Begging for the Beautiful

Sooo I really did mean to post again last month! I wrote a poem and everything and then... it was May? April was full of fun/overwhelmingly busy and my writing has suffered for it. Does that ever happen to you? You fall too far away from your creative self and it becomes harder and harder to clamber back to your internal world?

Good news is, I figured out my next project! It's still very much in the planning phase, but it feels good to have a world to slip away to again.

In the meantime, I wrote this poem. I'm not a very political person, but recent(ish) events inspired this one.

Begging for the Beautiful

The World’s come untethered

It wobbles off its axis

Writhing

Wailing

Screeching

for someone to cling to

as it spirals into darkness

The Sky is burning

Flames lick the stars while black smoke

blooms

Like a shroud veiling

The horizon

The Sea is a skeleton

Ridges and fissures and broken bits

of bone

Exposed

Roasting

Unshielded from the sun

The Earth is dusty

It remembers 

the color green

the tall grass buzzing with bees and butterflies

And yearns for that thumping pulse

the tread of your feet

The People are weeping

Bruised and bloody

on their knees

Begging for the Beautiful that the world

had promised

The goodness they were meant to see

You’re searching
But you cannot find the Beautiful

Heartbreaking Quiet

Well, it's been awhile since I've posted. Again. I feel like every time I post on here, I'm apologizing for that. But I've been hard at work writing book-shaped things, so I've chosen to let this blog thing fall by the wayside.

I've gone back and forth on whether I should even keep it at all. The thing is, I always sort of envisioned this as a writing advice blog. But, I find I'm always struggling to come up with things to talk about. And who am I to give you advice, anyway?

I'm one of those people who *always* thinks before they speak, and frequently talks themselves out of saying anything at all. Classic INTJ, I know. But there are things I WANT to talk about. Important things, things rooted deep within my heart. But in the end, I won't have any real answers. And I honestly don't feel qualified to pretend to. So I've decided to express myself in another way.

I'm constantly jotting down poems and doodling in notebooks (habit from my days as a teenage cliche, I suppose) so I'm going to use this space to share those things with you. Starting now. Hope you enjoy!

Heartbreaking Quiet

In the silence of night

It aches

Like a bruise

Tiny hearts bursting

Stars beneath your skin

A shuddering sigh

Shadows cup the raw pulp of something warm

Something beating

Whispering dark, quiet things

Lonely things

Ramparts to your strength

Words are sand to your dry mouth

And silence plump dewdrops cradled

In the folds of a flower

They warn you

Yours is a half-formed wisdom

So moor it to your forsaken place

The graveyard for all your maiden ships

These wilds

They never taught you to remember

They leave you in the rushes

Flayed and swollen

From when they reached inside to touch it

But they’ll never touch it

Because they don’t understand what they feel

The tadpole cocooned inside a web

All you wanted was to fly