Tag: spilt ink

all is right
and nothing’s left, 
it seems i’ve lost my
art. 
no blood pounds in my
forehead, the seas within
are calm and i
have nothing left to say except
how lovely it is to really
smell the autumn air and
not be thinking of
how to write about it.

when the words don’t flow // a.s.m

i was myself, once.
like i’ve been before;
a phoenix, fire of 
autumn leaves regurgitates
me. 
i find my voice in the songs
the river sings, 
memory like the currents. 
constantly moulting, but
keeping them in a scrapbook– 
moments with blank spaces 
in between 
stitched together to make
a quilt.
i decompose. 
sometimes i bloom with the azaleas
in the spring.

anatman: “I hardly know who i am. I think I must have been changed several times… I’m not myself, you see.” // a.s.m

Sometimes events in your life aren’t meant to happen when you want them to. You can’t shove a puzzle piece where it doesn’t belong or else the puzzle as a whole won’t come out looking right. Our lives are puzzles in a similar way: in our relationships, jobs, hobbies, whatever-if the piece doesn’t fit quite right, it isn’t meant to go there.  Trust that moving some pieces of your life around will fix the overall outcome of the greater picture.

trust the big picture: the universe knows where everything’s meant to go. // a.s.m

Can you even really love someone if there aren’t parts of them that irk you?

loving somebody that has no flaws would be too easy– i don’t think i could even call that ‘love’. the strongest thing about love is the acceptance of the yin and yang of an individual, and the decision to overcome the not-so-good because you can see there is so much in that person that you love, and that those flaws are a part of that person. // a.s.m

your name on my tongue 
(the only fruit i will not eat)
is overripe,
no longer sweet– past it’s prime
and overdue– 
my heart no longer aches for you.

your name on my tongue doesn’t taste like anything anymore // a.s.m

there are places
i cannot look at myself
even when i am alone; 
please don’t
touch me there.

please love my naked soul,
please do not force
my layers off, do not force
my clothing off
before i am ready because
this body is the only thing that
i’ve ever been able to call my own
and i am not ready to
give that up yet; i’m not quite
ready to let you in.

i am learning how to grow
my own boundaries from
the dust that has finally
settled, and this body is
the only vehicle i can drive.
i am not quite ready to
share it yet.

i know you see beauty,
but the mirror paints stories of
pain and struggle and learning and
growing and scars and
bleeding
that only i see, and you can never
own that.

i don’t want to belong to
anyone but myself.

i cannot sell my body and
you cannot buy it.
i am scared to share something
i have only just learned to
love and care for because
with just a touch
you have the power to 
break it.

my body is the only thing i’ve never had to share with everyone and i cannot find it within myself to let go // a.s.m

hands grab hearts
only when they are ready
to be touched;
a middle ground where
nonsense forms beautiful truths. 
i am speeding down
the road to
eternal madness, and
all i can see is poetry
on the horizon.

too weird to live, too rare to die  // a.s.m

i never learned to
walk. i learned to
tiptoe
around eggshell grenades
on tile kitchen floors, 
to dance gracefully 
dodging projectile dinner
plates on
Sunday afternoons, 
to twist and crawl from
torrid gazes, to leap
out of the trajectory of
missiles spat under one’s
breath, and amid the floods on the
kitchen tile, to land
unscathed.

i’ve only learned to move in avoidance: do not live your life simply to dance around eggshells // a.s.m