‘Tis The Gay Season

I haven’t seen you in a while. Oh, how I miss your smile. Sometimes I start to pick up the phone to dial, but I haven’t seen you in a while. One day our paths my cross again. You’ll see all these roses that have begun to pile. Until then I will hope and pray for you, my love. It’s all I can do. I haven’t seen you in a while.

J.c.A

Solitude is independence. It had been my wish and with the years I had attained it. It was cold. Oh, cold enough! But it was also still, wonderfully still and vast like the cold stillness of space in which the stars revolve.

Herman Hesse (via quotemadness)

“Just a thought away from being lost in her sway.”

— Be careful what you wish for.

the hardest thing about poetry

is honesty.

how do i give words to the

interior of my soul

and then put it out for

the entire world to see?

knowing that there are

blurry faces i see everyday 

but don’t really talk to

who will remember my poems

the next time they look at

my face and think-

this is what she feels,

this is what she hides.

so, here is a confession 

as the new year is upon us:

much of what i write isn’t honest,

it isn’t me.

my poetry is not me.

if you want to find me,

if you seek what i hide,

look carefully in the spaces

between the words,

in the pauses and the hyphens.

search for me in the white in between

the black print, 

in all the unexpressed

in the midst of the art.

even at my best,

find me in the silence

bursting between the 

adjacent syllables,

then don’t just look,

hear,

listen to what one word 

whispers to the other,

how they acknowledge the unsaid

by leaving space for it on the screen

to exist

then don’t just hear,

smell,

breathe in the vaguely musky scent

of all the letters that never made it

on to the screen in front of you

because i pressed backspace,

either because they didn’t really 

say what i really wanted to 

or because they said it a little too well.

then when all this is done,

feel it.

understand

that this is why in school

you were taught four different interpretations

for a single line and although

that might exasperate you,

this is why a poem is more than

the sum of the words that

it consists of,

this is the reason why the words

you read on paper and on your screen

will never be where the 

true meaning of the poem lies.

but the truth sits there

squeezed in between all the noise,

patiently waiting,

somehow always the winner

of this game of

literary hide and seek.

but now,

if you want to,

at least you know where to find it.

Poetry and quotes to me.. is a way to express the more sensual parts of my soul. I mean, like.. they are an intimate part of my being and they say things I wouldn’t be able to otherwise. Whether it’s your writing or mine.. we share that bond, that connection.. our souls intertwined because we are the same in that moment. You and I. All through some words scribbled on some paper or on a screen.. it doesn’t matter where. It just matters that it comes from the heart. So keep expressing yourself by writing and keep touching the hearts of the world.. and keep touching mine..

Poetry and quotes touch me right here *pointing to chest* - Eue

excerpt from who cares if it’s a choice? snappy answers to 101 nosy, intrusive, and highly personal questions about lesbians and gays by ellen orleans, june 1994

Last night I prayed for you You, who let me swallow The stones you dropped A heart’s trail Leading fast to the edge

I prayed for you Who took my words, my sugar And sprinkled it over someone New, fresh faced and warmed By the fire I lit

I prayed for you To the only man in eternity Who has Loved all of me I sent Him to you with grace Because I am not you

I prayed for you But first, I prayed for myself And found my soul cannot rise When anchored to yours So in freeing myself

I must also free you Amen.

-(a.e.) // I prayed

Heading to her new home