love in the world of science
if two stars collided, would it mean the end of my world?
or would it just mean that two living things -
two fiery passionate breathing things -
touched each other again, without me?
i am asking to be a part of the equation.
the x or y or z. cross me out. relegate me.
but for a moment i would like to be important.
a pawn. a variable. etched in with pencil hands.
whomever. saint or sinner. add or subtract me.
more or less. sunlight, moonlight. do the old dance.
where we love, or don’t love. but the thought is there,
a variable, a butterfly flitting in and out,
saying catch me, catch me, catch me.
and i’m getting the update. it might be the end.
if i were held, i mean. like a pencil in a tender fist.
like i am a theory that’s yet to be all sorted out
but it’s rumbling in their head like a good song.
i had a dream where it didn’t end this way.
where there was more darkness and rain
humming in our bodies. i’m still dreaming,
in that soft violence, in colors that stain,
but i’m starting to see. that there’s a rhythm
to all of this. that there’s a tide
and i’m on my way to shore.
that i can’t stop moving or i’ll miss it,
the bus stop, the taxi cab, the train station
that takes me up up up to love.
dear ex-best friend
Dear ex-best friend, I know it’s been two years. Since our walls came crumbling down. For two years, I tried not to think of you because it was you who hurt me, time and time again. I gave you all the bullets that people shot at me over the years, only to turn around and see you holding the gun, meticulously loaded, with the same bullets. Sometimes I go over it in my head, and I know that we were both at fault, but for different things. I never meant to hurt you, but you, in wistful revenge intended on twisting the knife inside me. What hurt the most is that when the blood started flowing and the smoke cleared, you didn’t fight. Not for our friendship, not for your love. You let me bleed because if you went down, you wanted me to go down with you.
Dear ex-best friend, you wanted me to be the Cinderella to your Prince Charming, but you had it all wrong. Even if you were Prince Charming, I’m not Cinderella. We were in two different stories. You didn’t love me, you loved the idea of me. The idea of me being a trophy, and inferior by all means. Is it so bad that I refused to settle for that? I’ve said it before, you were the known, and I long for the unknown. The problem was that I could see it all with you, the incessantly boring and mundane life, I could see it all, a perfect fairy tale and that’s what was wrong with it. Do you know the pieces of me you cut out to fit into your twisted fairy tale? What was left?
Dear ex-best friend, you were the one who fought dragons with me and entered the wizarding world with me. You took sunset walks with me and we rode our bikes together. We watched movies and ate bad cookies, we cooked good pasta and drank fake wine. In the most innocent way, you were my childhood, every story I lived, I lived with you. I mean, we fought dragons together and built castles, so when did you decide to send them cascading down on me?
Dear ex-best friend, you painted me as the bad guy, but behind closed doors, you know the things you called me. The words you called the girl who rejected you, the ones that drip with hatred and shame. But I can walk away knowing that I never meant to hurt you, can you say the same? You exploded and left poisoned shards in me. You had to see it, we were never meant to be and I was never going to be your trophy. You knew what you did, and I didn’t. But I’m not here to talk about that.
Dear ex-best friend, I wish I didn’t, but I miss you. I don’t miss how you embedded your claws in me and left me hurting for years, but I do miss you. I think you would have loved the person I am. I mean, I grew out of everything you touched, and as my body reinvented itself, everything you knew was gone, so you really don’t know me anymore. Maybe you never knew me at all. You don’t know my new dreams, my new memories, my new fears, and my hopes. You don’t know about the things that shape me anymore. I know you can’t have me in the way you wanted, but I just hoped that having me in some way was better than no way at all. My holes are healed, but I don’t think the scars you left will go away. I hate you but I love you because you were my best friend, my brother, my family. So even if all the bullet holes and blood are dried and I become indifferent, you still have a small part of our memories. Like someone once put it, “Just because you lost me as a friend, doesn’t mean you gained me as an enemy. I’m bigger than that, I still wanna see you eat, just not at my table.” So you can’t have a spot at my table, but I hope you’re okay, and I know it’s a little messed up, but I just wish you got to know who I became because I think you would have liked her.
NERPHTH
When asked what is my favorite color- I will have to say: "Nerphth."
To which the person who asked me the question might think I mentioned some type of drug or just trying to pull their leg. Then to make things more peculiar after I give a response to the question, I will gaze into their eyes and begin to explain what this color is.
I ask if I can hold their hand and at the moment that our hands meet, their eyes begin to see the color of a shinin' almost blindin' color from the sun right at the break of dawn.
"Do you see what I see?"
I ask with a sparkle in my eye- my eyes are the same color, too. If you stare too long at them- you will go blind.
#NERPHTH. (c)
07/08/2021 Sat'rday.
The Window
the color
of the window,
not the scenery behind it.
does anyone contemplate
what a window would look like
with nothing behind it?
the color
of the window,
not the house inside it.
does anyone contemplate
what a window would look like
if there was nothing inside it?
nothing outside or inside
no sides at all
just a glass wall
between nothing and nowhere.
what would you see?
the color
of the window.
the easy stillness of an afternoon light
She walks up the stairs slowly, each step creaking softly in the fading daylight.
The house is quiet, and it feels peaceful, and that’s how it would stay in her memory.
Her hand runs past the banister feeling the old wood under the fingers and sensing each crack, sharp edge, or smooth line. Finally, she carefully reaches the third-floor window and opens it, listening to the low creak as she does so. She smiles and slips off the white cotton shirt that gently falls to the ground. She leans over the edge of the window and flexes the muscles, feeling her back start to bleed. She smiles again and inhales.
It’s time.
Deep lines open on her skin and scratch between her shoulder blades, red-stained feathers slipping out and blossoming like small flowers breaking the milk-white flesh as if through melting snow.
Time stops, and then suddenly, everything catches light.
There is nothing more in the soft summer air but an angel’s soft sigh.
remember me?
hi! if you know me you might remember almost a year ago i asked everyone to write a poem together by adding a line in the comments! i loved it so much, and the end result was so beautiful (see: astronomical on my profile) that i wanted to do it again!
so please, anyone is encouraged to contribute a line or several! the only rule is that the comment above yours must not be your own :)
line 1: i knew the stars, once.
Dreaming
The older I get, the more I realize it’s all a great strange dream
Just like Keuorac said
Sometimes I try desperately to read between the lines
Interpret every person, place and thing as a symbol of something larger
Searching for a pattern or direction that will make it all make sense
When the truth may very well be
That there is n o t r u t h a t a l l
No grand plan where the pieces fit together just so
But rather
Life is a great strange dream
Like the one you have after eating street meat
You walk on the ceiling and see your long dead dog
And wonder if the buzzing in your ears is a swarm of jolly bumble bees
or just your alarm clock