Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

I gentley pick up the rest of what my depression has left of my body off my bedroom floor and tuck her into bed, I’ve been writing in code as long as I can remember for those who know the conversation, for those who are blessed with a mind that doesn’t know how to quieten down for themselves but for others, we know so well how the body likes to talk in cryptic behaviour, to see who is worth it, this is a silent prayer to the rain and to beloved kin, there are no words when I mumble these two loves, depression’s favourite 5 letter word each time, sorry, I’m the fire child with rain tendencies scared hiding from giving voice the things that still make me feel like I could sleep forever, how else are we allowed to communicate when we get lost in our body this way, when I find the fewer words to confront kin it becomes more than a one way conversation, in my mind I say, when I give up my pride to talk about a healing state I mean I am also giving me time, when I breathe in and out this way I am learning what it means to be myself and not my illness, when I lose touch of the the world around me and people it means I am in desperate need of myself so I will disappear into my own galaxy, sorry, I am learning not to apologise for my healing sorry, when I come back to you, I will not want to relive the trouma, in advance I want you to know, I am here, I see you, I am healing, self has been in need of my three super powers and you’re my last destiny.

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Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

I had someone who asked me to bare my truth for them in the south, so I read them my poetry, they listened, looked at me and asked why my words feel so sad, I could cry the amount of fight I give my narrative isn’t always this depressing I proclaim my innocence feeling my voice disappear at the very pit of my throat how was I meant to tell a starnger these kinds of truths are hidden meanings of how I survive, I’ve always been scared away from bad first impressions and how we first show love physically, my kin tell me biography of love, I tell them, this is exactly how it should be held and we fall in love all over again, see, when the heart is loved backwords it catches up clearly to the mind, gestrures and glances are not so overseen as heartbeats may think, we women of both rain and fire are a parade of intuition you will attempt to ghost wrongs can’t help put in check the smoke that has been done, cupid can have this cloute too, we women are blessed with sight that could split you two even halfs of each attempt you chose I gave you a chance, my silence for the truth, your silence for my freedom how does it feel you choose your sugar cane once, twice dare three times, a vision has never been such a clear momentum we’re soft worriors survivours of heartbeats when we become sweet for you enough to cavity us both, be careful with her boasting crown, she can very quickly choose you not even a memory, forgotten, like you did not exist in her path to begin there are no more suicides left in vain of your name, let this be truth for loyalty you never really wanted her you chasing sight and whip lashed necks of other crowns while she was searching for your hand, she was right there, take note, just because I do not speak everything I see, how careless, you’ve lost to a silent mind

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

asleep.

What happens to the body when you’re emotionally invested in yourself, you’re a sleep walking wake from assumption of how this mentality operates and its been years now who’s counting anymore, I think about ways to brutally grow, then I overthink its outcome, always, something that feels like its right, a place for your heart your mind to rest sometimes, caught sloppy on high ceilings in so much of what is real and what isn’t, this is not to confess that you’ve lost touch of reality, it is to assure you that you have been able to do both, I used to think I only had one touch but I’m quickly realizing all of these self proclaimed one gift is a false limitation, my lack of creativity has been circling my inner universe its exhausting, this is where affirmations are made, spending time with your mental is a portal to an impatient part of not only who you are but what you could become, self-teaching to understand why your heart feels so strongly about love and who you dare let close is a crucial act of selflessness, admitting to your eyes that what you saw was real and listening to its truth because we live in a world where our eyes are not always seen as the truth or the norm so we’ve been taught to see no evil, my body is heavier than I have given it reason, sleepless nights that feel the warmth of the sun rising is both a beautiful capture and an exhausting reality is both a blessing and a demise, I feel so strongly about things that I could cry all the waters, its exactly as dramatic as it sounds I wouldn’t lie about with my bodies worth, there is always flames brewing here, this is just one way to hero my chaos

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Ocean rain.

