september.

I been getting higher more, feeding myself in ways i never even thought i was hungry for. I have been speaking from the undercurrent of my soul more. Letting my eyes linger for longer and allowing myself to dip from spaces when I need to. Growing and being is clumsy and so raw. Something about the rush of blood to my head and hearing the sound of my own heart beat reveals currants of possibility to me. I am always talking about what could be which possibly makes me seem distant. but I revel, often at what we’re doing here. they don’t call it an orchestration for nothing and forgive me for being curt but ain’t we some fly ass mother fuckers? just out here, battling against the cries of apathy. being as much as we can be. it gladdens me. that is one of the ways i feed myself; residual joy; like spooning the last bit of honey into your cup before heading off to get more. i like to see a smile and crowds of em. i like to think that’s how we call this whole thing off - by just declaring ourselves enough right where we stand. no fanfare, just a harmony of sovereignty floating seventy thousand feet above the atmosphere. yeah, that’s how i picture it. me and you rolling into the sunset with our hearts upon our sleeves - with nowhere to go and yet, everything to be.

natalieweepoetry:

                        I kneel into a dream where I 
               am good & loved. I am   
                    good. I am loved. My hands have made
some good mistakes. They can always 
                 
                                                            make better ones. 

Natalie Wee, “Least of All,” Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines (Amazon / Goodreads)

pigmenting:

august rolls over and yawns. wakes slow and heavy, stretching like a cat. outside, the sound of birds, the smell of grass. august turns over in an empty bed. his eyes feel swollen and tired. on the nightstand, a note from july - no one carries light like you do.

August skips down the road with a dampened forehead and smiles. One as wide as the horizon. The sound of footsteps and rolling winds with an aroma of fresh yarrow filling the air. With eyes bright and weepy, she reads a note from July - no one carries light like you do.

A momentary mingling.

I turn my head thinking the clock reads 7:77pm - a trick of the eye gate.The temperature sits comfortably at 77 degrees and the time actually reads 7:07. The wood grain of my old Toyota is scratched and worn and I start to recall every tick and nick on the body of this dashboard. I sway into nostalgia for a time not too long ago when the smile on my face was of a permanent hue at the thought of your name … it’s a wonder how a few words can make wild what was once tame. In my heart lives a tenderness for those I’ve loved true, names I’ve called while in this very car and the stories we’ve told each other. It’s quite a pain to miss what was so fresh and yet a clean slate was what was best. As my fingers trace my rose colored lighter, I wonder what causes the residue to stain the insides of a heart? In all it’s gold and emerald glory, what causes an uproaring of bad blood and an even worse attitude to tear away what is nourishing and holy? I’ll never ever understand. And as I sit, skin balmy under the humid moonlight I waft into another place: a silent innerstsnding, that what once will never be. but what is coming gallops to me, and in a greater form — you will never lose when you shine in the glory of all that you’ve been shown.

3:33am

Laying awake, I stare up into the popcorn ceiling as a red light hums quietly against the maroon colored walls. And in my throat lives a lump the size of my fist; it’s harder to swallow and my hands are glistening with sweat. And as I feel into the grooves of the mattress against my spine and the many pillows lining my body, a wonder brushes past my eyelids; as delicate as a betrodden exhale, the kind our bodies release at the embrace of our beloved. The ‘finally’ sigh. This brush of air breezes in language that speaks of a new chapter. It sweeps in with it a tiny little stirring and I pull the covers closer to me. Giddy and mixy and terribly afraid of what’s coming next. And as my jaw clenches tighter, I remember the many times my feet touched fertile soil. I recall how my soles become dampened by dewy blades of grass decorated with condensation from the night before. With this teensy breath, all of a sudden I feel weightlessness that carries me to a time were what was over the horizon did not scald the insides of these eyelids like this. Change can access a Nirvana when keyed into it right. Bliss, with calibrated vision. & I keep seeing the red light from the inside of my closed eyes. And my body suddenly gets heavier as sleep comes nearer. A needed relief or welcomed distraction; for a moment, when these heavier thoughts suspend I’ll find a smile or two lulling into a slumber to help me forget what I hate to remember.