claire-elizabethWhisper

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Nelson, Myself and FranklinHow does one lose a creature gracefully…? / Is it possible to just be okay with a quick goodbye under the hum of those awful fluorescent lights? Would it have been easier, kinder, softer, if the lights were lamps scattered about the space, yellow and murmuring? When does the gut-wrneching tightening stop? Will I ever let the sadness of it leave my chest? / Sitting in this complacent grief even months after it all is *kind*
8
Jul 6, 2023
The WastingI’ve begun “The Wasting” once more. / That ragged uncovering of bones and peaks and ridges that crop up along my spine and shoulders. / My scapulas revealing themselves like the bed of a lake as the waters recede.
8
Jul 6, 2023
just for youWhen the night gets a little quieter, / And the stars become more melancholy, / I will tell you how much my heart has thought of you.
10
Jun 24, 2021
summeri. when i sit in that old apple tree nestled up in my yard, the deer come up to me and sniff my legs, nuzzle my warm hands, wreath my hair in crowns. my house disappears and the woods become my sleeping grounds. the world doesn't exist so loudly. if the warm haze of summer were to cloak the grasses in gold, the sun would be outshone. in other words, i miss sitting in that old apple tree. / ii. a few years ago there was a grass fire that swallowed the hillside of our neighbor's yard. it smelled like woodsmoke and the dead of summer for days. the blackened ground let nothing show. but a week later, the pale green fuzz of new grass blemished the bluff. "i was only temporary" the soot whispered. / iii. i've been to the ocean only once in my life. a great expanse of cold and unforgiving blue. it was chilly that day. the wind was the only indication that it was late spring, and the sun raced behind the clouds, dousing its warmth for a few seconds. there weren't many people that day, only my class, and the seashells begged to be caressed and held gently. the sand was and soft on the beach, growing rough in the depths of the water.
5
Jun 24, 2021
lovei. i've never loved with anything but sadness. of course this time is no different. shouldn't i crave the happiness that comes with loving another human? i find that dread somehow creeps its way into my sleep whenever i begin getting hopeful, and that itself is sad. loving is my way of keeping that sadness in my bones. / ii. the first time i kissed you was the first time i found what home was. the first time i made you laugh was the first time i wanted to hear something forever. the first time i saw you cry was the first time i wanted cradle someone until they forgot why they were crying. the first time i said 'i love you' to your face was the first time i knew this was the absolute most truthful thing i'd ever said. / iii. if i could gather all the times you made me feel small, i'd have a fortune of anger. the feeling of your normally tender voice slicing open my cheek made me rich with pain. enduring all of your sadness was worth the wealth of love i thought i was getting.
5
Jun 24, 2021
anemoiai. my favourite days are the ones where the air doesn't seem quite clear, but out of focus, backlit with haze. the grass gets dusty and the trees blend together like old oil paints. it's these days that it seems the world is saying "leave this place, you don't belong." i sleep the best on those days. / ii. the sepia film layered over old photos makes me nostalgic for something my lifetime will never know. but it's familiar, smiling faces with blushing cheeks, dust and dirt lining sun-creased foreheads. it's comforting, calming, restful. it makes you wish for that simplicity. how kind a colour can be. / iii. dust covering riddled boxes, coating worn wood, cloaking drapes mirrors, mannequins, rocking horses. an attic is a place my heart feels the strangest. everything seems haunted and in it, i am also haunted. each dirt-laden item carries an event that led to its demise. the wardrobe's mirror cracked and a new one filled in. the jewellery box did not grow with its contained collection. the doll sat too peacefully in the corner of that room and found itself sitting just as quietly beside the wardrobe.
5
Jun 24, 2021
hurttell me what it's like to never hurt / tell me about loving every part of your being because it's yours and its the only thing you own every inch of / tell me about admiring the grass that grows in the sidewalk and the shine of the oil staining the parking lots
5
May 12, 2021
My DogMy dog keeps me alive sometimes / In the deep dark nights when he curls against the backs of my legs / Nestles in the crook of my bent knees
9
Apr 15, 2021
I Am NotI am not the romantic I once boasted to be / I don't swoon / I don't revel in love or bathe in its insincerity
18
Mar 4, 2021
Yetnot all love is good love / yet / it's love, nonetheless
3
Jan 22, 2021
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