i am not made of stardust

when i was a child, i was told we were made of stardust.
i used to spend countless summers pretending -
pretending that we were in our 1000th summer;
dreaming of being floating girls whose feet would never quite stay on the ground.

but childhood must end and so must the pretending.
and with growing up sometimes comes
trauma
heart break
abuse
neglect
and even
one-sided love.

i pushed through the mud - that swallowing despair.
i pushed through the grit - that angry heartbreak.
i reached out and gasped for air and,
by myself,
i stood up on my own two feet.

i am not made of stardust.
i am so much more.

w o n d e r

I wonder when you began to hate me.

We were incandescent, immortal, invincible… Together we could have taken over the world. Or, at least, that’s what I always thought.  That’s what you always said. 

Until you didn’t anymore.

During those three years - the three years we were always flying too close to the sun - I watched as your eyes changed:

from fascination to admiration

from resignation to regret

Did my eyes mirror the same emotions? Did mine give me away as easily as yours did?

I remember the late nights we would spend together, drinking pink wine and watching old movies, our legs bare and tangled together under your comforter that smelled of dirt and lavender.  The bed was never made and the room reflected that.  It was a reflection of you, you told me.  A free-spirit, a creative soul. 

But to me it just always looked messy.

I guess the most important question is: 

when did I begin to hate you?

twenty years ago.

you were single-handedly the most heinous force in my life.
the lies,
the excuses,
the manipulation,
the loss.

you were not my hurricane but you were my forest fire.
you left nothing.
no room for
regrowth,
maturity,
second chances.

& you are the reason that i was burned alive.
but you forgot

i am a phoenix.

; & -

the cosmic darkness ironically illuminated every good thing;
good intentions, good dreams, good meanings -
thoughts and words and places
all illuminated by a vast light while humanity
groped
through
the darkness.
men or angels, carried with divine might;
pure hearts, pure thoughts & pure souls -
smiles and joy too far out of reach for us as we
stumbled
through
the darkness.
when their bright lights dimmed;
and their smiles faded -
they were forced to see the same as us.

and then they too were lost in the darkness.

the witch

the witch has a gift for me.

her vial glistens in the moonlight as she hands it over and i can feel the warning from the trees.
i ignore them and take it into my hand.

"give this to him and you will be free."

i don't need more instructions,
i don't need more explanations.
i don't need more motives.

i just need to be. 

gone.

i have an obsession with disappearing.

this obsession grips me by its roots,
holding me down and suffocating me with its imperial screams and persuasive devices.
i do not exist.
the skin on my body is not real,
the muscles the sinew the bone
all of these thoughts in my head
are void of reality.

sometimes i can feel my invisibility
in that moment when i am see-through.
if you reached out to touch me,
your hand would go right through.

nothingness.
a dream stuck in an endless cycle.
smoke and mirrors and glass cages.

in the haze of my sanity i can at least make clear
that it's not reality that's fading:
it's me.

tattoo

the party is exclusive, you told me;
a boyish grin crinkles up your face.
I lay on my back, void of clothing.
I hate you and I hate me and I hate this.
you've bought me a dress, strapless, backless;
gold as sin and red as blood.
But those are your words.
I slip it on, and your mothers earrings jingle
as I grip your arm and force a smile.
words blossom against my back,
but they are not meant for you. 

my loneliness will crush me. 

who once was mine.

water droplets on my face,
trails of wetness on my cheeks.
trails of rain or trails of tears?
i don't remember anymore.

soaked, wet, drenched - fallen
on my knee's and now i'm sobbing.
mud soaked tights and sticky dress,
hand in face, i'm such a mess.

a little boy with cheeks flushed pink;
a little boy who belonged to me.

a little boy who's six feet down;
a little boy without a sound.

sit and wait, wait and sit.

in lieu of disaster, I sit and wait.
under the table with my knee's pressed to my chest and my arms wrapped around me.
as if I could ever protect myself.

outside, those not under the table, are silent.
tension filling the air visibly in radioactive waves.
they hit me, and they burn me and I cringe, but they don't stop.

a glass breaks, a slap is heard and cries escapes
and I realize, solely, that the cry was mine.
those radioactive waves keep hitting me, burning me.

