I find myself partially in one or two or several worlds, always. Places where language is fluid…disjointed syntax and liberally adjusted grammar. In and out of the ether. In and out of my body. I’ve come to a point where I no longer have the energy or desire to be anything but myself, and sometimes I am difficult to pin. I don’t like introductions or “About Me’s” in the slightest. An abstract old spirit in a fun, young body. Youth isn’t always wasted on the young! The only purpose of this blog is to express…to make a little sense of my existence or at least maintain a record for myself. How else do we learn, if not from history? And about ourselves if not from our own? The moods will vary. The language will fluctuate and there will be periods of silence or just pictures or bullet point lists. I have been reborn recently; my only desire now is to continue growing as myself in the most fearless and sincere manner possible.
Tonight has been strange…peaceful and kind in its solitude, honest in the way I am shown to myself.
At the same time I’m lost. I’m swimming instead of wallowing in the sadness I harbor, wading in the depths of my life.
Kept company by thoughts of old friends, fresh memories, amends to be made with myself…I am as okay as I can be right now.
God is it dark! Is it sad! Here, with the Atlas weight of my friends’ depression…here, with the slow but efficient bone grinder of a caregiver’s work
Here, indeed, in this dark and cool room I find the peace of a starlit night away from the city. Here, amongst the steady snoring of the sick and forgetful I find peace.
I will not live in this place of suffering, in this bleak ocean of repetitive death through little means. I will move up, into the soft rays of light.
I will love the darkness like an old friend, but I will not pay it rent.
I miss you, I miss you
And one day my grief, in all its homeliness, will be adorned in delicate, almost crystalline words
I will make beautiful my sadness, I will offer the world all the glorious, rose-scented saltwater it can stand
And I will find your grave marker…I will light a cigarette and dance with you…your improper lady, with skirts too high and drink too strong
Will you let me love you?
Not faintly, nor softly or gently
But now, while you’re sad? While you’re dying?
Would you let me love the openness you are resigned to?
The concrete jungle you’ve come to inhabit – I will furnish it futilely, with throw rugs and pillows
The only honest decor bottles caps and cigarette ash
You can use my lighter! I’ll wear your old shorts, we’ll get higher tonight than ever before
We’ll light these old temple candles in new honest prayer
This is my preemptive goodbye to you
Not really goodbye
I will carry you with me, always and everywhere
To every coffee shop and cemetery, every playground and kitchen – everything you’ve ever given me I will bear
I will be adorned in your gifts and lessons, wearing them like fresh breath
Whispering them to my notebook, crying them out the moon the way you would to the black and white keys
A couple days late, but here we are!
- The Passenger – Hunter As A Horse
- Home – Morgxn
- Love You With The Lights On – Morgxn
- Guys My Age – Hey Violet
- Mustang Kids – Zella Day, Baby E
- High – Zella Day
- Rendevous Girl – Santigold
- East of Eden -Zella Day
- River – Bishop Briggs
- Hypnotic – Zella Day
- Technicolor Beat – Oh Wonder
- High By The Beach – Lana Del Rey
I am my mother’s daughter. I walk like her, talk like her, sway to music only I can hear the way she does.
Sometimes my mom and I joke that we are soul twins, separated by age so as not to cause too much trouble. When I was growing up, especially when I was a teenager, we fought fiercely. I mistook us for oil and water, never to mesh. As I’ve grown, as our relationship has morphed and deepened, I find the opposite to be true. Right now she’s away for a conference and mini vacation and I find that I miss her deeply.
For four years I lived away from my mom. This trip home is temporary and yet I find myself both healed and in awe…my mom really is my best friend. We aren’t perfect but I’ll be damned if there’s a stronger person in the world than she. I think I come in second place…I’m not sure. I’ll be honest, these thoughts are forming as I type. It’s impossible to know the strength of my mother without knowing the women before her. My grandma, my great-grandma, and so forth were the steel behind the families they raised.
Collectively we’ve worked through sexual assault, abuse, poverty, ignorance, racism, and the strange betrayal of your child being the new “black sheep,” of the family.
(I want to include my paternal grandmothers here as well, for the same aforementioned reasons. I’m mixed! Of course my parents took their own route, race aside.)
I digress. My mom is my twin, my soulmate, my strength, my example, my inspiration.
I am my mother’s daughter, swaying to a strange beat. I follow the call of my heart, the promise of peace that comes with trusting myself. I am my mother’s daughter, a moody tempest of fire and ice; you will know my mind.
I am my mother’s daugher, hair a million colors and my smile speckled with tears. Watch my weathered healer’s hands grasp a bottle, listen as I whisper reassurance to myself. Watch my gentle healer’s hands wipe stranger’s tears, a privilege I hold most sacred.
I am my mother’s daughter, and all in my domain is protected and loved. Betray my kindness and feel the absence of my soul in your space;a hearthfire gone to cold ash. I am the warmth of a gas stove in a small house, reaching every corner.
