Photography by Neonbrand
Maybe it is best
left as a mystery,
all the sacred things
you hold dear,
for you to breathe.
Even as you notice
the most sincere
principles of reality–
you condemn all the fake
that screams in your face,
and that knowledge may lead
to even more intricate puzzles,
fluttering down from
somewhere to nowhere,
like lazy words writhing
mystically in the dark.
When you are at the saddest point in your life you feel as if there is nothing left. All you have are memories. All you have are hopes and dreams. Now those things you held dear are no comfort. They feel like talons dragging across your brow. Yet, when you are down for the count all you can do is look up. The sun flickers on your tears and there it is hope. A hope of new beginnings. Such beautiful beginnings, parts of you had to die, in order to see them. I guess my ass is a zombie then? ‘Cause I have done more in death than in life.
Christina M. Watkins
I walked behind my heart, Covered up to the thighs in its rivers, freezing from the chill that it became since life served it grief beyond winters, only seeing the calm of blood that passed the rest of my body on the inside. we learned to flow together, to search for ourselves On the walls & floors of my flesh, with no control as I got closer to feel its beats, as blood became my Feet I swam without ever learning but knowing & feeling how weak I could be in its strength.
she was afraid of making the space hers, because it never felt like there was room for her to be who she wanted. maybe it was the stares & laughs who chased her mind over the years, the ones who taunted her identity, or the silent tears after giving her all to the space just to be rejected of her place. it all felt too familial & others never understood the difficulty in just standing & being in front of others, even in under a minute, a meeting of eyes
She is not always methodical in her actions,
she had never, in her strange time on Earth
been so inadvertently hurt,
and it was blithely unexpected.
Gone are the days of spitting words
at each other like wildfires.
Sparks that caught too quickly
that even our tears could not quell the damage.
Look how our passionate fire turned toxic.
But you of all people should know
that even the oldest forests must burn down,
if only to make room for fresh growth.
Our controlled burn was inevitable.
How else to cleanse our love-soaked soil
So we back-burned
leveling our ground,
before distance could poison the
seeds of our once blossoming friendship.
We burned ourselves into silence,
Clearing the way for
sincere attempts at life after love.
Sometimes we must set ourselves alight
Just to begin anew.
And (re)growing we are,
even if our roots are no longer
Photography: Lanaya @writing.for.the.calm
Lies be dancing on the tips
of slithering tongues.
saddling the wind, looking for
gullible ears to slide into.
but truth walks with volume.
each step distanced between
long, rhythmic strides.
turn the truth up,
and watch the lies silently die.
Writing: Rico Lowe Jr. @panafrico
Photography: Lanaya @writing.for.the.calm
Sing to me the song your mirror sings
Of copper tones
Flesh and bones
Of spirited, clipped wings
Of vinyl and aluminum
Can you fit your fingers in?
The two holes of the cassette tape?
The rod stem of the woodwinds?
They say a penny with a hole in it
Still plays a tune
If you dare to position your needle
On its bleeding wound
Tell me, do you prefer an audience?
Or an empty room?
Dare to tell them…at the very least
The bullet pierced right through
The music that raised us
Required human touch
Forbidden love…sweaty, gutsy lust
Yeah, sing to me that song
Like only you can
It’s your mirror after all
Your weekend. Your man.
Everyone is sharing this weekend with you
Looks like they’re sharing him too
But they can’t share the whiny croon…
…of the mirror image
That looks back at you
Only your soul
Can sing that tune
“Life waits for no one”, they said
So I ran
Shoes in one hand and my dreams in the other I ran for life to discover me and sprinted myself to exhaustion
No one told me that I could turn into my worst enemy against the clock of my own making
I am stuck – waiting for the car in the distance to stop running
Waiting for the engine to give out and release steam, unclogging my faulty brain and all the gears that have convinced me that I can not just give it a rest
Let me know when I can stop
When I can stop running after cars in the distance while I am panting out of breath due to unceasing timed tests Continue reading M.O. (Mode of Operation)