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#soulhealing
just when the dust settles round my lust and the thud of despair hits bottom just as I flail and swim in this blood-caked,          soulless earth soup of the lost abyss of unbirth   you plunge my wilderness charred with remains from hellfire and we breathe                  halos   our bones lighted sticks, colors rising in angel arcs Your rib cage is open for my tremulous offering as my lips imprint a crimson O upon the earthquake of your chest I am still down with the                            earthworms wrist **** sopped                     by soil arteries, bashed split to the root by verbal hurts in a sliding psyche of oil yet here you are suturing wounds with whiplash kisses saltlick moans in my throat You wrap me in gauze through the imprint of your eyes turn my cuts into fresh brook gaze upon my deepest darkness like goddess worship shrine my **** is a funnel for your whipped light sacrifice ****** prayer skinned to the core all layers exposed your lips slick with the drip of my bliss, deep juice of freshly-caught jungle hum all is bared we stop at nothing paint our tongues with tears adorn the face of death with ripe guava and, as you scream my name into a blown glass whisper my soft fruit falls into the heat of           your palm somewhere in distance a         moon explodes
0
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 11:42 AM UTC
lora-lee
offering
just when the dust settles round my lust and the thud of despair hits bottom just as I flail and swim in this blood-caked,          soulless earth soup of the lost abyss of unbirth   you plunge my wilderness charred with remains from hellfire and we breathe                  halos   our bones lighted sticks, colors rising in angel arcs Your rib cage is open for my tremulous offering as my lips imprint a crimson O upon the earthquake of your chest I am still down with the                            earthworms wrist **** sopped                     by soil arteries, bashed split to the root by verbal hurts in a sliding psyche of oil yet here you are suturing wounds with whiplash kisses saltlick moans in my throat You wrap me in gauze through the imprint of your eyes turn my cuts into fresh brook gaze upon my deepest darkness like goddess worship shrine my **** is a funnel for your whipped light sacrifice ****** prayer skinned to the core all layers exposed your lips slick with the drip of my bliss, deep juice of freshly-caught jungle hum all is bared we stop at nothing paint our tongues with tears adorn the face of death with ripe guava and, as you scream my name into a blown glass whisper my soft fruit falls into the heat of           your palm somewhere in distance a         moon explodes
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73
I read your poem today— not just the words, but the ache between them. You cut your hair, and somehow the strands fell like silent echoes of everything you’ve lost. But I saw more than sorrow in your lines. I saw a girl standing in front of a mirror, eyes red but brave, wearing grief like a crown that did not crush her. You cry, because you feel deeply— and that, to me, is the most courageous kind of strength. To let the world change you, and still choose to meet it with softness. You speak of those you’ve lost, but do you know what you’ve found? A voice that bleeds honesty, a spirit that bends but never breaks, a beauty that isn't in the hair you lost, but in the fire you quietly carry. I may only know you through verses and distant glances, but I want you to know— someone is reading, someone sees the light tucked gently beneath your grief, and believes in the woman you’re still becoming. And when you looked in that mirror— I wish you could have seen what I saw from afar: not just a girl who cut her hair, but one who’s slowly growing wings.
0
May 3, 2025
May 3, 2025 at 7:09 AM UTC
Kuch_baatein_khud_se
The Girl Who Cut Her Hair
I read your poem today— not just the words, but the ache between them. You cut your hair, and somehow the strands fell like silent echoes of everything you’ve lost. But I saw more than sorrow in your lines. I saw a girl standing in front of a mirror, eyes red but brave, wearing grief like a crown that did not crush her. You cry, because you feel deeply— and that, to me, is the most courageous kind of strength. To let the world change you, and still choose to meet it with softness. You speak of those you’ve lost, but do you know what you’ve found? A voice that bleeds honesty, a spirit that bends but never breaks, a beauty that isn't in the hair you lost, but in the fire you quietly carry. I may only know you through verses and distant glances, but I want you to know— someone is reading, someone sees the light tucked gently beneath your grief, and believes in the woman you’re still becoming. And when you looked in that mirror— I wish you could have seen what I saw from afar: not just a girl who cut her hair, but one who’s slowly growing wings.
Continue reading...
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