Yvepaints - Blog Posts
It Is (warning: depression, self sabotage, trauma)
Behind as dirt, numb as snow,
Handcuffed rage by my own red-handed self.
The monster’s back, isn’t it?
Monochrome duality of emotions
Like drama masks that fit briefly,
Then slip off.
Little horrors behind the eyes of a jolted girl.
It’s chronic, isn’t it?
Night Choir
Night choir,
Songstresses of the dark,
Serenade with your warm melodies.
Soothing screech,
Piercing hum,
Smooth vibrato,
Harmonize with the lights—
Twinkle, fade.
acrylic on stretched canvas, 2024
Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints
Untitled (warning: death, trauma response)
Dead horse, what have you done?
Traumatized into complacency,
Sat down,
Allowed to continue the charade.
Bloated carcass,
Needing to decompose
To nurture something—someone—anew.
I’m painting my nails to Queen and thinking about queer history (warning: hate crimes, violence, homophobia, transphobia)
I’m painting my nails to Queen
And thinking about queer history,
Bloodied,
Beautiful,
Weather-worn.
The artists that allow
My type in men to sparkle,
Gorgeous,
Pretty,
Free.
Don’t talk,
Save me.
Fights over love renewing
With people’s being
Free perceived
Threatening.
I want to break free.
Favorite piece of contemporary art? Or what art piece do you have hanging in your place? (I’ll show you mine if you show me yours) 😵💫
My favorite pieces of contemporary art are “Feel It M*****f*****s” by John Boskovich, “Untitled (Portrait of Ross in L. A.)” by Felix Gonzales-Torres, and “Unfinish Painting” by Keith Haring!
In my space I have prints of “Madonnina” by Roberto Ferruzzi, “Houses in Auvers” by Vincent Van Gogh, and another piece that I’ve yet to identify. ❤️
Pink Kitchen Table (warning: illness)
The Advent wreath is erect but cockeyed; it wasn’t lit during the recent season. The pink kitchen table is littered with masks, bottles, medical notes; doctorly linguistics beside Latin religiousness. Sundays smell like medicines instead of makko-powdered ether, rosaries in the windowsill with therapy aids. Images of Christ surround a rented bed, a vessel for healing holding a vessel, weakened.
Advent wreath lit,
Pink kitchen table littered,
Latin Sundays smell like makko.
Rosaries with images of Christ surround,
A vessel for healing.
Advent wreath lit pink
Kitchen table like Sundays—
Vessel for healing.
18 (warning: suicidal thoughts)
Blow out the candles, darling.
You might make it to 18.
After all the nights crying
Through gritted teeth.
After the day you thought
That if you killed yourself
Their lives would be more pleasing.
Congratulations, darling.
You’re almost 18.
A Prayer of Joy ✝️
May joy come with the same ease
As your mother tongue,
Something learned so young
It’s almost intrinsic.
May the sun and rain both
Remind you of our true home,
Shining and pelting down from
Where some earlier folks referred to as Heaven.
May God bless you
For all of your days. Amen.
Happy National Poetry Month!
Poetry recs:
“On Meeting a Stranger in a Bookshop” by Oscar Williams
“Clean Socks” by Anna Kate Stanley
“14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes” by Doc Luben
“2AM, and the Rabbinical Students Stand in their Bathrobes” by Yehoshua November
“I Remembered” by Sara Teasdale
“a poem to all the dead things” by Ava (@amethyst.hour on Instagram)
“The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe
“I want to see the tulips in Holland.” by @byrdieprose
“Palestine,” acrylic, watercolor, & paper collage on paper, 2024
A visual commentary on the U. S. government’s involvement in the genocide of Palestinians 🍉
Happy birthday, Vincent!
Full words on my TikTok @ yvepaints
Love
Touch me.
Caress me.
Shiver the dust from my bones
And patch the rusted holes of my organs.
Quell the drought of my valleys,
Ushering in the wildflowers and honeybees.
Breathe life back into this old clay
And make me whole again.
Lover
Melt your fingertips into my skin,
Honey dripping between limbs.
Ebony hands gripping porcelain hips,
Obsidian and howlite,
Evening and starlight,
Melt me with your tender kiss.
Oh, lover,
Sweet embrace among silken cloth,
Hovering like a moth
To your flame, under our covers.
Clean (warning: suicide, drugs)
Lipstick-stained syringe on the counter,
Constantly seated on the edge of disaster,
Round and round on a carousel of brain matter,
I know the spiral all too well.
Anything for the chemicals
When your mind drives you mental.
Push comes to shove and you’re in an office checking “No,” I’ve never tried to kill myself.
The doctor prescribes a pill off the pharmaceutical shelf
To make you feel more like yourself
But a pill
Cannot fill
What is left of your shredded psyche
With its hallucinations of lunacy.
I wonder if the 10,000 hours theory
Is true for suffering.
Have I mastered my craft?
GAD
Makko-powdered ether—
Floral-membraned leather
Etherizes my heather.
Brain filling up with lies,
Sidereal eyes
Highlight my cracked smile.
Undermine my sanity,
Earthquake my gaze;
Plagiarize the quality
My cerebrum behaves.
Warm Sheets
Sidereal pain,
Sanguine eyes,
Long langue.
Frosted violet hands
On your ignited, beating chest,
Resuscitating me one reassurance at a time.
Mother (warning: trauma)
I killed another houseplant this week,
Adding to the toll of a plant mom with mommy and daddy issues.
A lotus drowning in their own mud,
A failed parenthood out of parental trauma.
Moths of a heart full of holes
With the aphids of the dirt,
Eating away at me and the beings I tried to patch myself with.