mother love

mother love,

you are grace

profound and beautiful and

kindred spirits become you

lady love,

you have evaded me

when wicked lust tainted my mind

and he blew my guts up into smithereens

you stood there and watched me

mother heart,

you remain as you have been,

mysterious

and i am not yet convinced of you

that you are

that you be

that you can make your way inside of me

lovely mother,

you have abandoned your child

you have left me here, to die

and i am not yet convinced you were anything

but a kindly nightmare

a jarring dream

the kind of intangible dust

that wanted nothing more

than to fuck me.

mother may,

spring is not my friend anymore

my birth gave way to a life of pain

my life gives way to apathy

and sweet mother,

we may never meet again

i may never feel your warm hand

and, kindly mother,

worst of all,

i may never know what it all meant.

Advertisements

Qubool.

i think there might be something important

about enduring difficulty,

about facing embarrassment

about embracing your truth

i think there is something vital, in fact

about standing in broad daylight

with the less comfortable aspects

of your person absolutely conspicuous,

and saying— this. this is who I am.

i think it is quite noble

indeed, i think it is necessary

to come out of hiding at some point

to stop running

to wake up.

to learn to be of service to someone

someone other than yourself

i think it’s time to realize

that there’s not much you can force

not comfortably.

that anyone who really wants you

is going to jump down in

to journey inside your daunting guts

to explore every nook and cranny first

to understand it all.

they’re going to want you, not despite it

but perhaps, because of it

and certainly, first you must want yourself

you must have yourself ever before someone else can

in sickness and in health

to love

to cherish

you must become capable and deserving

of your own respect

of your own content

and for this,

you must be honest with yourself

you must live with a kind of transparency,

a sort of unparalleled candor

you must accept the most terrifying and beautiful of truths—

who you really are.

qubool hai?

Qubool hai

Qubool hai.

Qubool hai.

tabula rasa.

im not talking to nobody ion gotta no more

im only keeping in contact with the ones that loved me when they ain’t have to

im only emerging from the shadows when absolutely necessary

imma be selfish with my time now

im not giving nobody nothing for free

not if ion fucking love em

not if they don’t make my heart smile

selfish with it now

with me

with my essence

because i know now that it is valuable

that it is indispensable

that it cannot be emulated

and i don’t care if it gets to be a ghost town around here

because i don’t need nobody that need to piss me off

that need to stress me out

that need to trivialize my fucking feelings

i don’t need em.

i don’t need no fake friends

i don’t need no mindless conversation

i don’t need no unnecessary noise

and it’s time i care about what i need

it’s time i give a fuck more about what i want

imma cut all the fat

on my body

in my closet

on my mind

in my life

time to live lean baby,

simplistic

minimalistic

don’t need all that clutter.

leave me alone with my thoughts

leave me alone to flourish

leave me alone to be at fucking peace.

im done catering to enemies with friendly faces

im done mapping out the nuisances in the kind of “loyalty” they demonstrated

im tired of juggling

and im just not willing to do it anymore.

so im not talking to anyone until i fucking feel like it

im not giving nobody that don’t deserve it the fucking time of day.

into the night 🌗

i walk into the night

into the night,

into the darkness

i shouldn’t have pretended that everything

is fine

because it isn’t

it really isn’t

im scared

im drunk

and sad

and i wander

aimlessly

into the night

bent on breaking the promises i made to myself

bent on being everything

everything except good

inhale the smoke

cigarette after cigarette

sitting on my throne in the night

i inhale

i am bent on being everything

everything except good

i am miles up

and i fall

even though i promised not to

but it feels good,

plummeting

what feels like a hundred miles per hour

towards the earth

head throbbing

mind throbbing

heart racing

i gotta pee really bad

knocking on every door,

asking if they’ll let me in to take a piss

they’re not having it

none of my bullshit

i am bent on hurting myself

i am bent on feeling something

i am bent on feeling

i am bent on being heard

so i call everyone i know

anyone who’ll listen

to my bullshit

as i wander

aimlessly

into the night.

GLORY.

the thing about love is that you can’t bottle it

you can’t concoct or brew it

with ingredients or meticulous thoughts

and the thing about people is that they can hurt your feelings

treat you as they may and not think twice about how you’ll scar

and the thing about friends is that it’s hard to tell which ones really are

about which ones love you and which ones use you, which ones wouldn’t look twice at the wounds that fester

and the thing about life is that it’s unpredictable

things don’t always turn out the way you’d like

and sometimes disappointment is left in the place of desire

and ice sits comfortably where fire once did

because the thing about desire is that it’s deceptive

no one is that perfect, you know that now

and satisfaction hardly exists, you say presence will be enough until you get the kiss

and you say the kiss will be enough until you feel his face, breathing down the nape of your neck

and the thing about you is that you’re fragile

you bend in the direction of your hopes

you break in the face of scrutiny

you wither in the presence of neglect

and the thing about monsters is that they’re always lurking

and they can smell vulnerability

like blood

and the thing is that you are strongest when you love yourself

when your body is your priority

when your blood is your own

when you are free

when you allow your vanity to cease

your mind to be at ease

your heart to be strong

your bond to family and true friends to be at the forefront of it all

and the thing is that this much has always been clear

chin up, darling, you’ve tasted sin

you’ve felt the fingers of desire

inside you

you have learned you are glory, despite it all

and all is not lost,

you have escaped with your sanctity,

your sanity,

your smile,

your blood.

and if anything, vow now

never again to let the blood escape your skin in vain

never to allow a monster near your royal likes again

chin up, GLORY.

purgatory

and now i don’t feel pain,

it’s anticipation

and although regret rings constantly

like a bell

it seems there is still hope for salvation

in the form of your beautiful mouth

in the guise of your knowing eyes

in the risk of redemption

that is where I dwell

But will you still want me, love?

will you still run your hands all over?

will you still wanna feel it?

will it feel the same when we’re sober?

I stand frozen, in fear

I trace my mind over possibilities

I can’t tell whether you’re moving

further, or near

The waiting is killing me.

Silence and the Bluff

“I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves.”- Mary Shelley

and so the diamond in the rough

finally shows its true colors

the glitter falls away,

and leaves only rubble.

you and the monster are one and the same

and I’m appalled at myself

for ever thinking any other way

for you are not the remedy for the tremor

you are the tremor in disguise

you are a different kind of the same pain

you are malevolent in essence, with deceptively kind eyes

and you jab at me with your invisible spear,

as you kiss me all over

you scoff at my vulnerability and spit on my softness,

you lie over and over and claim to be honest

and your greatest weapon is your kindly appearance

it’s the blade that cuts every time

for though the monster is evil

and hunts me for my blood,

he possesses a candor that you never could

he explicitly declares his intentions, and never claims to be good

but you

weren’t you supposed to be my hero?

my supposed ‘shining knight’,

to whom i left my heart in confidence,

yet you never hear my cries

and as for the source of my warm, sticky blood,

you lend it to any passing beast that may offer a dime.