Dovesweet - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
the eat-your-feelings cafe
i eat past hungry to make up for the lonely. i eat for the empty chairs around me. this hungry swallows me whole. mouth turned inside out becomes a hole, becomes a table. table sits in front of empty chairs besides me. i am hungry. i am starving for anything more than nothing, something to feed this loneliness. empty mouth has hollow teeth. bite sharp in your own wicked. crave me to create me: inhale me whole.
bitter kisses
i eat lemons alone, no company because afterwards everything tastes sweeter. every breath is now sugar, an aftertaste of acid burning tissue.
does everything on your skin feel soft after it’s been burned?
another lemon, mint, and the air tastes cold. metal between my hands is warming; i am freezing to death.
suck on the pulp and kiss everyone good bye. i leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. i leave a bitter sweetness on their tongue.
#prayforcharlottesville
i’m so sorry i couldn’t write sooner, but the world keeps crashing down and i don’t know how to write poetry about hatred without reason. i don’t have the metaphors. i can’t write this beautiful. listen, i gotta call you back.
after the silence for prayer: I FOUND ANOTHER BODY TO KEEP SCORE WITH, I FOUND ANOTHER REASON TO BE ANGRY WITH THE WORLD. AT THIS POINT WE SHOULD JUST ACCEPT OUR OWN FAILURE CUT THE LOSSES AND RUN BUT I CAN’T IMAGINE SOMEWHERE WHERE THIS DOESN’T HAPPEN AND I AM SCREAMING AND I AM SCREAMING AND I AM LEFT FEELING SICK AND TIRED AND I’M TRYING WITH ALL OF ME TO HOLD ON, KEEP THAT HOPE, BUT WHAT AM I HOLDING ONTO? THERE IS NOTHING HERE TO LOVE. WHAT KIND OF HATRED HAVE WE ALLOWED TO BREED INSIDE THESE WRETCHED BONES? WHAT KIND OF MAN DOES NOT CONDEMN THE EXECUTION OF ACCEPTANCE?
HOW MANY WORDS DOES IT TAKE TO EXPLAIN THE WAY I CANNOT BREATHE FOR FEAR OF DROWNING IN BLOOD AGAIN?
and everything we do is after the fact. everything we say has no meaning to the dead. #prayforcharlottesville, for everyone these atrocities have taken because we couldn’t find a way to stop them in the first place.
That strip of smoke coloured sky up there is the heaven of these people. -Jacob Riis and the heaven of these people is the heaven of those people from a different skyline. we look at the same gods with different eyes. that smoke-coloured, bare strip of sometimes light is beautiful when it is the only thing to look up to. when they dream, they dream of a sky painted like the sunset they know and the sunset they don’t, red-orange-blue with a grey haze on the horizon. when these people think of heaven they do not dream. they are tired. instead: heaven is the moment between breaths. heaven is the uninterrupted night of sleep. heaven is eight hours instead of twelve. heaven is all hands unhurt, all eyes not blind, a body on this earth that can contain their souls. heaven is their souls unbound in the closest thing they know to joy. joy is the little kindness, the way the light shines down. heaven is the light. that sky up there is not a strip it is the whole sky, it is the might of all the heavens all these heavenly bodies resting on the earth weighed down by all the dirt and fear they are the light trapped between the lines, they are looking at a different sky and seeing the same gods. they are learning heaven with their eyes open.
love her. love her. love her.
you are waiting in between-
ans Meer
to the sea.
i learned how to speak seven languages by the time i was young. they were not what i thought they should be.
in each one, the word for world had no other meaning.
der Welt, mein Herz is a terrible terrible place.
is this why we flee? на море to the ocean, to the sea?
when i said language, i did not mean русская or deutsch or română; i meant a different sort of words.
how to show fear and regret and to speak angrily, with no remorse.
crying long hours, how you say, like the rainstorm.
there is no native language for grief because we are all fluent speakers.
there is a grammar for happiness that must be learned.
when i was smaller then, not of body but mind, i asked how you knew it was really the sea.
how it was not simply the red overwhelming everything else you saw.
i do not think i was really asking about the sea.
even know i do not know if the sea is what i mean when i say it is what we are all seeking.
weltzsmurch we are all world weary.
perhaps the sea is red because everything else is blue.
and the question still remains- if i say happiness in one language will you understand the meaning in another?
please understand i mean no harm.
für mein love, my love, my love, the sea my love, my dragoste my love, to see my love my love my love, is red.
in a place between words we cannot communicate and somehow we are all waiting in between.
спасибо, there is a way to reach the ocean from here.
is there an ocean everywhere around us.
in my mind the sea is red and my mind the sea.
a language of neutral patterns, waves, timing and frequency.
i cannot seem to rid myself of the sea and the sea cannot rid myself of me.
from speaking in a manner of many words i have only learned this:
the word for world is weary of being used in such a small manner.
and we have yet to set out on our own infinite sea, the red one we wade through.
of cut down trees and men. in every language the word for hatred is spelled like knife in back, in throat, in heart you do not have.
hatred is the killing of something not your own.
a small body rests am Meer too tired to know the consequence.
we are the word for emptiness and conscience.
we the only word that matters.
the sea is red at our feet.