I want to tell the truth, want flowers to know that I loved them enough to know what this looked like, didn’t want them to see me in a light that was not a mirrored version of myself, this is not about me, this is the aftermath and before the truth, when you look at glances of yourself and flowers what is the difference between the mirror and yourself, you tell your words this kind of hope deserves the truth, if they represent a type of love and care that is most like its self-educated nurture they are royalty enough and you’re not to hold back the truth, when you light them up, watch their eyes soften in the glow of your warmth this is enough, when they touch your hands and never want to let go this is enough, when they show you their demons this is enough, you’re not to hide, when you find your words unable to come out, sweat in your palms like you’re holding all the waters in this earth, when all you can do is cry enough oceans, swear you never meant it to be this way and that they were the one, when you catch your breath, tell flower the truth, tell heartbeat, that you hope they know how much this feeling will never leave, that you will understand and respect their decision even if your heart breaks right in front of them, ask the sea to love you back when you have given your heart to heartbeat, tell the ocean you love him enough to cry oceans for him.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

These nights I find my sleep has not changed, my problem has always been the difference between my remedy telling me that it could be my personality and not this illness, sometimes I get confused, I remember my heart broke somewhere between your personality and this illness I can’t remember which part took its own life first, I’m kept awake by the problems with myself that I can not seem to fix that stay with my breath and follow me into bad decisions and lost words that are careless and still know how to break even when they come from kin, you can still taste salt, you forgot why you thought elsewhere in the first place, these things just come out you’re looking for help and guidance most a mouth to band-aid them too, sometimes its so hard to stay soft when you’re this ill and lost, there is no beginning or end, it’s a mix up, a false habit you’re trying to erase out of your system these decisions are still plaguing the body and you’re trying to find the correct outlets but your body just will not survive so you give it what it wants even though you know it will hurt you, you become this light that trusts so tirelessly when you see a temptation a way out, and after all this, you’re are left with its echoing words of what you keep telling this body over and over again, what does self-respect look like when you’re ill and stop being 10g away, how do you get your super powers back when you’re watching a wreckage smoke from the inside, how do you save yourself, what does that look like from inside the burning building, you’re a metaphor for yourself how you excuse these decisions, swear you never meant to hurt the body this way, swear you will not do it again but where does it end where do you stop, where does this kind of harm end for you, have you given up, if not what now, what’s next for a girl who has lived until 23, writes from her bedroom window, cries her own love song, doesn’t change her mistakes, and is trying to survive her mind, what happens now, how does she not give up-. What is your answer? What would you tell her?

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

im i crazy to call identity love.

A self-proclaimed psychosis narration of formatted words to meditate the mind, and at ease the body when bad days are uncontrollably unpredictable and after your blood, breathe, emotion of space that moves within the body is to exhale this frustration of uncomfort attempt to sit with its unjust child like, like adulthood manifested trauma, crazy, another word that is meant for you but is misplaced in connotations, boundaries, and this mental, discomfort, is to sit with it, to watch your own unsolved chaos a black super woman animated hero, like woman like survivor, selflove, you, what is yours, selfcare, you, a super power, irritable irrational behaviors that maneuver in and out of this body like permission to self, like it was normal, what is normal anyway, self, who do I see myself as when and without this state of mind, an actual metaphor of this is the rain, a contradiction of identity and misplaced answers that hit this heavy are to never be forgotten, identity, notice how quick you’re to save your name next to love, identity has always been love, others, there are no others, they are my precious heartbeats each pulse is remembered into my being this way, relationships remind me of flowers in the spring, and the rain, three of my favorite human languages this, its no secret now, habits, loving harder is to admit its self in and out of me these heartstrings are internal external loves, fixing our broken hearts for the sake of our identity, souls, are both in complicated super power love and care, heartbeats is compassionate black super woman a pulsed warning of heartstrings words aimed like identity, self, relationships, always this, it is no secret now, a psychosis narrated formatted words to meditate the mind and at ease the body, when bad days are uncontrollably unpredictable and after you always, always this goes back to love-, lullaby. black woman. identity. heartbeats. and maybe heartstring now too.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

its nearly spring.

