Autumn

You should of named me autumn, fuck your birth rite given namesake & all of your inhibitions and what they stand for. I am ember hair of burning brimstone, sage drenched eyes, porcelain skin just shy of withering with the last leaf of August. I stand to be noticed as I wisp by your consciousness only to arouse that fleeting feeling of warmth & vibrancy. You ache for those cool crisp nights, the ones that promise deep sleep as I scrawl across your cheek. As you wrap what could of been your arms around my waist and draw comfort from the chilled nights, against my winter skin, seeking refuge from the withering earth and her last dance before the cold. You grow tired of witnessing the death that surrounds me. Once earth tone hues of golden sunrises, those candied red leaves and rusted promises we left to the sun have now all turned to dry brush of ash and bone. The trees no longer holder the weight of their colors and the ground becomes the final resting place of beauty laid to rest. Where wildflowers once held up by the sky have all bowed down to meet their maker. Unaware you are, of the seeds that they drop as the wait for winter to be reborn again in the spring. Yet your impatience has driven you to stand by the fire instead of my heart, to survive another season where your bones don’t hurt. Should of named me Autumn and you should of fell in love with the way I burn.
#poetry #feels #life

Some Days

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Everything you wished I Never Said

I will never apologize for walking in my truth or writing as I believe. I will lose readers, people I never met, never loved all because my thoughts didn’t match their narrative. We are entitled to have those feelings, our beliefs and the conversations that follow when they analyze & judge how we present our views. I say fuck the judgements because I will never believe a narrative that was pre determined by anyone. I think, speak and write on how I feel to determine my next course of action. My only intuition right now is survival and protection of my family. I despise living in survival mode but we are now forced into a way a life that alters the life we live. The world is burning from the inside out, a broken and corrupt society that feeds on control, power and greed. We are the bottom dwellers that scrape, bleed and pray to make it through. Covid wasn’t the beginning but it did force a few to really open their eyes. From fighting in stores for toilet paper and bottled water while we lived in fear of dying from an unknown enemy released onto our loved ones. Two weeks to slow the spread, mask your face, keep your kids home, lose your job because you refuse a vaccine. How they altered your life because you know you are the one who decides what to put in your body, not the government. Fast forward three years, you manage to hold out and fight your way back to life and it is no longer the life you fought so hard to keep. You take on three jobs to just buy food, pay your gas in which both have doubled. You see the violence in the streets, stores being destroyed and robbed. People are at their wits end. Between war on several fronts, the fear of a draft where they will steal your children to fight their bullshit narratives. Society likes to turn a blind eye to the truths, they rather live on their phones and scroll on Tik Tok then hold a conversation & forget fucking eye contact. They have a 15 second attention and have been indoctrinated into this administration ideaology. The evil I’ve seen has hardened me but it has also provided me with the sense to protect & thrive while this world burns.Society can keep their fucking pronouns and I won’t refer to your child as a feral cat because that is how they identify . They are destroying our youth and creating more mental health issues by promoting this gender identity bullshit. Just remember who will have to run this country when these children grow up. It’s your future not mine. I won’t live in silence, I will not be swayed or threatened to keep quiet. I will say all those things you wished I never said.

*Do not like this, you might ruin your image and get canceled. I mean life is all about the fucking likes we get on social instead of actually living your truth 😉

Time

Life is a fickle bitch, she refuses to wait for anything including a famished heart. She leaves no explanation of why the course of the day or the reason she chose you. She does explain the ache, the heavy burden we wear across our chest, hoping the weight won’t crush what’s left of our souls, while she demands you to endure. Though she is not all harsh, at moments she will graze your cheek with warmth & light, uplift your eyes to the sky to breathe her in. She will course through your ivory bone and set free wings you never knew you possessed. Other times she will teach you of burden and the weight of her world with a flick of her delicate wrist and her heart of stone. She will whisper keep going while you fall to your knees, praying for the strength to carry on. She offers everything & nothing in the same breath. Her time here is everlasting as ours is fading. Yet the choice remains ours to keep moving or live beneath the yesterdays that held us back.

Stitch

Red thread that binds the scars and keeps the life from pouring out of me. Delicate x’s in fibers grasping skin to soul for all the wounds we stitched in I’m sorry. Healing from the outside within for those marks don’t fade in the summer suns that have come to pass and who am I to wonder why time has such perfect patience? Where all I want is to heal yet my heart would never allow that gift until I release it all. So I tug and untangle the x’s until they give, red threads dangling wearing the wounds should have been. Little reminders were not invincible and paper cuts tend to hurt more than wounds. I could have sealed them in kisses and time but my heart doesn’t remember what a soft touch does against the skin. So I unthread and relive, learn to accept and forgive. Only human, with ivory bone and blood and oxygen to fuel what’s left of me. I release all that was designed to stay locked away because I can only breathe when I release the stitches that held me together.

