Art and Poetry

A SHORT COLLECTION OF WORDS

the fire comes when you realize you have given boys a taste of figs when they will settle for store bought minds that are good but they are not oceans they will drown in you you feel it burning in your belly when you remember what they called love didn’t feel like soaring it felt like a twin bed small great women you whisper cannot be handled by lesser men the lava boils over when you understand what they meant by lesser the good enough melts skeletons of money, family, career the boxes on a checklist the lesser are not awakened by souls ablaze words overflowing flowing somewhere the lesser are content with this beige place i wake with a start in his lonely arms the fire has come i remember like generations have lit a match in my abdomen And leave those empty arms that have never been able...

LIPSTICK PROMISES

I stand in the aisle of bottles and pigments Testing the red tube on my hand The mark the perfect shade of blood. With lips stained red I would be Renewed- Rising like a phoenix from the ashes Of the old me, Away from my scars and insecurities. I clutch the red lipstick in my hand, A magic wand An open door to a new version of myself. I decide to step through. At home I unwrap it Holding it as if full of burning stars. It holds a sacred promise. A new journey. I wear it for one day at home. It stays in my drawer Almost brand new. Full of unfulfilled promises.       Author: Tianna Morison Email: tiannamorison@gmail.com Author Bio: Tianna is a writer, blogger and mom. She spends her days working on Babbling Panda Blog where she writes about mental health, her kids and being gl...

SWEET BEAZIE

In Chattanooga, there was a café near the pedestrian bridge I used to frequent. Over the counter hung a tasteful painting of several women sitting on the grass in the nude engaged in conversation. Seemingly staring back at anyone looking at the painting was a small blue dog with yellow eyes that didn’t quite belong in the scene. Every time I went into the café, I was mesmerized by the painting and the dog. Finally, one day, I asked to speak to the owner. I was told the owner was seldom there and the lady asked if there was any way she could help me. I told her that I was interested in buying the painting. She smiled kindly into my then very young face and gave me an art lesson on the first George Rodrigue original Blue Dog that I had seen to date. Needless to say, I don’t own one. Many yea...

HUMANE RAYS OF A PAINLESS DAWN

Darkness grew Inside of me. A black web Of scathing scars Attaching quite aptly To my livelihood, To my womanhood, Dangerously, destructively  — A toxic creature Pulling my body Down, way down. Into an abyss I feared had No exit sign.   Darkness thrived Inside of me. Without logic, This gruesome thing Wove a warpath. Leaving not a trace Of light or peace. Further we fell, My body and my spirit. Fearful and entangled In a bloody mess — Enduring An open-ended chapter Of gruelling soreness.   Darkness lived Inside of me. I can’t recall A time When it didn’t Take my breath away. Toss my hope away. Push me over the edge. It spoon-fed me Shame and distress. Hoping I would be Too full up to disturb The comfort Of our anti-symbiosis duress.   Then, darkness died. Finally. One sunny ...

HER STRENGTH

The quiet morning breeze Gives her the strength to move forward. The calm stillness of the air Beckons her to get up. The reddish purple horizon Tells her it is time for her to leave. The brisk, fresh air she breathes Allows her to feel free from the oppression she has faced.   She knows what she must do to grasp the future in her hands She knows that she can no longer allow this man to control her destiny. She knows she cannot hold onto the hope that things will improve. She knows her body can no longer handle the fists, the feet, the objects that constantly bruise her body. She knows that with God’s strength and her determination she will persevere. She knows that Mother Nature is beckoning her to leave the past behind and embrace the future. She knows what to do.   Now she nee...

