The air is heavy with sugar
from the bakery nearby
Trees everywhere
Green on the ground
Brick sidewalk
People in suits seated on concrete benches, clutching their phones, crinkling their shirts with the sag of their postures
I am walking in circles, thinking about what it means to be sweet, sweet and soft
What it means to be bitter and jagged
What it means to have a human heart with the thin papery skin of a tomatillo
What it means to know someone, really know them,
Know the flick of their brow,
the way their gait changes when they’re excited,
The way their voice fills with bright light when they sing
What it means to be an animal
What it means to plunge our feet into shoes when our only desire is the comfort of bed, TV, and numbing agents
How do we do this
How are we both living and dying
How do we force our feet to take one more step when a piece of us is dead
Rotting shriveling up alongside our organs
When all we can smell is the rot
When all we can see is the violent way the carcass was killed
How do we feel the tightening of our chest and the filling up of our eyes with tears
And as if by magic pull these sensations back into our bodies
As if by brute force
Suck ourselves back in
Pretend we are fine
Go to business meetings
Eat a sandwich
Swim in the pool
How do we do these things
When the rot is there all the time just waiting there in the background for us to remember it
You see a concert he would have liked
And the notes just bring the rot back
The rot is the death of his hand on your thigh on long car rides
The rot is the death of word games you played before bed
The rot is the death of your futures together
Now permanently separated, the death is the you that believed that love is enough
Love is never enough.
I'm writing this in remembrance, kind of like a eulogy, except for you are not dead and I am not dead, but we are dead. And I think in the writing, I will cast off the coconut smell of your hair, I will cast off your giggle, I will cast off the square shaped birth mark on your neck, I will cast off the tinkle in your brown eyes. I will cast you off like dead skin, like a snake, and the remnants will be crackly and dry and dead and they will be thrown out and I will not have to feel you inside of me anymore.
When he loves you, he will love you with all of his parts. With every last crumb in his pocket. With every last bill in his wallet. With every last blink of his eye. He will not try to catch his bearings because my dear, with you, there will be no such thing as bearings. He will do nothing halfway. He will love you with both hands behind his back. Without his arms in front of him to break his fall. He will fall into your chest, and weep into your mouth. His love will be like a lightning bolt. It will rip right through you, it will melt your resolve when you say you are not ready for him. His light will remind you why you've always loved tall trees and unexpected breeze and raindrops on car windows. His light will remind you why you've always loved the sun. It's because the sun doesn't just stop shining one day. It burns on. And even when you can't see it, it's still there. Yes, one day you will be loved like the sun; please don't forget that.
The things I tell myself to fall asleep (via @laydiewinehouse)
The things I tell myself to fall asleep
When he loves you, he will love you with all of his parts. With every last crumb in his pocket. He will not try to catch his bearings because my dear, with you, there will be no such thing as bearings. He will do nothing halfway. He will love you with both hands behind his back. Without his arms in front of him to break his fall. He will fall into your chest, and weep into your mouth. His love will be like a lightning bolt. It will rip right through you, it will melt your resolve when you say you are not ready for him. His light will remind you why you've always loved tall trees and unexpected breeze and raindrops on car windows. His light will remind you why you've always loved the sun. It's because the sun doesn't just stop shining one day. It burns on. And even when you can't see it, it's still there. Yes, one day you will be loved like the sun; please don't forget that.
Take me in the shower
Steam and sweat, damp hair
I want to daze you
Moans escaping from your throat
When you kiss me
Warm water will drip into your mouth
Your fingers know how to be soft
Digging into my hips
I like it when you wash me
With chunky soap bars
That smell like sandalwood
And smoke
I bite your lower lip
Just to see what you taste like
You smell musty, like home
Your beard tickling my chin
When the shower
Paints red marks across my chest,
The water has the quality
Of ecstasy, of drowning
But you're like a mermaid
Comfortable in your scales
And your many desires
And I'm still like Ariel,
Just learning to use my feet.
When I'm bed with him
I still catch myself
almost
saying your name.
I pause
Then I mouth his name
Before I say it
To get it right.
But your name
Sits on my tongue
The vowel lifting itself
at the beginning
The consonant following
The "r" that sounded
like a secret.
I miss saying your name
I miss seeing you to say it.
laydiewinehouse reblogged
Photographer Captures the Pastel Pink and Blue Hues of a Snowy Landscape
Photographer Alex Ugalnikov captures the soft hazy blue and pink hues of the snowy Belarus landscape. The morning fog, the gentle reflections of the snow and sun create an ethereal and pastel fog in the cold. The lavender sky, the snow-covered trees create a scene from a fairytale novel. The frozen twigs, icicles, and frozen chunks of water create the natural beauty of the shivering snow mornings.
The transparent shards of ice seem to glitter making the passage airy and celestial. The fairy-like view captures the beauty of the glistening countryside.
blazeofgold-deactivated20190921
When I say girlhood I mean to bleach and bind and braid. I mean that soft gape-mouthed mirror face. I mean the slight, tight discomfort of hair scraped into a ponytail lifting the skin of the forehead. I mean pleasure-pain. I mean knowing how to hurt. I mean the fixed quality of attention bestowed by your best friend as she grips your chin to apply your lipstick, half-sensual half-ritual all hush, like communion. Sad as Sunday night television. I mean following those flow-charts in teen magazines that tell you which movie star you’re going to marry, looking for clues about the unknown quantity of yourself. I mean the sense of waiting for upheaval. I mean having an itchy soul. I mean girls are cruellest to themselves. I mean a fire in a dollhouse.
