I feel like when people look at me, they see different things depending on who they are. They see a family member or an employee… a potential customer or a face in a crowd.
But whenever you look at me, I always know that somehow you are seeing me. And that is what I love most about you… You are the only person who looks past every mask I wear and looks directly at me. It doesn’t matter how much I try to hide, you always see the real me beneath everything else just as I see the real you.
And that is probably what I love about you most … because that is what I know I will never find in anybody else…
Let’s be unholy. We’re both damned so we might as well be damned together. Put your lips on mine and swallow the brimstone like bitter medicine. We throw ourselves at the church doors but God never lets us in – He’s afraid we’ll burn His house down. If He won’t open up, we’ll make love in the shadow of the steeple, breathing ecstacy like flames so the angels hide their faces.
If God abandons us, we abandon God.
the words that you spill in spite
won’t save you from the hurt
you see i’m far too good at this
and i know just how this works
because time hasn’t made me bitter
and poetry it kept me sweet
in hate, you write, but one day
a mental block you will meet
because after all the hate leaves you
and you know not what to write
you will suddenly realise
how consumed you were by fight
so don’t try to kid yourself darling
you think these words will sting
but words are what i’m built upon
and i don’t do forgiving
so please, throw these lines at me
speak until your throat runs dry
but know that you cannot touch me
because i always write these lullabies
and with them i can dig the knife in
so delicately you mistake it for love
but trust me when i tell you
that no words from me are enough
because even when i take the words
and craft them into a grimace
you’ll wish for just another line
to save your longing ache.
This is a tidal
Wave. Break above my
Every breath I take
Is lancing pain.
Between my teeth
This bayonet breaks
Tongue and words
My voice box
“Out of Order”
Sign taped to its
All I hear is
A carousel that never
Galloping horses on the
Backs of my hands.
This pain is
Past love that chained
My teeth together
With iron clamps.
I want to say
Let the sentiment
Grin and shimmer.
I want them to know
They don’t own me.
They couldn’t change me.
This was meant
This mess of a woman
Is slowly fusing herself
With molten gold.
Seal these cracks
And prove that beauty
Comes from broken
We are only as beaten
As we allow ourselves to become.
Paintings speak to the mind’s imagination, poetic words enrapture the heart, but honest conversation spoken directly with all its rough edges and unpolished exterior is art at its best, a play with running dialogue and no discernible outcome.
Hi Emily, Wolfie is reblogging old posts. I think that post was from more than a year ago. The TWC is all a matter of perspective. From who I can see on my dash, I would say the most active connection points (blogs that people who are or want to be part of the TWC follow) are @poetryriot, @twcpoetry, @aquietjoy2, @takingstockofwhatmattersmost, @mikefrawley, @exhalingcatalysts, @recognizingthevoiceless, @wednesdayshambles, @pomegranatepithos, & other blogs that help with some of the aforementioned blogs. Someone with a different list of people they follow would obviously have a different opinion as to who or what the TWC is. Most of the blogs I follow are poetry only blogs so I’m not familiar with any of the prose writers. It’s definitely a different beast than the TWC we knew a few years back during the editor era. People seem to be nicer to each other and behave themselves… for the most part. I hope you are well. Cheers!
Wrap your arms around me, I’ll wrap my arms around you, and for just a little while, we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
For a little while, we can disappear.
Now that’s what I call magic.