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

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

#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.

if you've ever felt like something that's out of place within what is supposed your own bloodline, maybe you can understand this; i am sitting with the truth that love cannot be forced, and grief cannot be performed for others' comfort.

011 | no grave of mine

i'm visiting the grave of my “father's” parents; but my father is not my father, and even if i didn't know it back then, i never called them “grandma & grandpa”

we were never quite as close as i was with my other grandparents – the gods know my other grandpa plays in a whole different league than the wholre rest of the family, but still -

and there was always a creeping feeling of distance; like i don't truly belong, like we have nothing in common.

now, my “aunt” – who is not my aunt - asked me to look after the grave because i live closest and she doesn't trust her brother, my “father” and because she lives on another fucking continent while i live one village away

and i am standing at this grave staring feeling nothing

even the guilt about that has disappeared

it's like looking at a stranger's grave

it should still feel fresh, though? my “grandfather” passed away last year – or wait, was it the year before? it hasn't been that long, is all i know and it's not like we never had a good time together

but still i am standing here feeling nothing

back at the car i already forgot the year my “grandmother” died, again

but i finally feel something something else i feel free?

and a tiny bit of guilt for not feeling guilt for not feeling anything

this is hard to share because it paints me like a monster; but if finally being able to leave something painful and devastating behind makes me one, i shall embrace it.

(is this my villain arc?)

(no)

(no)

(this is the part where i wake up and choose myself)

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed #whattheflowersknow

010 | K

there are places i go to remember i exist and one of them has a name

it's not the forest or the lake or the fire or even the bed i sleep in

her name is a weight and a shelter it's a a tether and a door it's the gravity that keeps me from drifting

her name is a soft place to fall a breath that lingers in the curve of my neck a myth my body remembers

her name is the taste of the word “stay“

— and i carry it like a spine.

#poetry

009 | poetry is what you make it

everything can be read as poetry if you read it in a soft voice and with breaks where the writer intended

to prove my point further, i will tell you something

i am sitting on the edge of the bathtub, naked, for shaving my legs and taking a shower after

but oh, if only you knew about the almost carnal desire burning me up from the inside

i wish i could shit before i shower because there is no greater displeasure than having to take a dump the moment you step out there, fresh and clean

#poetry