Art and Poetry

TODAY

Today I crossed paths again with the necessity of having you between my legs deep inside, ’til you reach my inner core. I remember that moment of realization that miracles were possible the first time I looked into your eyes. Right after, the magic and hope returned to me. Yes, it is true. I would not lie, getting under your sheets was a memorable adventure. A mistake I would not mind drowning in repeatedly. Today I crossed paths again with that part of myself that never hides, but I never face. The one encouraging me to run away, to stop in front of your toes. To kiss you again, kiss you to death and keep running, keep hunting the shades (of us). Today I will jump to the abyss of my memories. I will turn to dust my mystery/misery to play the happily ever after. Today, today will be ...

TO BE

Rocks in her hands That she thought were diamonds Carried them with her For far too long Weighed her down She walked wondering why These jewels hadn’t made her brighter But had pulled her towards pain Shackled her to the steps she’d Taken before When the sun rose and The rocks didn’t sparkle She dropped them in the river For someone else Searching for gold She felt light, strong Feet taking off A flight so free She saw it was simply To be That made her glisten Like a ruby     Author: Sandra Collopy Email: sandracollopy@verizon.net Link to  website: https://suchsweetthings.wordpress.com

THE ROAD TO SELF-LOVE

My dear life I am done I am done waiting for love I am done hiding behind the mask of a reckless nonchalant woman available for hunters to make a pass and I’m tired of being hunted down like a sheer piece of meat whose blood has flown into mouths of hunters shrinking it each time into even more pallid a mass. My dear life I am done I am done taking blames I am done accepting without refutal the hints of insinuations of infidelity and the skewed reality you slyly keep planting in my jarred head while the fact remains that my quest was, has been for love you always deprived me of, I slipped seeing the slightest signs of broken hearts never realizing the broken ones had already exhausted their reserves and you ruthlessly labeled every slip of mine as a conscious dive into a sea of lust....

AN ODE TO ANXIETY

Please set me free anxiety, I’m sick and tired of the sleepless nights that without a reason you think I deserve. Please set me free anxiety, I don’t want to keep on overthinking every thought again and again. Please set me free anxiety, I don’t think I have any more tears left to cry over small things I should leave behind. Please set me free anxiety, I don’t want to give you the power to make me stop and wonder if I deserve the things I’ve been wanting for so long. Please set me free anxiety, It’s time for me to learn how to breathe again without caring what you have to say. The pity party is over, go home. – emotionally drained. ———————————————————————————————————————— She felt too many things, so many she couldn’t manage to process it all...

NIGHTMARES AND DREAMS

I have learned how to better wear these pains on my skin, how to hang them from my fingertips and make charades of the nightmares that haunt me, so that you might witness that which you cannot truly see I have gone so far as to explore the places within me otherwise left behind locked doors Be patient with me And I promise you will see That which I do not yet understand myself – Nightmares in Charades     Can we meet again? In a few years? In another life? When I have learned The hurt of losing you Because I am Looking at you now And I already know That I do not appreciate, Do not care for you The way you deserve to be But I would say goodbye Shatter this heart with my own hands If you would allow me that glimmer Of hope That I might find you again When I can worship you Th...

EVENING VISITOR

Every evening around 6 p.m., I notice a lizard creep up on a side wall of my balcony. Often, I stare as it lays still on the wall, it’s black eyes staring through the glass sliding doors of my balcony, and inside at me. Soon it moves and creeps up further on the wall. At times when the sliding door is slightly ajar, it makes sure to make an entry inside the house, and manage to get onto the black teak cupboards that are adjacent to the balcony. I see it crawl up and onto the storage space over the cupboards, and then make its way from the shut door of the storage space, till the end of the cupboards and then crawl to the side of the cupboards and eventually out of the room. The first time this happened, I thought I lost it and it won’t visit anymore. That it had ventured off into a new hor...

