Damsel turned Dame

as my sanity slips away,

more of my hair turns gray.

my complexion loses its vigor

i don’t remember ever being this color

this ghastly shade of insecurity,

this ghostly state of impurity

for my mind wanders off into its own depths,

it thinks dirty things to keep the memories fresh.

i live off of thoughts that drive me insane

and enjoy my demise, for your absence

is a flame

the sort that can turn a poor damsel

into a ravishing dame

the sort that keeps me warm and alive

the kind that won’t let me avert my eyes

i am hurting, damp

i am lonely and afraid

i am a sinister tramp

the very tip of the blade

yes, i am sharp and pointed

i can do much harm

i am angry and startled

i am cause for alarm

I am a woman scathed,

I am a force of absolute terror,

I am at the lowest point in my life,

(and I have never been better.)

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Actualization.

God.

He wants to prove to me that

he’s there

he’s here

there is divine energy all around me

and it controls everything

that nothing is coincidental

that destiny has me wrapped around her

little finger

that i know nothing

because i know

that there was nothing

that I wanted more

than this.

and just as i began my departure

from my dream,

my fantasy

it walked up to me and looked me in my eyes

it sent chills through my bones,

it grazed my soul and made its way down my spine

delirium.

i am speechless.

i do not know what to make of this

nor what i did to deserve it

beautiful.

i am as whole as ive ever been

i am as complete as i’ll ever be

no more excuses,

he’s left me none

i look destiny in the eyes,

i am, as much as i am capable of being,

Actualized.

The Compromise of the Lotus Flower 🌺

slip inside the dream,

i move further back

you place us in the nick of time,

i settle in and admire your knack

you finally come to join me

present me with gifts, you’re Saint Nick

and then, for a moment, i am left to wonder

what is meant to happen next

you are nearer now, and my body tingles

in anticipation of your touch

you ask me if I want you any closer,

you’re the only kind of sin I could ever trust

and then it’s happening

I am absolutely on fire,

to the very core of me

and you are so wise, with your learned hands

the pleasure makes it hard to breathe

you know I’m wrapped around your finger,

you guide me through your own desire

you reveal yourself to me entirely,

and all I can do is admire

i test my own limits in your influence

i choose the wrong path, quietly

i used to want simpler things

but i no longer have the patience

i am little and timid

i am soft and scared

i just wanna make you proud

i just wanna please you

i am yours to bend and break

keep going,

don’t you dare stop

love me,

like me,

talk to me,

i am yours

abuse me,

beseech me

my lord,

your wish is my command.

Skewed

There is a disconnect between how things were meant to turn out and the way that they did. Of course, who knew she’d make it this far? She certainly didn’t. She is black to the core, in the most uninteresting way.

She doesn’t know what to make of the life that she didn’t ask for. She doesn’t know how to treat the people who only use her for decoration in their absurd itineraries. Not now, anyway.

The universe was taunting her, and she had given up trying to fight him. “Let him bend me until I break, let him laugh as he may” she resolved.

Everyone. Everything. All of it. None of it made sense. Everything is skewed, it seems. And she is lost. She is at a loss for inspiration, for love, for satisfaction, although there is nothing left to attain (realistically).

But what is reality, anyway? What is it made of? Who does it affect? Could she count herself in?

Because time was swiftly slipping away, and she was wasting it counting stars on the canvas of her own fantasies. She only wanted what she couldn’t have, a specific star. The one that was twisted, bent out of shape, all wrong for her–the one that was furthest away.

She wanted it badly, more than she had ever wanted anything, she wanted it before it went supernova and ceased to be what she fell in love with–although, she might still adore it in the form of stardust, out of sheer respect for what it was.

 

Flames of Delirium 

So far I’ve come, since I first started, since I first lost myself

I’m still lost, but that’s not the point anymore, is it?

Because what does it matter, whether I find my way or become further entangled in the maze I fashioned once in a dazed state? 

You know me now 

And although I rest at the very bottom of the forgotten pile of fleeting thoughts at the back of your mind, 

I suppose I’m satisfied. 

And let me tell you something, something I’m not sure I understand myself yet, at least not in its entirety 

Satisfaction is not what I imagined it to be. It is, if anything, even more empty and unbecoming than the chase, for it begs that sharp, painful question–what now?

A question that brings with it, quite inconveniently, a battery of still more difficult questions: Where do I go? What do I do? Who do I become? Who am I, really?

Because the truth is, I don’t know. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. And I don’t think I’ll know even when I’m close to the end, whenever that is, however that is. And maybe all of this was just a distraction my mind dreamt up to keep me from seeing how lost I truly was, and now I know again. 

But I can’t trivialize you like that, can I? You were, you are, important to me. You, or my truth of what you are and what you mean to me, taught me how to revere, how to admire and cherish for its own sake. You taught me how to believe, how to hope for something I knew I could never have and persevere in spite of that knowledge. You taught me, I think, how to love.

Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time letting go. Maybe that’s why I never really can. Because how can I release back into the universe what I found in its deepest hidden crevice when I most needed it, when I was so close to losing any hope I might ever have to find a reason to smile as wholeheartedly as you made possible, and wonder. 

Yes, you made me wonder. You made me pause, and think, and question everything I’d previously accepted as fact without taking the time to observe it objectively. You made me curious and excited, and dimmed my senses just enough so that everything else would seem brighter. 

So it doesn’t matter to me that this fire you ignited once inside me was burning for the sake of distracting me from my inability to piece myself together. It doesn’t matter that the fire serves no purpose anymore and that anyone in their right mind would know that the time has come to put these fiery flames to rest. It doesn’t matter that I’m supposed to be satisfied, because I’m not, because I’ll never be, because I’m human. 

So stay with me, now and forever. Invisible to them, here, by my side, inside me. You are my strength, and you are my weakness, and anything else I am remains in between. 

You are as real as the flames you are represented by, the ones that will burn on for eternity, if I have any say in the matter 

You are here, you are always, and you are mine

It doesn’t matter that you don’t really exist.

Viri-descent

Everything hurts.

Shattered bones further disintegrate, until they form a powdered ash of pain

boiling in the cauldron, I lean over and allow my tears to fall in,

Further, add a lock of hair from the Mistress of Folly

Now I sigh in it

It bubbles over, ghastly green

I pour it into a glass, which shatters from the heat

I consume it all, the mixture, the shards of glass

I deserve this pain, I’ll make it last

I transform, finally, as I was always destined to

Into the thing I once adamantly proclaimed to hate the most

Unkind, selfish, stubborn, alone,

I regurgitate my heart and see it writhing on the floor

until it stops moving once and for all

I compose myself and gaze into the looking glass,

What once was innocent, shall never be again.

The Voyage of Our Youth

It’s been a great couple of days. I’m starting to remember how I used to be, what I used to want, what I used to crave with all that I was. I’m making an effort to retrace my steps, to unravel this caricature of my previous self and find some genuineness hidden at the center. I do miss myself, I do mourn who I could’ve become.

Why do we dismiss the dreams of our youth as foolish impulses, naive trivialities, as though they didn’t once mean the world to us? How do we so easily forget that time, in which we pondered endlessly the universe we live in presently? Aren’t we disappointed, that of the millions of wondrous ways we imagined this very moment, it turned out this way– rather mundane and unbecoming.

I want to protect that train of thought. I want to sit there and enjoy the journey for as long as I am able to, for I have tasted the destination, and it isn’t all that I made it out to be when I set out to find glory.