I’ve always seen myself in different lives, thought about how I could really make a difference in my own way, I’ve thought about what are the chances that we all get into a state of mind that motions our existence how we like to see ourselves how we really see ourselves I think its important to not take opinions that even from our purest depths that choose to eat at this body in sorts of manifestations that are not in correlation of present but past tense and unarmed sometimes, I think balance is a solution to a lot of outcomes, when I think of the narrative surrounding identity its forever entwining with my variables, I’ve learnt that I don’t always have to be strong and who I am is not afraid but has uncanny behaviour that revolves around making kin and those close by my breath feel unbothered by breakdowns that I forget my own body in this space, it had been so long I keep almost forgetting what its like sometimes, when you have tendencies to be cold because you do not understand your own mental you’re practising what its like to be okay forgetting that you’re are an emotionally intelligent being and yes that sometimes means that your smile, your eyes will not match your words but you will still try because you care about how you make kin feel in this presence, you’re trying to break away from the mind and be present, what a contradiction, a life you’re living that is both complicated and compassionate in the same body-, a breakdown. for who. the rain.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

8.10.18 | Fall.

Sky in, a type of kin that will make even you beg for more, whispers of favourites turn the flame on, I let the words curve into my mouth this way, what I’m trying to say is still unfinished and coded, it sounds a lot like unspoken verbs, pronoun of this is the heart, the adjective is the way the mind is feeling but too scared of its truth only, we have never done things this way before, our words are backwards and on purpose, how do we make sense of all this heat, what happens when both passion and tension sweeten the tongue, how do we tame ourselves out of these flames, so carefully careless we could set everything on fire the way we like this feeling to be this talented, watch the way it has taken over a body that shares the words care and love with self, when she lets you in be carefully honest with everything, she is both blind and bright in the same notion.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Something like a few hours, and I’m so carelessly lost in a warmly lit room, I’ve set the air free to desire, I can’t resist falling into my own body, I close my eyes, lay on the bed, my arms across the sheets, I listen to the soft song I’ve put on reply, touch my skin, smile, I’m thinking about how warm and addictive this feeling is, want it to stay, I open my eyes softly brake into a familiar tune along with the replay button, then I, turn my rhythm to the wide full-length mirror gazed at me, I looked up at her naked, paused, when was the last time I saw this kind of happiness, I try not to guess too hard, can’t help stare in awe of its expressions, my mind has already lovingly grabbed at my sides pulling me closer, I smile a little, tease all angles and continue to love my body like this.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

19.9.18 | my lover letter

love me harder, I mimic those close to my heartbeat so I can speak their love language too, I invite their souls into my heart tell them, thier hearts are safe here and their mind is free to wonder in my presence I will make them feel light too, I smile so hard at the things that make me the most unhappy because this is a beauty mark I have learnt as a child too, I walk on moondust because I do not feel safe here, my mind is a safe space even though it never lets me rest its thoughts we are constantly in melody of each other about how to love and care for this body the best way we know how, my heart is like spring, if you pay attention to me I am yours until you stop trying, my body has leanrt to hold back and not allow for unworthy heartbeats to form thier presence even when the heart has already mistaken kindness for a pulse, we are not afraid to love but we’re afraid to break into two even halfs, people say we are strong this way too because we have taught the heart what it means to be both fragile and agile in the same beat, this is the best thing we do, when I am not in love, I think about its meaning and rearrange its concerlatons with differnt outcomes and reasons for its ache we’re never safe from its warmth, I tell souls close to me to always choose love but be warry if its teachings, I am not an expert on love just a girl with purple hair who writes crazy love stories to her own warmth; I wonder who will be next.