I am turning into dust,
right before your very eyes, or maybe not because you can't see me.
but i can see you i can see you i can see you.

as the radioactive waves keep hitting me, I stop cringing,
I let them burn my skin, I let myself melt away.
the last thing I hear is another glass break.

forgetting; forgotten

the waves whisper up to my feet.
slowly they come, as if they don't want to frighten me away;
and they giggle as they touch my skin before they rush back to the sea.

 i wish i could follow them.
quickly i would fly, the water filling my lungs as i floated down;
but i wouldn't be dying, i wouldn't be gone, i would be here and now.

 i can't follow them.
my back is burning from the stare he's giving me from behind;
and i know in that moment that i will never be forgiven.

 and i will never be forgotten.

deathly.

all sounds went away-
a dull silence encompassing her being as time slowed right before her eyes.
the sound of her heart faded and her breathing stopped;
all while she remained eerily concious.

her throat constricted and the bubble of life shrank until it was plastered onto her own skin.
desperately she drew forth breath, her lungs expanding,
her heart pounding,
and the world painted itself back in color again.

But she would never forget that Death sat on her head.

morte.

barb wire and confetti cakes,
twisted tunnels and twisted minds(MINES);
wanderlust, don't fall away
to nothing nothing nothingness
or even worse;
into suffering
the
unfaltering
SOMETHING.

SKY.

I once heard the sky holds all of our deepest memories.
That's why the dark comes, from all of the tainted memories the sky holds -
all of the darkness that emcompasses the human soul
is cast up to the sky.

I used to cast my dreams and worries to the sky;
when it would rain, I would cry
and when it was sunny, I would laugh with the other children,
clad in white dresses and flowers in our hair, giddy
with the intoxication of youth.

I could never understand why the rain would fall on days
when I would be dancing by the fire, with ruby red lips.
I could never understand why a cold gust would come when,
in that moment, my soul was so warm with joy.

As I grew older, I stopped casting my dreams to the sky;
as I grew older I stayed inside, no more flowers in my hair,
no more laughter with my friends,
no more dancing by the fire;

because I didn't trust the sky;
because I don't trust the memories.

far away, gone astray.

I cast my dreams out to the sea
and watch them fall so far from me.
I sing a song into the sky
and let it drift away so high.
I dug a hole to bury those
aspirations that ever gave me hope.
Underneathe,
on my knee's,
I try to dig them up.

Unfinished. Drowning, not dying. Not swimming, not floating. Drifting underneath the water where the waves cannot reach me. Hello, blog. I have missed you dearly.

My heart blossoms and withers of its own accord.
My body is a useless vessel,
powerless to the Almighty Heart.

The heart that sustains me.
The heart that destroys me.

warns me,
implores me,
begs me.

At night, when I lay in my bed,
helpless against its will,
I listen
in awe
to the sound of my still-beating heart.

Bellydancer

I am sitting by myself;
a brand of whiskey I’m unfamiliar with lay before me.
I drink it,
and fire burns down my throat.

She dances over to the side;
clad in black and jingling with her beaded bracelets.
I watch her,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I am waiting for someone;
someone lonely and fragile and superior.
I wait for him,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I am taking too many pills;
placing them one by one on my tongue.
I swallow them,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I drank her.
I watched her.
I waited for him.
I swallowed him.
And the fire burned down my throat.

while once

while once I was happy, swaying in the foyer, a book in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other,
while once I was content, lazing on my couch and watching foreign films and staying awake happy,
while once I was blissful, going to operas and ballets and dinners discussing God and books and life.

while once I could smile, you have stolen that from me.
while once I could laugh, you played the role of Ursula.
while once I could speak, you have subdued me.

I am subdued,
underwater, gasping for breath but only being filled with liquid.
The liquid fills my lungs and it chokes me, suffocates me;
asphyxiation.

But what you don't know is
I still smile
I still laugh
I still speak

when you're not around.

old, weathered book.

I am twirling, dancing around myself in a haze of rose wine and white skirts and piano music as he sits in the chair, reading some old and ancient novel, bursting at the seams with wisdom.

Just the same as him, these books he reads.

Old, weathered, falling apart and containing miles and miles of knowledge,
with that old book smell and that feel of leather against your skin that brings tingles up your back.
He looks over, that same weathered look on his face, even though he's only twenty five.
And I am nineteen and giddy in intoxication, beckoning him to dance, just this once please dance.

Dance with me like you use to, when we first met.
Dance with me like you use to, when it was taboo for us to be together.
Dance with me like you use to, before you fell into this pit of despair.
Can you even pull yourself up? Are you out of the abyss?
Dance with me, please, just like you use to.

A ghost of a smile is on his lips before he turn back to reading that book, filling his head with words and words and more words and leaving me, alone, to dance.

the return of the abandoner

I bet no one even remembers this blog and I don't blame you, but I just couldn't stay away after all. So hello blogspot and all of my dear, old friends. It seems I am back. And this time, I think, to stay.