Perception - Blog Posts
Come love, make me better than I was.
Come teach me a kinder way to say my own name.
— Andrea Gibson, from “Good Light,” Lord of the Butterflies
i’m beginning to question people’s perception of me. it sucks that i can’t know for sure. all i have to rely on is actions and what they tell me. who knows if it’s true?
plopped into cool water, my manus flattens against the stone below as a bowl upturns like a dome above.
my marble eyes ring with the warning of moonlight, my skin glistens, slick with sage-
i peer at my greenhouse, pads reaching to press the convex glass, curiosity caressing my face-
but comfort follows me beneath the water, serenity tying me back to stone.
then steam clouds the cage; lids close off sight, then sound- suddenly, silenced, i muster one last croak. poetrycommunity
death by comfort // the boiling frog
I have given up on everything except the believe, in thyself as if am anything special
there is beauty in building up something, love in watching it grow, Satisfaction when it stands and experience when by fate it fails.
THEY SAY THAT the weak have no right to say no but, who affirms that there yes is not a NO ?
fate again.
The heart goes cold.
The heart grows old.
The repetition of moments be it trembling or joyous.
The heart loses it all in the end.
art by @kmcvisuals
Some say hope is a good thing, others all heartedly warn us against it. Country men , isn’t that life? that what frees some enslaves others and completely dismantles them out of existence.
art by @kmcvisuals
Some are young rocks, arrows, spears, barrettes and jackhammers cant penetrate throw them. Opposite, lies the intricates the roses of this world the fragiles. For people like these it needs not much, a word, a gaze or silence and everything is shuttered.
He felt like a pigeon unknown to him the time the cage could open up.
It did petrify him though,
that if he didn’t realize that it was his life he was consuming,
all possibilities pointed to a destruction of himself in search for an escape.
In this decorated room, my soul murmurs a prayer that at least this time, this manufactured happiness can last more than just a nights sleep and that I can forget all of myself without coming back the next day for another glassed antidote.
