i dreamt i was devoured

what remains

i am nothing but a ruin collapsed and radiant cracked open to let the light in

unfortunately there is no name for the peace that comes after breaking open right; no word to describe the sweet wreckage you leave me in again and again

i would love to tell you what it feels like to get my walls torn down over and over again what it feels like to get trespassed to have the doorways of my hips open up for you to have my chest be a stained-glass window trembling from the wind

i am nothing but a ruin humming with our echo

#poetry #thisferalheart

i'm standing in front of a mirror – not to admire myself, but to meet myself. maybe for the first time in years. maybe ever.

emergence & breath

so i had this urge to get a haircut for a while now; today i got it, and i think it was all i needed for now.

i never really understood why some people – usually females – develop this intense need to get their hair cut. but lately that's exactly what happened to me. it was not born out of a mood or a notion like “i should change my style” or anything like that, it was the very clear feeling of “this hair does not fit me anymore” – like it doesn't belong there, like it's not longer part of me.

it's kind of connected to me being in my goo era, i think; i am not the caterpillar anymore, i've changed, i'm still changing. my hair has been with me for years now, and i started growing it during a very dark time; yes, it has been with me when i started getting better – but the long hair remains connected to the darkness for me. it's hard to explain and probably quite irrational, but oh well.

anyway.

as soon as my ponytail was cut off, i felt like i can finally breathe -

it's crazy how heavy hair can get, and how you don't feel it when it's on your head every day (you may or may not interpret this being about more than hair). the moment it was gone, though? immediate sensation of freedom, of empowerment, of reclaiming — reclaiming what exactly, i am not completely sure yet; my body maybe, my being, everything. or maybe just seeing that i can do whatever the fuck i want and nobody can stop me?

it's funny how something as simple as getting a haircut can mean so many things, how something like that can be as intense – and yet – it showed me another thing: something as simple as getting a haircut can mean so many things, and it can be super intense. what other things might be similar?

how many experiences are waiting out there, simple things, that can mean everything?

//

it was time to cut it off like getting rid of a witness like shedding a skin that's no longer me

speaking of which after cutting off the length after handing me my ponytail the hairdresser – like – completely out of the blue – the hairdresser told me 'you have such a pretty face, you could wear any style'

after a beat a short blink of disbelief i said, honest, 'my face? – i always thought it's kinda grotesque, actually – ?' but she shook her head and smiled and said 'no, you're really pretty'

and something in my chest tightened in the best way possible and instead of denying it any further instead of discussing or even telling myself she has to be nice i just said 'well – thank you'

and thinking back to that now almost makes me cry because how can she just tell me that i'm pretty when all i ever heard and told myself was the opposite

how can this person have the audacity to make me believe that maybe i've been mistaken the whole time

//

my new haircut is like it was made for me which, actually, it obviously was but like one side has a really sharp undercut and the other lots of fluffy softness and there is so much truth in that that it almost hurts

and when i look at myself in the mirror now i can see how i'm not stuck in my chrysalis anymore i might not yet have fully emerged but i can breathe freely already

and my cheekbone really shows and i even have a jawline and i'm not just this somewhat shapeless soft mass anymore but someone with visible edges to them

and whether my face is pretty or not i want it to be the verse the poetry the truth and my hair the soft gasp after

aphrodite you taught me so much i feel you taught me everything i need to know

and you sent me a tulip not when i needed it most but when you knew i was ready

now that i am getting better and better at unapolegetically unconditionally loving myself

i can see the threshold i feel it in my heart in my bones in my whole being

and i am grieving but also looking forward for the time of my life where i don't need to be reminded constantly anymore that it is okay to choose myself

i will miss you but i will never forget you and all that you have done for me you will always be with me with every beat of my heart each a declaration of love for myself

#poetry #whattheflowersknow

Mother's Day II (you don't owe her anything)

'how can you talk like that about your own mother,' i'm being asked, 'how can you even consider not reaching out for this day where every mother should be celebrated'

i would laugh if it wasn't actually quite sad how nobody thinks about me and all the other crying children who never had a loving mother but an abusive parent a scary home no compassion

but listen — this is important: just because she gave birth to you doesn't mean you have to thank her just because she gave birth to you doesn't make her a mom

and mother's day is a social script a ritual that simply doesn't fit every single story and it is not a moral law you have to follow

if you've been through so much that you feel not contacting her serves you better than following societal norms i beg you go for it choose yourself now that you can

you don't owe her anything.

