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Step Through the Door

Do you understand
that it matters?
All the same, it does.
You were my
very own mystery
but then you
became my door–
as eternal as the
universe itself.

My eyes widened
with intrigue.
Don’t forget,
I know my place,
life,
a metal tongue,
keeping me on the edge,
reminding me that
sometimes it can be
cold and demanding.

Did you ever experience
a White Christmas?
A child’s smile?
The first warm day in spring?
The kind of day that
grasps hope in its palm.

That’s what it was like
when I realized that it all
may really be all right.

 

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Photo Credit: Photo by Benjamin Lambert on Unsplash

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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.

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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.”

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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?

You’re the green the
color of fading leaves,
I’m the violet you
catch in the breeze–
chilly, precise, unexpected.
I will endlessly marvel
at the way I calibrate
into a new mind
when you are near.
Like a distant voice
from the radio,
you sooth my soul.

But now, I wake up
cradled in a nightmare,
riddled with repetitive,
frightening moments, and
there is only static.
In this reality, no matter
what I am doing,
I can’t possibly think
of anything else.

 

 

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Photography: Lanaya

@writing.for.the.calm

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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.

 

 

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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.

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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!

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Writhing in the Dark

Maybe it is best
left as a mystery,
all the sacred things
you hold dear,
trapped inside
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.

 

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Original Photography