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Breeze as an Afterthought

When Love Breezes on by.

Torrid breeze

need to sneeze

spring came around

allergy bound

stuffing noses, sensitive eyes

plucking petals makes me cry.

Within a sickly state

met a special someone on a date

we spent nights and days

in a wanton haze

blurry and hot

in loving thought.

We felt immortal, too great

to let the spark die, wait

so we carved our joy

happiness, tacit cloy

in our favourite bench

we spent days clenched

together

in spite of disgusting weather.

https://www.instagram.com/readingbread_/

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Bitch, Anxiety.

I am tired of being sad. I just want to be fucking awesome. How in the fuck do you do that? I think it just comes to a point, when you are like fuck it. I am doing this. It is happening. If others don’t like it, they can suck it. I am sick of being PC. I legit spent over 20 years being hella proper. Okay, I am still proper. I like to swear though. I think it’s funny. So any fucking way…

I am tired of being sad. I don’t want to apologize for ever feeling sad ever. I think it’s awesome to feel. I think it is outstanding to be so moved that you move yourself into a depression. Only because there is an opportunity for a silver lining. When you’ve dug out of the muck and mire, there is hope. It is a beautiful sunshine minus the troll at the end with gold. You brush off your knees and think, “I made it. “ You went through hell to get to Heaven.

I am a lady with high anxiety. Oddly enough I am letting my fear of virtually everything drive me. So many people think that could be a bad strategy. Well if you have anxiety you totally get it. You get so nervous that you utter, “Fuck it.” That situation was your breaking point. I don’t know what it feels like to not be nervous. I wouldn’t trade my over sensitivity to stimulus for anything. It has literally taken me to Paris, Berlin and Sweden for some strange reason.

My stress self-exploits have recently brought me back to art. Creativity my haven from childhood. I am throwing my 1st exhibition and…

Well you’ll have to wait for the rest.

xoxoxo,

Christina

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Not Perfect

I’m not perfect.
Although that should be clear as water, sometimes I feel the need to state it. For myself and for others. Especially for others. It is probably my fault and in my actions. It’s probably something I do or don’t do. It’s probably because of the way I see the world and how I speak of it.
I am not perfect.
And I get tired.
And I give up too.
There are so many things I have given up and not looked back. There are so many things I have looked back but not regretted. There are so many things I regret too.
It’s entirely human. I believe.
Being a mess of so many things, not only good, not only bad, but everything. Not black or white but fifty shades of blue. And some purple, once you wear those rose colored glasses. On holidays. Or those real good days.
The days you hold on to with everything you got to keep moving forward. To keep moving. Even if only an inch or less. Even if to the sides or back. Just moving. Because life is made of movements, moments, actions and decisions you never really got to think through.
Life happens. But I digress.
I’m not perfect. And that’s fine. It’s entirely human, I believe.
What about you?
© Máh Lima


Photo by Ahmed Ashhaadh on Unsplash

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Critters in the Wild by Zach Bartz

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The New Birth of Abstract

Life,

I have collected all my insecurities and placed them in Petri dishes. I stare at them on occasion when I want to remember who I am. Maybe I look back at them to remember who I have become? At this point in the experiment, everything sort of just blends together.

Continue reading The New Birth of Abstract

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Creative Juices

Creativity isn’t always beautiful. There is a desire in us as artists to share what we feel inside with the world; how can we do so when we can’t find the words ourselves? There isn’t always an easy road with which to release my emotions to words. It can be quite painful. That doesn’t make it any less meaningful.

“There are days when words and feelings pour out of me like a volcano. Aggressive and fierce, I stab through the lines on the page and rip it apart like my brain is ripping me. Then there are days when I can do nothing, My creative juices are dried up- I am breathing in coarse sand, I cough up ideas but also blood. It lines the paper all the same.”

______________________________________________

follow me on instagram @victimlessrhymes

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The Color of Goodbye

And just like that, my life
suddenly seems like
it is not my own.
Your almost-green eyes
stared through me from
a non-existent land,
a dimension I don’t have
the capabilities to reach.
Can I verbalize the color
of your goodbyes?
Is there a shade
to match my pain?
Does a hue of an
explanation exist?   Continue reading The Color of Goodbye

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Fictional.

Perhaps she let
fear hold her back.

Her head reeled with
thoughts like fractals,
an endless realm.
Things became difficult
and intense and made
her desire to sleep.

She knew there was
never an acceptable
reason to deny love,
but at the time it seemed
like an unattainable miracle
to be chosen.

She should have
drank deeply
to reveal
the exquisite
nature of things,
instead
she sank meekly
with silent
shadows of failure,
escaping parted lips,
a breath
coalesced
with ridiculous
fictional
longings.

 

 

______________________________

Photograph: Lanaya

@writing.for.the.calm

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Dazzle Me

I am a dark sea.
You are a dazzling light
that intensifies,
as morning is
on its way.
I bend my head
and ponder,
as a collection
of dizziness
passes me by.
Maybe I need
a slew of
your strength,
a savior–

and
you have
your hope
your determination,
the color of
blood red wine,
just on the
cusp of victory.

The answer was
always there
if I just
opened
my eyes
and looked.

 

_____________________________

Photograph: Lanaya

@writing.for.the.calm

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Blessing or Lesson

More often than not we let ourselves be surrounded by negativity. And things keep going wrong and we believe it’s wrong and unfair and we feed the cycle till we’re buried underneath it all.

After a while, we stop asking if that’s how it should be. And then we forget how it all started. We are forever lost in the darkness inside ourselves that was originated elsewhere but placed there. And we believe we deserve it. And we believe it’s our own damn fault. And it is. And it’s not. It is because we let it grow and take over. It’s not because we are not responsible for the environment we live in.

Continue reading Blessing or Lesson

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Native Oval

I swear! It’s as if John Wilkes Booth is now in The Oval… Too much of a coward to fight for the cause; believing in white supremacy, though not willing to lace up his boots or even don a white hood. He’s got a pistol in his pocket though. (And an amendment to back it up – alongside so many regrets, so many insecurities). I wonder what they do in there? In that sweaty pocket of heavy punk-assness… Do they lie next to each other and touch when they think everyone is asleep? The pistol, the regrets, the insecurities… I bet you two silver dollars that the loaded bullets of the latter two shoot further than the aforementioned. Banking on the inattention and lethargy provoked by watching ‘Our American Cousin’ in church-like pews. Clap! For an actor named Booth! After all, the shots sounded so…real!

Continue reading Native Oval