pleurer

I love when it rains and I’m going somewhere where no cares about my appearance.
I walk outside with no umbrella, no hood, no jacket, no make up on, and I let the rain just fall all over me.

And I cry.

And no one can tell I’m crying;
it’s just more water streaming down my face.
I get to cry alone, but surrounded by people.
And I love the feeling.

LSD

and the crevices of the
valley
held all the memories
reflected through
satellite dishes
onto back screens
of rose coloured petals
that only bloomed
if a child was
brave enough
to climb out of
the valley. And when
that child got her guts
and climbed, Every
flower bloomed
greater than the
first lotus flowers
in the garden of eden.
The petals sang floating
golden string choruses
of a thousand cellos.
The nectar inside was the taste
of a feeling when you touch
fingertips for the first time. And it
happened—the whole world was gifted with new
sense—because a child was brave enough to climb out of a valley.

insomnia pt. ?

i was on the bus

i hardly ever take the bus

i looked up from my book

and out the window

in the corner of my eye

i saw your name

 

well not Your name

but the same name

you use

and then

like the man in my book

who saw a face in the ocean

i saw your face

in the window

well not Your face

but the shape of your face

reflected and refracted in the light

of the window

 

and my heart

dropped

a visceral, volatile drop

the feeling of a freefall

but in my chest

down to my stomach

and then i knew

it had started

i knew i was fucked

 

 

whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it

“It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, “more like deer than human being.” To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.”

-Donna Tart, The Secret History

my friend died

Dear Friend,

I heard you died. I heard a car hit you.
I hate thinking of you, alone, and about to die. Did you know? Did you know you were about to die? Did you know you were about to die and were you alone?

Dear Friend

A bravest friend. The world was never on your side. You fought through so much. This life shit on you over and over again.
And then you died. Violent beginnings still, I guess, bring violent ends.

Dear Friend

I’m not sure you were meant for this world. You were always a little too light. Even when you were here, you floated. Airy enough to get swept away. And you were swept away.
Maybe you weren’t meant for here, but to me, it doesn’t matter that this was not your place. I would do anything to have you back.

Dear Friend

With the sweetest smile and a hopeful heart.
Etched in my brain.
A 21 year old boy. With pointed toes. And soft skin. I remember you happy. I remember you dancing around the upper west side. Running in the rain towards central park. Rolling spliffs on the law by the lake. Box wine and peeing in bushes. I remember you getting mad at me for falling in love with the wrong one. I remember feeling sad when you told me what they had done to you. You had been told your whole life you weren’t real. I remember loving you, but knowing you weren’t really here, even then.

Dear Friend

My heart breaks. You never get to grow old. I’m sorry the world was never fair to you. Please come back.

Dear Friend

Miss you sweet cheeks. I’ll see you in the birds.

 

poe knows poe knows

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley’s restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:—from out their fragrant tops
External dews come down in drops.
They weep:—from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
 
 
-the Valley of Unrest, Edgar Allan Poe