WOMEN

This generation Is not going to praise locked up princesses Or the ones with very long hair. But the queen who fought alone And conquered a nation. When your kid wants to watch a Disney movie, Show her “Brave,” “Mulan” and “Pocahontas.” Because This generation Needs to know That beauty isn’t strong Instead Strong is beauty. This generation Of women Shall learn to fight on their own With their chins up And eyeliners winged.     Name: Muskan Agrawal Email: muskanagrawal2000@gmail.com Author Bio: I’m an artist. I want people to see my work and feel that they are not alone. Link to social media or website: Instagram @writer_she

SHE DRIP

She had been dripping down the looking glass for years. While people watched the Drip. Drip. Drip. into the bowl underneath where breathing souls finally fell into themselves. But she was less concerned about when she would fall into the water bowl than how she looked to the people standing around watching. And this tortured her, knowing how foolish her preoccupations. Once, another drop gained her path and they became one piece of wet slipping down faster to the water bowl. surrendered to each other’s weight. She liked it. Their drops one piece of wet magnifying. obscuring. the people watching their drip. But someone screamed outside the looking glass on a no reference afternoon and the glass shook. She looked up, then down. saw the eyes again of the people watching her drip. now with mor...

LITTLE WRITINGS FROM THE LILAC WRITER: PART TWO

Fight for yourself to be your own risk taker. Fight for yourself because sulking in glooming blue is a NO! NO! Fight for yourself because YOU WANT TO NOT BECAUSE ONE SAYS YOU HAVE TO. Fight for yourself because the clock is ticking and the dam that you’ve created that leads to Sadland – nowhere has overflown. Fight for yourself because these battle pillars that you have planted internally and externally for yourself are ready to collapse without your knowledge. Tell me are you going to fight for yourself or refuse to use your growing armour?     —     This is a sad poem about dream stealers who are willing to unseal jars of dreams that do not belong to them. This is a sad poem about a few going over the horizon in search of a rainbow but they only come...

BE IN MY WILD WILDERNESS

More than tremorous earthquakes I desire your desire to traverse and trace the contours of my corporeal map The dewy caverns of my mouth The starry expanse of freckles upon my yoke The waves of my tresses The amber pools of my eyes The mottled speckles of my skin The crater of my navel The braided river of my veins and The dark forest opening to my cavernous inside. Explore, intrepidly, darling. With fingertips and tongue, and mostly, with your spirit. Wander through my fields and forests and fens and alpine cliffs. Graph me. Draw me. Chart me. Scale me. Smell me. Feel me. Swim in my lake. Climb the ranges of my breasts and marvel at the precipices. Go ahead, adventure in. I welcome you into my meadows and my wilderness. I will not be tamed, but you can rove and we can learn together what ...

DEAR MY ABUSER

Why was your desire, your lust, your god-damn desperation more important than what I wanted, than what I was ready for. Why did you claim to love me, but when it came to your fingers you never once asked “do you want to?” Why would you spend months manipulating me, conditioning me to believe that me not wanting your hands on me was my issue—that I was odd, I was the f*cking problem. Your needs were desperately fulfilled whenever we were together. For four months you did whatever you wanted to me and I had to fake enjoyment just to satisfy your ego, and to get you off of me. You only ever cared about consent when it came to sex. When if you didn’t ask, it would’ve been impossible to not call it rape. But how could I say no when it’s all you could ever talk about, when that aim was all you r...

SPRING CLEANING

Everything I’ve ever needed has always been in my possession but the space between my rib cage has been a cluttered, dusty attic filled to the brim with heavy baggage and painful memories pulling down the ladder and climbing inside the cavity wasn’t voluntary it was something I had to do the longer days and warm air called upon me to move but like all spring cleaning it takes time to sort through everything a constant battle between resisting the desire to shut the door for another year and climb back down the ladder or the compulsion to just throw everything out and make peace with what is lost so you sit with it you sort through it you have too much coffee and not enough food you laugh at the happy memories and you don’t even go through that box (you just know it belongs in the trash) in...

SAVIOR

Savior We’re waiting and looking around Probably  for a boat, a car, food,home or simply a person, a savior I suppose. something to feel safe upon. something to bulid upon. a passion maybe? Or a poetry an inspiration? Or an idealisation something to keep us running running from our ownself, from the sense of chaos a mind so toppled and unsure that we drift into the mist just to wind back in forgretting that the very thing we are running from is the only thing that can save us.         Author: dipti Email: diptisalvatore@gmail.com Link to social media or website: https://www.facebook.com/

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