maturation
Silly me, Confusing what was specific for what is singular.
Slow Rot Holy Heat
What I write comes from the soft and strange corners of my life – burnout, devotion, the matrilineal unknown. I'm writing my way through love, exhaustion, an...
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eva baltasar
Maybe love is unfurling above us like an enormous branch that bends and touches all the most sensitive, reticent parts of us.
erasure
Are we still real in this version of you?
enigmatic peach
You centered yourself and I opened. You picked me up because I fit your hands. You knew how to hold me so I wouldn’t bruise yet. How to turn me so the surface stayed intact. My skin learned your pressure. My mouth learned yours. My heart stayed open. You tasted without biting. You breathed me in. You set me down. Then you stepped away. Air moved in. It touched everything. It remembered you. It…
ten of swords (reversed)
I am no longer inside the proving. The past is here. It does not advance. It stays where it was placed. There was a time I learned how to hold myself under what was killing me. Now I turn the body. I listen for what answers. I withdraw from the rest. Iron slips from flesh when the weight is no longer carried. Desire moves— contained, functional, no longer embedded. The wounds remain.
anchor
anchored, i drag and scar the floor i pull, the weight, to meet demands how often do i feel alone? how often do i say: one more. there before me just one more to cross to complete to keep the score by habit i stay by order i function interiority— noted set aside counted i know my faults i built the life and still the wanting, unfed, presses from behind the step unnamed unspent
delay
Unfortunately, emotional systems take longer to change than cognitive ones. In the delay, there's not much to say lest I miss the window to finally find relief.
ruin
There is almost nothing I could not bear if it were seen clearly and named by the one who knows me. Recognition makes the unbearable smaller— it gives it shape, boundary, a place to rest inside the mind. So tell me— why won’t you let me look upon you fully? We stay in the corridor of approach, close enough to feel the shift in the air, too far to touch. But if you turned toward me, even once, we…
reflex
the quickening again — that breath at the door, soft as fur, the dark calling itself night. something catches at my ankles, a stumble, a reach forward, now caught in the brambles— fruit beckoning, sticky, the nectar still sweet as the thorns take it's due. each cut, a place I've been before. a pulse, small but sure, rises through the quiet. warmth moves around me, breath and laughter made of the…
task
And when I looked up from the task at hand — the busy work of making meaning — I found myself alone and stranded in the midst of our love.