Living Life in Golden Hues

Boy, do we need to talk
but boy, we shouldn’t have.

where do I begin this story?

12 months of kissing a ghost
goodnight
with a well wish, a compliment,
a formulaic I’m-missing-this

a curve here, a whistle there, 
the bell of bottoms, 
bows on little underwear,
sweet skinny lips, on sweet 
skinny hips
delivered in packages marked
a “new message” is here.

and all the support in the world,
from an ocean away. 
a few hours a day. 
bedtime before dinner, 
because of staggered days.

if I lay here and sigh, 
looking at your portrait tonight,
with your favorite things glowing
under my candle’s light– 
is this a moment or a 
mausoleum?
a memory or a 
memorial?
A sanctuary or a 
shrine?

Father, I’ve tried to write it into poems.
Mother, I’ve tried to sing it into ohms. 
Lover, I’ve tried to let it die.
Lady, I’ve tried stay without him by my side.

Call to a ghost in the night, 
and if he stops by – 

He’ll kiss your chilly fingers
Without a trace of lovely lingers
But you’ll love him in the moment he arrives. 

He’ll sing you stories across the veil,
those little heart beat bumping tales,
and all your prayers will ask for this to survive. 

He’ll call your name along the wind
and even in your darkest sins 
you’ll know that it’s the sound of love outside

Know that you’ll love him deeply
All his little ghostly greetings
and his white-cold-small-affections in the night. 

But the other side will hold him
Feed him, carry him, and own him
and your ghostly love with never feel quite right. 

Love a ghost.

In the moments he’s away-
you’ll dream of your forever
and wonder how close to that
petit mort you need to come 
to feel his warmth. 

Love a ghost. 

Feel yourself transfer his affection
via spine-chill-misdirection 
to your aching fingertips
that want to feel that valleys of his 

spine
his mind
his everything-tucked-up-inside

and Love a ghost. 

Write him love notes over 
prayer candles.
Ask for forgiveness, survival and 
change. 

Ask for a pass across the veil, 
ask for a plane ticket, 
ask for a moment,
ask for assurance,
ask for sustenance, 
ask for faith, 
ask for faithfulness-
ask for trust, 
ask for us. 

Love a ghost upside down, inside out, and sideways.

Ask if the white shadow on the lake
is the light of his eyes,
Ask if the moon looks nice from his 
perch in the stars tonight
Ask for one more hour of his time before
the sun rises, and ask, darling, ask, 
for one more kiss before midnight. 

Love a ghost– 

So that you learn to feel 
his love in the cars that pass by, 
in the street light flicker that says
the dead have stopped by– 
learn to read the signs.

And then learn 
that sometimes lovers lie, 
But you can still learn the whistle of the skies,
and the value of the body-
Flesh and Mind. 
And what it’s like to Love of a ghost
who never said he could do anything more
than pass by. 

In this body that is my home,
I walk the hallways of my hollow bones
And hear the echoes of my toes
Against the walls of my marrow throne

That shadow falling low along
The porous walls of this bone home,
Shows my face as mapped against
The dark walls of my best intents

I climb down the ladder of my spine
To reach the rattling ribs entwined
To hold my heavy lungs inside
and teach my heart to hold her pride

Against my ribs the heart beat batters
Changing to uncertain patterns,
I know this sign of labors lost
Means ugly things at ugly costs

And in my fingers gitters linger,
As muscles pull the boney levers
That carry all my words to paper and
Hold the sweaty hands of strangers

But I have hallow, upwards bones that
Drip my sins down to my toes
And in my feet I feel their vapors
Carrying my heart’s fraught labors
Of all the times I cried “be true!”
And left my soul shadowed as I spoke to you

My muse and I are
Staring at each other
Across the kitchen table
Like begrudging lovers.

She wants me to talk,
Dig deep,
Explore what’s been bothering me.

Write about empty inboxes,
Cover charges,
Little blue boxes,
And that vacuuming sense of being
Drained out of yourself by your toes–

But I have my jawline clenched.
Arms crossed against my fluttering heart,
Caging it away from the page,
And my feet planted firmly on the ground.

awyadraws:

I think one of the kindest things you can do for yourself as an artist is to accept that you will make bad drawings sometimes and just…stop caring about it. It’s not like that bad sketch you drew was your one and only chance to ever draw the thing. It’s so much easier emotionally to just say “lol what is that?” delete it and start over than it is to spend the next six hours crying about it. Once you stop treating every single thing you draw as something precious and learn to just throw stuff away it takes so much stress away. One bad drawing doesn’t make you a bad artist, or a fraud. Even the best pro artists are gonna have moments where they draw things wrong. You’re going to make bad drawings so just go out there and make them so you can move on with your life. Chances are your second attempt will be better. 

(via eyever)

Set the scene, right?

-a cross Atlantic romantic… Duty free & sexy-

If I send you little portraits,
Can I capture them
“Ceci n’est pas une Greta”
?

Let me explain this to you —

I’ve been caressing emotional attachment like
Carpet burn
Seeing if I can provoke myself
Into reaction

I don’t like to do anything but
Fly high above my little emotion houses
And watch them disappear under the sky

Unless suddenly that gem in i
Glitters just the right way for me
To see the value in the dirty darlings
And has me knocking on doors I haven’t looked at
Properly
Since I was seventeen

What I mean! to say is,
What I’m going! to say is,
What I’m trying! to say is,

Once upon a time I walked a fine line
Between neurotic high strung independence and a cold bed
And I’ve been slingshotted off my high-wire into this land of,

Won’t… You…come stay in bed …
With? Me?

The rub is in that hormonal harmony
Distanced by seven hours and an ocean of insincerity
Which allows me to be bolder, brighter, balanced, better

And left wondering about
My infinite little reality.