the dance

everyone plays their part
~ Monday, July 21 ~
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meanwhile

so why do i like the skull so much, the one with butterfly wings glued to it? did you ever notice skulls are always smiling? hollowed out, simple, content. dead like a needle is dead. dead but still capable of producing pain. or envy in the case of the smiling skull. i want to smile always but i’m beautiful when i cry. that’s when i’m most honest: crumpled on the bathroom floor, whispering please. i’ve started drawing with my own blood. i painted a tree with my fingers and put little black ink flowers on the branches. i think you were embarrassed by my body and the heat it made. or maybe you were embarrassed by your body. that’s what they say right? judgements are self-truths diverted. or inverted. projected. i grew up with therapist parents. i have the lingo. no you-messages allowed. take a time out. stop poisoning me. push your fingers into your ears but not too far. don’t break the drum. don’t be seduced by light. light is just as mad as dark, and just as hungry. find the center and when you find it, don’t assume you’ll keep it. i’m talking to you again, my other soul. i say “my” like i own anything. meanwhile, mice are huddling under the leaves, waiting for the rain to give out. meanwhile, rain is falling, seeking the soft body of earth to take refuge in. meanwhile, the sky is blue above the clouds.

Tags: prose poetry writing
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All the goddesses are crying.
Their tears are small silver fish.
I’m kneeling at their feet,
catching the fish in a bucket.
I can’t decide if I should
release them or eat them.
I can’t decide if I’m a servant
or a thief.

Tags: poetry
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my body is a coiled spring. i crack my knuckles and breathe hard. push my hips up. grind my teeth. can barely contain what’s being brought up from the bottom, loosened up, muck and silver fish. i pull at the door of my hair. make a gap for it to trickle or erupt. don’t trust the others when i’m afraid. make myself small for awhile. then i remember you and flood. harp string. horse hair. remember me when i lose myself in screens.

Tags: prose poetry
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~ Sunday, July 20 ~
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mawbli:

this need for silence and my need for your presence in this silence


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~ Friday, July 18 ~
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Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.
— Samuel Beckett (via likeafieldmouse)

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I could pretend I’m speaking to everyone. Assume a middle distance and transcend myself—But I’m talking to you, and you know it.
— Richard Silken (via liquidlightandrunningtrees)

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~ Thursday, July 17 ~
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likeafieldmouse:

Nguan - Selections from the series How Loneliness Goes


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~ Wednesday, July 16 ~
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~ Monday, July 14 ~
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likeafieldmouse:

James L. - Lenticular Clouds Over Mt. Rainier (2004)

likeafieldmouse:

James L. - Lenticular Clouds Over Mt. Rainier (2004)


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~ Sunday, July 13 ~
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read this and tell me you’re cured.


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