
Charlotte Brontë, from ‘Jane Eyre’
“Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.”
— Nayyirah Waheed
“It was odd, she thought, how if one was alone, one leant to inanimate things; trees, streams, flowers; felt they expressed one; felt they became one; felt they knew one, in a sense were one; felt an irrational tenderness thus (she looked at that long steady light) as for oneself.”
— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
“For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.”
— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
“Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”
— For M, Mikko Harvey
“You, lost from the start, Beloved, never-achieved, I don’t know what melodies might please you.”
— Beloved, Rainer Maria Rilke