Burn

You will ask me why I set a match and burned everything I loved to the ground. Hearts will wonder if she was consumed by the fire or chose to live beneath the flames. You will question if the winds coursed through her life and scattered the ashes among the words she once spilled like kerosene, if it was all by choice or beyond her control. There is no one way to answer, nor does she want to relive it anyway. You should know, she was always an ember with a paper heart who knew no other way. When you soak your words in gasoline and swear by an unwritten heart, life tends to burn you from the inside out.

Embers & Ashes

Still etching blooms over scars, creating petals where the hurt lies in a constant state of upheaval. Tracing tender lines against veins to force my blood to rush my heart, to heal what I never accepted. These fine lines now a part of my intricate self, shades of denim replace the ivory bone. I still feel the ache of a lifetime ago. Memories I’ve ripped up from the soil where life was planted, now just dormant seeds of what tomorrow could hold. If I had only watered them with rain instead of tears, they could have grown. Why do I keep on shoving my fingers into the earth to give life if in the end I only choose to run from it? Was my heart ever enough to hold me to these promises of beauty when all I feel is the emptiness of a field not yet sowed? How many times can you live for another without ever caring for your own soul. Where was the light when I hand stitched hearts against my skin and believed these could carry me. Our hearts never learn, they just beat until they no longer remember how to. Yet we still walk in the light pretending to know how warmth felt against our skin. We never truly understood what it was like to burn it all down until we had to sift through the embers and lay among the ash. Yet we choose to get our hands dirty and show the world what is left when we finally do find a salvageable piece of ourselves. Then you ask yourself, is it enough? 

First Breath

Winter always leaves you numb, you cannot cut enough wood to stockpile your hearth to remove the chill of all those enduring nights that leave your body worn. Our souls yearn for warmth and light from the caress of summers touch. We need new life in our soil, sprouts that turn to wildflowers, to color in all those months spent without. A hammock, the sun dancing off skin that has been untouched but now feels life. The feel of a warm breeze blown through tendrils of curls left free to be messed. We breathe in and our caged hearts snap the ribs that once held them captive, giving those extraordinary breaths freedom to dance among the color instead of survive in the black and white. We finally fucking feel and for once it’s like taking your first breath.

Spill

It has been a lifetime since I allowed the ink to spill from my veins and give my heart a reason to breathe. All these feelings coiled tightly around my rib cage bloom into tendrils of poppy orange sunset haze and lavender fields of regret. An allowance to let myself spill the arteries across the page to see if it’s just longing to feel anything except routine. Is there still poetry left unwritten, or are these words justification for myself that screams, I’m still alive yet barely breathing. I walked away from the ocean and left the salty tears of tomorrow streaked down my cheeks. I focused on the days and left the forget me knots to wilt against the sun. I chose to burn in the August heat and chose November’s cold to hide myself away. Promising myself shelter and security among the lost and yet in the same breath lost a piece of myself and many that I loved. Three years I buried it and planted those memories in my chest. Praying on scraped knees they would remain that way. Perfectly loved and wrapped in times hands until they tugged at me. Tendrils of what could of been, torn between two worlds. I still whisper poetic etchings through the day as if I were saving them all for a stained glass house where stones don’t shatter my walls. If only the hole I dug for myself was made of dirt and decay instead of colored glass fragments of who I should of become. In the end they are just heartbeats pretending to be poetic screams of another life, when I spilled instead of drowned.

Guitar Strings

Taste like summer rain & poetry

God, she was a lesson of beauty and heartbreak, flipping my world on the right side of mistakes. I fell for her eyes as they showed me the way, straight to her smile hidden beneath where my soul would lay. Lips of soft plums and a soul that would set your heart ablaze, yet she never looked more amazing than in the light of the day. Every syllable she mouthed was calligraphy to scripted to be real. They way she wore those ripped up jeans with those damn high heels. She sang the strings I played on my guitar as if heaven sent me a song from afar. The way she bit down on her bottom lip as if to keep her mouth from telling me , she was mine to borrow. I spent days falling from grace and into love with this little piece that belonged to me. In…

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