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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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? 

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.

Truths & alibis

I was reminded today that I will forever be a mess, in life, love & every other aspect of everything I reach for. I’ve come to terms with this today because this is who I am, a writer, a dreamer , an old soul who falls in love every god damn day with paper & ink. My heart always has something to say & yes I chose to walk away a thousand times trying to heal myself, but the only way I know how to do that is to write every last god damn word down & purge my soul until I feel a little lighter of the weight I carry.

I am not ashamed to say I shut down & quiet the world to listen to my own heartbeats, this is the only way I know how to breathe. When the rest of the world fades to black & I am one on one with my thoughts. Maybe its destructive to push everyone out, or possibly I am just reinforcing my heart for another go. Whatever the reason, I am fucking trying like hell. That has to count for something.

I’m just going to continue to lay my heartbeats down & hope someone along the way will stop to listen. I won’t apologize for being a mess, this is the way I love & live my every day. At least I know where everything is beneath all this rubble.

©lexisloveletters

Uncensored truths

The truth is this, we are survivalist. We endure countless acts of struggle on a daily basis. Some are dealing with pain, loss, grief, fitting in, desires we cannot reach, life in general. We build these walls, safe houses within ourselves trying to protect what little pieces of fragility that still exist. We close doors, afraid to open up to what if’s because we can’t bare to fail again. Some of swing those doors wide open & jump face first into whatever is that is waiting, falling flat on our asses & skinning our knees, but we learn to get back up again, wiser & stronger or within these lies we tell ourselves. We live safely, within our own comfort zones, never to allow ourselves to fully breathe. Yet we wake up every damn day & live that same day over & over, calling it Life!

What the hell are we so afraid of? Falling? Well fuck we weren’t born with wings but damn do we rely on the sky when we need something or someone to listen. So what if we screw it up, if we fall flat on our face & skin our hearts on the way down, at least we can say we fucking lived. I rather make a million mistakes along the way, I love my battle scars & the journey .These accidental moments of living with my walls down, well damn they define me. I want to be remembered for all the crazy shit I did & all the people I touched while discovering myself. I want people to say, she never just lived among the everyday, she lived like it was her last day, every god damn day of her life. For it’s the only way I know how to be me, raw & uncensored.

Live every damn day like no one is watching, love with every breath in your lungs & my god, hold onto the things that make you happy, you only get one chance to live outside the walls of your comfort zone.

©lexisloveletters

Another life then

Hold on my love, a little longer than forever. I miss the days where our hearts met halfway between someday & oblivion. The way I felt safe beneath your sonnets & fragile against your words. In all the ways my heart slipped effortlessly into your chest & the only lullaby I needed was the echo of your voice. I ache for those hands that once gripped my flesh & pulled my soul beneath every way I wanted to feel, adored. I never want to know the absence of your pulse against my life, or feel the time slip through our fingers like my curls once held your fingertips. I can still feel your heart heavy in the air. Still opening my lungs, trying to breathe you in. Exhaling is the only way I know to let you go but it’s not as if my chest had a choice. If I did, you would still be here, writing next to me, the story of us & how we made it through it.

©lexisloveletters