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LadyLincoln

Published: Jan 30, 2017

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Literature

pilot light

do you see her the girl with no fire in her eyes no spark, not even a pilot light she doesn’t smile not often anyway and she turns to you both hands at her sides and you might as well be a wall or a window or the mirror she doesn’t see herself in you wonder why her eyes are so cold and why she doesn’t smile or at least not often anyway and you want to hold her hands and put a mirror in front of her face a real mirror and you want to show her all the reasons she is beautiful

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Things they don't tell you.

Things they don’t tell you about losing your grandfather on a Tuesday night: When you wake the next morning, you still need to get out of bed in time for work, you still have to shower, dress yourself, eat breakfast, brush your teeth and hair; and when your mother calls to check in, you have to comfort her because she lost her dad last night; and when you call your grandmother your voice cannot waver lest you upset her, because she lost a man she's known for seventy years and even though she would never hold it against you, you still feel obligated not to cry;

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On Growing Up

It's inevitable that we will all be eaten by wolves someday, but I will still struggle and punch and kick and scream and run wildly down the street barefoot through red lights and stop signs, hoping that if I run fast enough I will grow wings and escape this atmosphere, and I will always wish for the best every time I blow out my birthday candles

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dreamer

by all the gods, is she lovely— the sweetest lullaby i have ever heard. and her fingertips soothe this raging nightmare which roars inside, a decaying dragon that one too many knights have slain. if i could worship at her feet i would. alas, her temple is guarded by pale clouds and a witch's moonlight; only ravens may find their way into her tower and break her chains with a featherweight kiss. i do not feel her embrace every time the darkness whispers. no, it is only when the ice in my veins burns hotter than the sun and my voice is lost in the supernova that hides itself behind a black hole. it is only then that she is there,

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You are More.

You are more than a number, statistic or fraction, You are more than a stranger’s glance or reaction. You are more than a puzzle piece or a missing link, You are more than what the world may think. You are more than a stigma or sign which you're labeled, You are more than “special”, diseased, different, disabled. You are more than a whisper, you are more than a name, You are more than rejection, you are more than others' blame. You are more than vibrations that torture your ears, You are more than disorder that drives you to tears. You are more than emotion you can't read or display, You are more than the words you’

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Beautiful Disaster

You came to me- a sinner with wild eyes and saw me as an angel. I had flowers in my hair, you had blood on your hands. You saw my love as a halo circling my flyaway hair and thought my forgiveness to be wings that could lift my frail body into the air. But I got down next to you on hands and knees and showed you the slits in my soul, the imperfections marring my body. Yet you still looked at me with wonder in your eyes saying my heart was still more pure than a human's would be. And slipping my small hands in between yours blood slid between them, staining my hands along with yours and I promised you I'd save you if you saved me, too. A

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dear lover

please make sure that my funeral has sunflowers and that they serve champagne and everyone leaves with a party favor and please make sure you wipe tears away with a handkerchief that smells like tea olives so you can remember the taste of our first kiss, sweet with a hint of something new promise me that the first day sunlight feels like honey on your skin youll go outside and forget about me, as long as on days blanketed in flannel gray youll stay warm and read my favorite book when you feel wind in your hair think of my fingers and when you see dandelions sprouting through cracks in the pavement please remember how i smiled for you

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on forcing passion.

imagine trees of tangerines, heavy sagging suns on all the branches. rip one down, introduce it to vivisection (though dead or alive, it never cries out), and squeeze until pulp like entrails forces itself between your dripping fingers. stare blankly at the mess and attempt to clean it, succeed only in staining your clothes golden. work the designs against your skin until the mistakes become tattoos and the rinds before you look less like refuse and more like fresh-hatched eggshells. as the morning scent stings your senses, reach up. don't look, just touch, and rip down another. and another. and another.

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to wake the dead.

would it be terribly insensitive for me to say “good morning” in a cemetery? the sun lifts up slowly, and the dead sleep in late, as usual.

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a black hole (i.e. mirrored images)

face yourself in the mirror red cheeked and smiling, have you ever wondered why blush is just blood congealing beneath the skin cells or rouge made of lead my antithesis, my partner in crime my faithful cut and dry, bone dry, fish bones stuck in throat you are my vocal chords twisted like ribosomes stuck in an internment of itself AN ANTITHESIS or are you just the "i'm sorry" trying to crawl out my mouth i'm just playing my part Antigone you say i'm just like your mother and you're right but fuck i'm your lover a replacement box lined with fuzzy peach navels and naval ships crashing on shores i'm tired of being your mom i'm tired of cleaning

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poetry positivethinking writing riseupfrompain ladylincoln

_{After each fall, try to move forward and not be afraid to rise higher.}

______

I'll be honest, I have been going through a rough time. I re-visted my comment on mirz333's piece "Forward," some time ago, and it gave me comfort. I hope its positive message gives comfort to others, too. Though the piece has been removed from her gallery, the relevance of my response to it still vividly holds true.

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WhimsicalBlue

May 5, 2019

..rise from the ashes..
This is so wonderful writing, very well done dear

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