Reasons not to date an alcoholic:
The word "no, I don't want another" means a fight
The word "yes" means I'd like to get fucked up and watch you forget your existence.
Because rum will always be the other woman
And I will never be as warm and hot as she is.
Because she puts stars in your eyes and endless possibilities in your hands
And I just serve as a reminder that human beings are fucking complicated.
Because she is not complicated
And I am.
Because she is not real
And I am.
Because she can erase painful memories with cloudy pleasure
And I just make more.
Because she will never leave you
And I will.
laydiewinehouse reblogged
He said Your body is a poem Your hand is a miracle And in your pinkie toe There is God
Your face is a map Of the places I will go And your breastbone freckles Are stars that leapt off the sky When we were sleeping
He kissed me like the world Would stop turning if he did not Touched me like his hands Would be singed in flames if he did not Looked at me like his eyes Would lose their sight if he did not
When we made love, We left our human shells in a pile at the foot of the bed Became otherworldly creatures Telepathic, infinitely dangerous Understanding lava and earthquakes better than any geologist
He sighed Touched my skin With the stars in his eyes And my taste in his mouth And it was then That I forgot You.
Never believe someone who tells you you are a God; they’re just looking for someone to fill their holes.
laydiewinehouse reblogged
We were standing in the paint aisle when you told me I looked blue.
I stood there between the color swatches,
surrounded by
e g g s h e l l,
r o y a l,
n a v y
&
s k y.
there were things I could have said to you, then:
that my blood is r e d and my hair is
b l a c k,
and my eyes and skin are
b r o w n,
that I don’t look like a person
who would be born with blue sitting under my tongue.
I could have reminded you that forget-me-nots are blue for a reason, that I drenched myself in them so you would remember me.
I could have smiled
and said that you always did confuse me with the sky
(you did,
you said I was infinite and boundless,
that I deserved the sun and stars).
I could have said any measure of things, but the blue crept up my throat and pried the poetry out of my teeth.
So I laughed and asked you if you were blind.
I said that my nail polish was red, not blue,
that I had never liked blue anyway.
It might have been a call for help, what I said.
I don’t think you heard it,
because you shook your head and walked away,
leaving me to drown
in the waves rising up from the ceramic floor.
f o r g e t - m e - n o t
(via constellations-and-ink)
I missed you like a phantom limb
Ghostly, out of the corner of my eye
I could always see you somewhere
I missed you like I missed my mother on the first day of school in 2nd grade
The teacher had to convince me to make it past recess
I missed you like I missed my father when he left without taking his clothing or trophies
He would build a house in a new city with no pictures of us on the walls
I missed you like I missed my best friend from the ages of 7 to 16
She would go on to be a blonde, thin and blank; she would forget about our pillow games and sleepovers
I missed you like I missed my sister when she moved to the west when I was drunk more than I was sober
She left with the sand in her hair and the sun in her eyes
But the missing stops
Eventually, I will disentangle myself from you
The tentacles of our old life will lose their vice-like grip
The loving stops
Because it has to.
I wish I could remember what it felt like to be whole
laydiewinehouse reblogged
There’s so many different types of crying. There is the sobbing that takes over your whole body. You do it shamelessly, it doesn’t matter who is home or what stranger sees your face. It’s only embarrassing because there is no controlling how hard your arms will shake or when you’ll have a sudden row of hiccups before it all begins again. That type of crying leaves you with a pounding in your head and a weight on your chest. You start to sob again thinking maybe the weight will bounce off with one of those miserable hiccups. Then there is the crying that feels like a leaky faucet. You think you have it under control until someone says one word, you hear one song, someone smiles like the world is an okay place and you can’t help yourself. Your lips start buzzing and a tear comes down and it’s like full alert mode because you know what’s coming. The nearest bathroom or side alley and you bury your head into a coat or a towel. Anything works as you are filled with the relief of letting the faucet run. No one can see you or hear you and that’s beautiful. The only right thing when everything else feels so tragically wrong. Maybe there will come a day when you don’t need to keep your eyes open for the next hideaway spot when the water begins to leak, but hey..at least the sobbing crying has stopped. Then there is routine crying. It’s routine because your body is so used to water pouring from it, that at this point only your eyes do the work. It’s routine because you sit there as salt streams down and you shut your eyes to avoid any more physical pain. The worst thing about routine crying is that it comes in moments of happiness. A cup of coffee on the balcony, in the middle of a really good book, watching your favorite movie for the 19th time. There is no trembling and there is no need to find a pillow to muffle the sound because your silent. So unbelievably silent. This type of crying leaves your cheeks stained and your eyelids sticky. A calm comes over you as you realize this wave has passed and the next one will roll in soon enough. After all it could be worse…at least the leaking faucet has stopped.
cornerstate (via wnq-writers)
Source: wnq-writers