I read a post this morning from Sightless Musings, that hit me at my core. Please read it.
I was going to write about writing today, about feeling completely inarticulate, but after reading the above mentioned post, I changed course a bit. I am still feeling like a complete bumbler in regard to my writing, but I press on and tell this story (if you can call it that) anyway. Continue reading “The Consequences of Blindness”
Lately, I am a blade on the wind. Unsteady. Damaging. I am trapped in the clutches of an elixir that lies. I swallow the murmurs of depression with bottles of wine and bags of crisps, but can’t ever fully escape the noise. It sits heavy in my belly and pushes out through my skin. I wear it in my poems about fat girls and self loathing. I hold it against the roof of my mouth and in my clenched jaw, trying not to wake up. Trying not to see. Continue reading “Swallowing Voices”
I have been away, under the skin of darkness. I intended to bring along pen and paper, do a bit of blood-letting, record my thoughts; instead, I brought a bottle, numbed out and dreamed of becoming someone else. I curled up against the edges of my eyes and saw things I knew were lies, but I didn’t care. I forgot about plotting my escape and let the stillness eat me up.
Continue reading “The Return of Darkness”
I can’t deny it. The day I got this particular acceptance, I cried. I had submitted to Rust + Moth so many times and when the email came in that they had accepted my poem, I was in disbelief. I still am. Rust + Moth, in my opinion, is publishing some of the best contemporary poetry online and in print, and to have my work sit alongside that of so many writers I admire, is an absolute honor. The Autumn issue is incredible, full of poems that have left me breathless and in tears. If you would like to, you can read my poem, here.
Everyone falls. Everyone daydreams and falls into states of preoccupation, falls into the arms of another person, falls to the ground. Can you remember the last time you fell to the ground? I know it happens, but how often? Is it a story you tell about that one time you fell and were so fucking embarrassed? Or maybe you cried? Did you hurt yourself? Were you drunk? There is no judgement here. I have fallen and been embarrassed and cried and hurt myself, and yes, I have been falling down drunk. But, the falls that shake me the most, are the falls that can only be blamed on RP. Continue reading “Everyone Falls”
The sky offers me value, a sense of worth, a shroud to cover all the secrets that can never be told. The old thoughts, the familiar ones, appear like petals that soften the earth, give a fragrance that draws me into the glory of falling. The landing is all barbs and voices tinged with rage. The ground reminds me of the failings of my flesh, the rot of my mind. It exposes my dying eyes to spikes thrown like lightning from the sun and flays my hope of becoming. My breath is heavy and putrid in my mouth. I balance on breaking feet and knees that hold the weight of being nothing. I swallow my words like wine, desperate for euphoria and meaning. Desperate to be anyone but me.
I linger on the outside of everywhere. I am a skulker, a bone shucker, a fraud. I slip behind curtains, under floorboards, into panes of glass that mute my words. I am awkward and stumble more than I stand tall. I am late to the gathering, last to get the joke, the one in the corner feeling confused. I am hollow, looking for substance, failing. I am fleeting, a pale representation, a liar. I am a nail biter torn to the quick. I am clamor and catastrophe in the flick of a switch. You are my captor, my captivator, my annihilator. You are the steely grip of an unblinking gaze. You are my habit, my protector, you pull the strings. I will always surrender. You will always win.
I am thrilled to have 3 of my poems in Burning House Press today!!!!! My huge thanks to June editor, James Pate! If you want, you can read them here.