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed

Mother's Day I (but unhappy children exist)

it feels almost outrageous to even consider not to send greetings for today

there are so many things society tells us to do all that cultural conditioning that makes it hard to listen to oneself

but every fiber of my body resists the idea of celebrating this day of showing you gratefulness just because you birthed me

the idea of a mother being inherently sacred because she gives life because she loves unconditionally because she sacrifices so much for the well-being of her child it all makes me sick to my stomach

where is the space for the unhappy children in this narrative where is the space for the bruised souls and the broken hearts

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed

016 | in//finite

“all we have is now” but one day for one of us “now” will mean an endless void of loneliness

oh i wish i could be the older one

#poetry

#thisferalheart #poetry

015 | on submission

from an outside perspective it is giving up control someone held down too weak, maybe, to know what they want

from an outside perspective it might be disturbing seeing someone seemingly lose all their dignity seeing someone give up on themselves shamelessly, ferally, carnally

the outside perspective sees welts on flushed skin hears pleas for more or mercy watches games they think deranged

but being held down is being held open being controlled is being seen in my rawness and still chosen

in yielding i offer my mind, my ache, my need, i offer so much more than skin and i trust to be rebuilt

where you see collapse i feel becoming where you expect ruin i know rebirth

being held down is being held open being held fully

on the way

have you ever felt you killed somebody because you prayed to whatever entity you believe in that their suffering should end that they should be allowed to rest

because the other day i talked to my grandma about a relative of ours who was in hospice care

and while my grandma has this outlook on life and death that some old people have – that death, at some point, is mercy - i had hoped until then that he might get better again

but during that conversation something inside me realized that his time probably has come and in my thoughts i wished him a good last journey a safe trip to whatever afterlife may be waiting for him

he died that night and i was not surprised

#fragments

#thisferalheart #poetry #whattheflowersknow

what i want and what i carry

one: what i want

i want to be wanted chosen in every moment not just for who i am but for how i make them feel alive

i want someone to look at me while i am just quietly existing like they are about to eat me

i want my presence to be craved my energy, my laughter, my quirks

i want my face to be touched like it's sacred and someone saying “mine” because they treasure me so much they never want to let go again

i want to feel like i am not asking for anything you didn't want to give anyway

//

one point five: [breath catches] the longing, the ache does it make me weak u n g r a t e f u l or is it just my heart being brave being soft enough to hope to want

//

two: what i carry

loving someone deeply, truly, no regrets – and still carrying a quiet ache for something they can't quite give you it's such a tender and vulnerable place to be in

when your love is solid and beautiful and true - but there is this one current underneath that's lonely; it's not wrong to feel that way though definitely complicated.

it's not ungrateful or selfish, or betraying them in your heart; it's human. and the desire to be seen, touched, wanted in a way that feels right to you is not a flaw. it is your truth.

being the “more” one - the one who wants more, feels more, aches more - can be so overwhelming; it can make you feel like you have to shrink your desire to keep the peace

but your softness, your kinks, your need to feel wanted and claimed and adored is valid, not extra it's deserving it's you

there's space in a loving relationship to hold that difference to carry it together

but it might mean some really raw and vulnerable conversations it might mean compromise or creative solutions or maybe just being seen in your craving without shame

whichever it will be please know you are allowed to miss what you need even when you love what you have.

012 | for a poetess

i found a video online today of a beautiful person writing poetry for complete strangers

her untamed curls speak of the wilderness within her heart and her eyes sparkle like the summer sky while she heals souls word by word

yet there is a depth about her her eyes, her curls, her being a depth that lets you know this person is a poet and being a poet means to know pain

imagine what the world would be like if there were more people like her and those girls who purchased a poem with a flowerchain