DETACHING

I wanted to be the sad poet but I couldn’t handle it anymore This drowning myself with my own grief This taking every weight upon my back like it was mine to carry Like finally crossing the finish line would amount to anything but my own demise Making art from pain is healing But only making art that hurts is a form of suicide I was destroying myself for the greater good Sacrificing my innards for the sake of art and what beauty it brings forth But all I ever caused was the release of more pain, urging these tortured artists to keep being complicit in their own suffering. I can’t stand by idle as my body degrades and my soul tears off a piece every day No piece can justify my death No lived experience is worth reliving, if it brings me to my knees and drags me closer to the ground Where I ...

WOMEN HISTORY FORGOT: PAN YULIANG

Naked and Strong: the Chinese Painter Obsessed with Nudes The women in Pan Yuliang’s nude paintings are shown in quiet abandon under the painter’s gaze, yet from their nudity comes not vulnerability but strength. Depicting her sitters as endowed with subjectivity is a bold artistic move given that, in art, women are more often passive muses than agents of artistic creation.             Born in 1895 in Jiangsu Province, East China, Pan Yuliang was orphaned and sold as a maid into a brothel at the age of 14. Her freedom was later bought by customs officer Pan Zanhua who made her his concubine and introduced her to the intellectual and artistic circles of Shangai. She learned to paint from a neighbour and in 1918 she was the first woman to be admitted to the Shangai Art Academy. She later wen...

LITTLE WRITINGS FROM THE LILAC WRITER: PART THREE

BETTERMENT   It began with a sinking feeling stirring in a deep chasm somewhere in the body   up so high you build, buildings just to see it crumble to ruins   you rebuild, buildings just to see it crumble to ruins   even on ground you could not shake the feeling off from being a trembling earthquake.   you tell yourself that it’s just a feeling sinking further and further into you it would go away without interference but it never does.   ruination of one’s self has become me.   betterment looks at me dead eyed   while self-destruction holds my hand in a locked grip   betterment doesn’t ask me to choose but self destruct does.   –  AM . ALI     Author: AM . ALI Email: aminahwrites00@gmail.com Author Bio: A...

BREATHING IN THE LIGHT

I lay my back against the grass Breathing in the moon I draw its silver light into the aching parts of me  Are wounds really where the light enters, dear Rumi?  I hope so Because beneath the midnight sky I am searching my soul for the therapy of words and shooting stars And I inhale deep and desperate breaths of moonlight  …starlight, candlelight  Hoping that they will mend my wild inner soul light      Author note: This piece came about through my process of healing in the midst of miscarriage and fertility challenges     Author: Jodi Sky Rogers Email: jodiskyrogers@gmail.com Author Bio: Jodi Sky Rogers is a Feminine Healing Coach and Author. Her personal experience with PCOS and Fertility challenges over the past six years inspires her to support women going through simil...

CENTO FOR YOUNG LOVERS

When I was young I wove garlands of hyacinth and garden clover — shifting weight between hips on the consuming wheatgrass beneath Wrangling vine, twisting tendrils, twining together as one – as we once did. Hands fused, slipping around an arm to be beside the freckle on my neck — leaf braided into stem, swiftly fusing, a chain. As each petal tumbles through sable sunset, I recount how we trembled.   **First line; a Sappho excerpt – translated by Willis Barnstone, from The Complete Works of Sappho, published by Shambahala Publications**     Author: Kayla Moore Email: kayliz0796@gmail.com Author Bio: Kayla Moore is a poet and freelance writer from Cincinnati, OH. She received her bachelor’s degree in rhetoric and professional writing from the University of Cincinnati. Yo...

FALLING

the air would go from stagnant to invasive on one autumnal night there was never much warning and i would finally be covered in turtlenecks and the trees would say and say fine i was tired anyways and drop all the leaves they’d been balancing for months and caterpillars disappeared because the future was different now and the ugly birds crowed because now, now was their season everyone is ugly in the winter they shout it’s my favorite part i nod and we cover ourselves in black and brown and things that look like earth because we miss it and grow trees in our bellies instead letting them out at night to think and i’m cold but i’m warm trees grow fingers on arms to catch you as you twirl in their lost leaves covering their feet ready for cold       Author: Olivia Adkins Author...

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