I am my mother’s daughter, Oak and Willow sharing space, being all my children and friends need of me, and sometimes all I need of myself. I am quiet sacrifice, service, strength. I am my mother’s daughter and I make myself. If I cannot topple the wall before me I will drown it out. I am unstoppable.
I am my daughter’s mother, I told her that once. I am beautiful and full of life, sharper than a butcher’s knife and sweeter than honey. I am my mother’s daughter’s mother, full of wisdom from the women before me.
I am my mother’s daughter, beauty wild and unrefined. I am timeless like the goddess who bore me. I do not care for your mundane materialism; touch me with music and action. Reach my soul and maybe you will know me.
I am my mother’s daughter, nurturer of the broken. My memory is generations deep, my forgivness earned. The love I offer is unparalleled. Do not ask for the ocean if you can’t swim in a pond.
I am my mother’s daughter. I am Aphrodite and Ares, I am Diana. I dance beside the fire with the same body that cares for your ancestors. I lay beside the river, letting my last breath carry October’s leaves across the shore. I am THE woman, and I am the women before me.
Mom, I hope you like this impromptu bit. I love you endlessly.
Pull me from the silence
From the silence I’ve been living in
From the peace that I feigned;
The solace of my ignorance
It’s slipping now, it’s wearing thin
Right up against me – it used to be gentle – heavy pressure permeates my skin
Feels like I’m dying; the release is more wild than kind and I am left hoarse, shaken
Laying by the river’s edge
Glowing with each new sound
I lay upon the quiet creature’s back
Marbled shell my wild carriage into the murky emerald deep
Calling on my ancient kingdom to awaken
To rise from its slumber and greet me as the flowers would Demeter after winter’s last frost
Hair dancing in the wind, a crown of cattails and marsh reeds, falcon feathers fall around my shoulders
Thistle goddess, bristle goddess, weaver of the long grass mats
They call me the dark marsh mother,
The obsidian-eyed wild woman, blazing priestess of Apollo
I definitely wrote these after much wine…nothing like waking up still smelling of the bonfire & finding poetry.
Impermanence reigns, and yet
I long for his calloused hands against my skin
Rewinding time until the knotted muscles are fresh
Awakening the beast within me
Every time a man touches me I feel you
And I fear I will never be myself again, without the shadow of your selfish hands against my skin
And we clung to one another like roots to the damp Earth; nails into skin, my fingers curled around his arms with the strength of some feral beast. The small clearing was no stranger to cries of passion and tonight was no different to the trees than any other. The only innocence was that we each followed instinct. He smelled of the forest and his breath on my neck was awakening some lost part of me…massaging old knots from my shoulder, a stranger giving comfort to the healer. I felt the hitch of my breath as I eased into his rough hands. No one had ever touched me so softly…no, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t soft at all, I could feel each callous on his palm, each scar on his fingertips against my skin. The moon was full and our small campfire burned brightly in the middle of nowhere that we’d chosen for rest. Without thought I turned to face the Hunter, the only kindred Spirit I’d come across in all my years. There was no fooling him and I knew he could read me clearly…I saw myself as a phantom, cupping his face in my herb-stained hands and bridging the small gap between us. The wind was picking up, my hair whipping about us both as I drew his lips to mine and released the last of my falsehoods.
I felt my facade burning away beneath the heat of his body. The ashes of who I’d made myself into for the Court were scattered with my skirts and his weapons, careless and forgotten around the hot embers at the center of our camp. We were, for a moment, more than our bodies could contain. Life and death were meeting in physical form, exchanging breath and soul. One. We were acting out an intricate dance, finding one another’s scent and chasing it. I was the prize doe, and he followed me, houndless; Cernunnos among courtesans.
I always knew she was inside of me…desperately calling out for the hunter. The rhythm of our bodies matched the forest song…chasing one another in anticipation, teasing slowly like the meandering river, coming together like the clean death-stroke from predator to prey. I leapt and danced beneath the moonlight. My brown skin was almost hidden amongst the trees, a wolf in doe’s skin. He stalked me, quiet and focused. One with his surroundings, the Hunter sought me out and snatched me between his teeth. My fight was fierce but for show, and I accepted my death at the hands of a predator greater than I.
Slight rest. Trembling together beneath the stars, our blood rushing to fresh bruises. It was a ritual, an offering to the old gods, a wordless binding. Animals don’t speak. He cupped water from the stream and brought it to my lips, sweet and cool. I could still taste myself on his fingertips, floral and sharp. Together the water and I created the fertile earth. As he bent to the river again, moonlight falling softly on arched back, I saw the aftermath of my frenzied feeding – my needs were met. The wolf’s hunger sated for now, the beast slain by something stronger. The Hunter sat back on his heels, splashing water onto his face before resting. Our campfire was naught but small embers, a glowing welcome to the sunrise and a a sign of time spent. He walked back to me, a man again. Easing to the ground, the Hunter met my lips once more before collapsing. I felt the warmth of his breath on my thighs as he eased into the deep sleep of one who had given himself entirely. Every kiss, every bite, every stroke…surrendered willingly, hopefully.
“Take it, take it, please.” Whispers from one soul to another, met with warm invitation.