Extraordinary

Go ahead, ruffle my feathers.
I’ve never really cared for the ordinary,
the small talk, the mundane paste
of this grey world.

No…

I want red and gold and sparkling luminescence.
I want deep conversation, intellectual stimulation.
A chance meeting of
2 fated souls,
Fiery spirits
Raw beings with chipped edges along the porcelain blushed boundaries of our mutual longings.

I yearn for the extraordinary, the misplaced,
the out of place,
The odd.

I want the fevered passion of blazing hearts
bursting with the need to
feel each other’s beat.

I want the music of laughter and light and Life,
the sliding of souls
so sublime
and delicate
and wrecked
That
I cannot help but
fall in Love.

+Lj

Control

There are moments so deep and so real and so full of light i cant imagine ever being sad or hurt. Moments when i can see the trivial nature of fleeting emotion.

There are moments when all i want is to show you that i can still remain strong and logical and in control of myself.

Control.

It is a sickeningly sweet lie that covers me in its false comfort. Tells me that i did. I finally found someone who could love me. Who can look at me and say with certainty,

“You are not too much for me. You are not a burden. You are everything.”

Someone who can listen to understand and learn all the things about me that i have thus far failed to learn myself.

Someone who can be gentle, someone with the ability to hold me even in the darkness when i cant see the brightness of the stars in his eyes but who reassures me they are there.

Control is a lie i tell myself, that i will not fall too deep into you, that i will not lose myself, that i wont place all the gunpowder of my fragile heart inside your outstretched hands.

Hands that made me feel so secure and safe. Hands that the other halves of my broken mind visualize as hands that can hurt me.

Control is the lie i tell myself to hide the projections i place on others. On you. To hide the way i want to hurt because i am hurting.

Its a lie i tell myself that i will be bigger than my sensitivity. Sensitivity that i feel like just gives a bad rap to my superhuman ability to feel everything.

And everything i feel in you is a reflection of me, and if i feel me is ugly, then many of the facets of those reflections will show me rage and degradation and carelessness.

Control is a lie i tell myself to build a dream i can believe in. A way out, a way to survive and thrive and teach my daughter i am more than what i can give in these shifting moments.

Control is a beautiful and wistful longing that i have to develop into a sentient being inside my aching bones. Aching from the despair of wanting to be heard and understood but most likely from a vitamin deficiency because i cant really ever eat that much.

And nothing ever tastes good, it feels too heavy inside my hollow belly, and i cannot control that. I cannot control the way callous words wound me so deeply and i cannot control that when i found love in you, all i wanted to do was carve out a safe haven for myself and my dying soul inside your rib cage and sleep there curled up in the warmth of your laughter and the unparalleled rhythm of your breathing. The smell of you is a reminder to me that i will never have control.

Control is the lie i gift myself when i feel like my world is shattering apart and i have nothing left to give. Its the lie i feed my mind to overcompensate for the feeling of not being good enough for anyone, and sometimes of saying too much.

Its the lie i tell those around me, feigning stability when it feels like quicksand beneath my feet and i just want to surrender to the sinking gravity of my despair.

Control is what i wish i had when i first met you. That ability to control the flow of information. The ability to control the effects of the burning static i always feel at the sound of your voice. And the way you make me feel alive.

Control is the lie ive taught myself to believe in to give you the room to decide if you really want me as your burden.

+Lj

the Forge

Heat surrounds me as I walk between the Anvil and the Hammer. I am smelted, molten iron waiting to be formed and reformed, quenched under cold water, hardened again and again until firm and strong,

Flexible, ensuring I become unbreakable.

I turn around, looking, watching, searching for the Armorer,
the Forge-master,
the Liberator,
the Commander of these flames (building to higher intensity—higher Stability)

I am shaped again, between the Anvil and the Hammer,
stronger, as this new molten alloy is injected in my veins.

I am liquid glowing steel shaped anew.

Hammered, beaten, brought to the barrel until the edge is clean and razor sharp,

Made flexible again, made unbreakable once more.

Stronger in this second life, this second cycle,

twice-born to learn, to evolve, to lead and become more than I was and more than I could be.

The fire burns higher and hotter, flames tonguing my female flesh, lapping at my neck and cheeks and lips,
entering through my breath and mingling with my Earthly form.

And I become the Armorer,
the Forge-master,
the Liberator,

the Commander of these fever flames,

I am Steel, charged with cold fury, shaped to a seamless edge, power to slice,

and here I take my leave and employ my Vengeance.
Blade in Body I stand to fight
Body in Blade I enter battle, demanding the blood of my enemy, demanding victory,

The enemy is on all sides and I am poised, ready.
I am,
I am my enemy,
And the disease in my mind is ready to die.

+Lj

Metamorphosis

Alone in a glade under the burning stars,
Dew moist on the soles of my blistered feet,
My belly distended, pressed to the ground,
Sinking in, mutating within
The needles of pain consume my vision
My breath, reduced to a whimpering supplication
My skin cracks open,
Drying and withered and old
I peel it away from the new
Armour
Still soft and wet and waking
This newness hardens my jaw,
Pulls my tears to ash
This new body, now so
Proud and firm and female
Mating with the decay of leaves
And Lifeblood of the soil
And horns of Earthly blessings
Split the crown of my brow
Growing slowly,
Agonizing, surreal,
Strong
And so I shed the paltry
Skin of Eve,
And rise from the Womb
Of the Earth Mother
As a new Goddess
A new Flame
A new Stone
A new Way
A new Song
A new Day
A new Earth

+Lj

Untitled (1)

I wandered until I was lost. Trodding sodden ground, clutching the blackness of obsidian destruction. A temporal fascination, overbearingly familiar, like déjà vu, surfacing from the cold dark waters of a buried consciousness, a buried light. White is deathly, like pale fingers creeping in to paint splotches of scaled down readiness across a canvas of nothingness.

The bleak of winter would comfort me now. In a world where spring is springing, where greens and blues decay under the whiteness of my sliding spirit. I am darkness in this light. This encompassing trend of rising to the occasion has been lost on me.

I feel as though the zigzag of humanity’s crumpling form is winding around me. I have learned this lesson before. I have learned to distrust. My weary ways have haunted me, have coalesced around this storm that swirls throughout my being. I am sick.

The grit and dew sparkle like dogmas cradled within the hierarchies of man. I have learned to love and hate in equal measure. I have tasted the waxen futility of this fight. This war on life. Control is today’s special. Beating the innocence out of the disciples of creation. My creation is eating me alive. Conquered and devoured. I can’t twist my view to the periphery of this room. My prison cell, I built it from the gifts I was given.

I wandered until I was lost, and now,

I’m not quite sure I ever want to be found.

+Lj