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For women who are tied to the moon, love alone is not enough. We insist each day wrap it’s knuckles through our heart strings and pull. The lows. The joy. The poetry. We dance at the edge of a cliff, you have fallen off. So it goes. You will climb up again.
You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. Like a shawl to keep you warm at night. Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse. Even if it has slipped from your hands, it will stay in your body.
You loved a man who treated you like absinthe, half poison and half god. He tried to sweeten you, to water you down. So you left. And now you have your heart all to yourself again. A heart like a stone cottage. Heart like a lover’s diary. Hope like an ocean.
Anaïs Nin
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Posted by Leanna - Saturday, June 14, 2014 - 9:18pm
Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time.
I wish I knew what to say, I feel like I should maybe say something profound at this point. I wish I had something glorious to write about and subsequently ponder upon, however my thoughts remain scarred and scattered, like the billions of stars in the blue sea of the night.
Finally things are occurring in a favorable manner, things are happening in such a way that gives me hope for the future. Even so, I find myself longing for the in-between moments; longing for the sadness and the bittersweet. Because the things that make us vulnerable make us beautiful.
I spent last evening at the beach and although I was dancing and twirling among the waves in the light of the moon (and loving very much to be living in that moment), a part of me wanted the ocean to devour me alive. And it is moments like that one in which I am thinking of death in the light of living that scares me. Maybe it doesn’t scare me so much as it makes me impatient, but either way the feeling leaves me with a sense of incomplete, almost like I’m an unfinished work of art. A work in progress; maybe I’ll always feel like a work in progress. Maybe that’s what it is to be human. Maybe being human is praying that one’s life is arranged intricately as a complicated domino pattern, and it will be beautiful when it finally falls.
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“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”
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Posted by Leanna - Saturday, June 7, 2014 - 11:41pm
the beauty of your smile your smile in crystals the crystals of velvet the velvet of your voice your voice and your silence your silence absorbent absorbent like the snow the snow warm and slow slow is your step your step diagonal diagonal thirst night silk and floating floating like the moans the plants are in your skin your skin them mess she messes your perfume your perfume is in my mouth your mouth is a thigh a thigh that flies she flies towards my teeth my teeth devour you I devour your absence your absence is a thigh thigh or shoe shoe that I kiss I kiss this shoe I kiss it on your mouth for your mouth is a mouth she is not a shoe mirror that I kiss just as your legs just as your legs just as your legs just as your legs your legs legs of sigh sigh of vertige vertige of your face I enjamb your image like one enjambs a window window of your being and of your mirages your image her body and her soul your soul your soul and your nose surprised I am surprised nose of your hair your hair-cut in flames your soul in flames and in tears like the toes of your feet your feet on my chest my chest in your eyes your eyes in the forest the forest liquid liquid and in bones the bones of my cries I write and I cry from my tearing tongue I tear your arms your arms delirious I desire and tear your arms and your arms the bottom and the top of your body shuddering shuddering and pure pure like the orange orange of your knees of your nostrils of your breath of your stomach I say stomach but I think of the swim of the swim of the cloud cloud of secret the secret marvelous marvelous like yourself you on the rooftop somnambulist and cloud cloud and diamond it is one diamond that swims that swims with suppleness you swim with suppleness in the water of the matter of the matter of my spirit in the spirit of my body in the body of my dreams of my dreams in action
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'Think of the first love you ever destroyed
because you’d never known anything like it before,
like seeing your own heartbeat outside of yourself,
a flickering, luminescent miracle-
you wanted to crush it into your skin.'
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