thanks

Thank you to all my current followers.
writing and posting on here, although it hasn’t been a lot of content yet, has been my form of therapy and escape. I was writing this poem with all the seriousness of an impeachment but then I felt the need to just laugh. It is so grey and ugly in Wellington, NZ right now and I kinda needed to laugh at myself being a cliche and writing sad poems in the rain. Hope all of you have an awesome week and I will definitely post a better semblance of a poem or whatever you call what I’m writing tomorrow or whenever the need arises.

my home

holding you close enough
so that I can sleep
soundly in the
shelter of your
Bones

ÎÎÎÎÎÎ
ÎÎÎÎÎÎ
ÎÎÎÎÎÎ

let me make
a home out of
You

carving love out of
the beauty
of your skin
holding you close enough
so that I can sleep
soundly in the
shelter of your
Bones

I find my shelter
hidden deep
in the secret
passages of your
vessel

every moment of
my existence
is spent
knees bent
in worship
running my fingers
through your hair
and caressing
the form of you

when I leave the
comfort of You
I am left
lost in the
wilderness, dwelling
in empty huts
that satisfy me not
left with your scent
on my shoulders
and
like the aged scars
on my heart
your impression
is seen on me

In the end I
always return to
You, bruised
and weathered
and longing to
be one again
bound in embrace
and dwelling
in You

ÎÎÎÎÎÎ
ÎÎÎÎÎÎ
ÎÎÎÎÎÎ

brown lace

“I would love to have met the father of my son”
-This is Us

⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉

My Son

When I look at you
I see oceans of
memories, blue from
the sadness of my mistakes
and deep as the pain
of my flaws

I look at you
and I see the steam
of my coffee
awakening my soul
for the day
the reason for my
need to be awake

I look at you
and I see a box
like the one
I placed you in
limiting and suffocating you
in thick brown layers of
paper

I look at you
and see your mother
holding you to her chest
soothing you
with the sound of her
breathing
until your tears dried off
on her blouse

I look at you
and I see a grand piano
with every chord and key change
you become sound
and from sound
you become deep emotions
bringing tears of joy and sadness

I look at you
and see brown lace
blowing in the wind
flapping in the breeze
intertwining threads of
love and hate
unsettled by the pegs
that bind you to
this place

I look at you
and I see my features
etched in your skin
but
when I look at you
And look into the
depth of you
I see the night sky
dark and familiar
yet full of the unknown
bursting with mystery
and wonder

But, like this
night sky
you are too far away
my son
like the galaxy that
you have become
leaving me nothing but
a telescope
that I use to find you
each night
I become an astronomer
night after night
gazing and longing
for you
from far away

all I ask is
for you to
look down at me
and see my repentance
listen to the sound
of my sorrow
see for yourself
my acts of penance
and hear the
final lines of
my last song

“I beg of you, my Son
look at me
What is it you see?
Do I remind you of anything?
if so
What can it be?”

⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉⌈⌉

growth

“a malignant and invasive g…”



↑↑
↑↑↑

I am a galaxy of cells
destined to be made
and unmade

I felt you inside
destined to grow
and unmake me

I grew old with you
as you grew and
became me

I felt the pain you made
as my own blood
left me
with the vexing calls
of your invasion

I let them take you
but their elixirs
only soothed the song
of your voice
making your ballad
sweet to the soul

now the moon
in all her power
can no longer
keep you back

I feel you
making your way to my heart
becoming new
becoming growth
growing inside me

until I am consumed

and trapped
in my traffic
lost in my own
exhaust fumes

take all of me
now, I plead
I love living too much
to let you become
me
and live my life

I would rather
be ashes and
food to the wind

↓↓↓
↓↓

left

victim and abuser, both bound in their own form of imprisonment.

≤≥
≤≥
≤≥

does it worry you
that when my skin
aches
it is only in
my dreams of you?

does not shame
creep into your smile
at the sight of
my fractured form
exposing veins and tendons
whipped clean of skin
by your leather whip
made from the leather
of your book of
empty lips

bones stripped of
their need to support
shatter to pieces
under you

I am left here
existing in the deep
sadness in my sleep
but you,
drifting bird,
will never know my
freedom
because you wear the
same ropes
you bound me with
etching themselves
deeper into you
until you become
one and the same

For you, I feel
deepest sympathy

≤≥
≤≥
≤≥

still

thinking of the great Robert Louis Stevenson and his piece Requiem.





Still oceans sing tides
Still as the sailors they bring
Still worn by the waves
Still waters they lay in
Still loved by their lovers
Still held by their kin
Still crying on the pier
Still as a sailor
Still sung by the tides





the queen and her crown

This is a contemplation piece of the traditional role and characteristics of a woman in relation to a man. There isn’t much of a resolution but I do wish to explore such in future pieces.

Your back felt firm beneath my fingers
All your life you stood proud
back straight, waist girdled and chest puffed up to the sky
From your first breath you spoke power
At the sight of your difference the world bowed
bowed beneath your back
bowed beneath your chest
slowly submitting to nothing more
than the space below your waist
the world between your thighs


As your sacred realm grew
so did your esteem and ego
And there THEY tell me
There, below Him lies my purpose
And so I cowered below your waist in search
Only to find nothing
After nights of deep motion
And endless devotion
I am left numb
And as you reach your climax
I am left with nothing but a whisper
floating from the shadows


You have stood behind His back
You have bowed beneath His chest
And cowered beneath his hand
You have placed both body and soul at His feet
But still you are nowhere to be found
Have you found yourself?
Where are you my child?
Where are you looking?

I have tasted the depths of His manhood
And my lips have embraced the nothingness of His name
And I find that nothing exists in it nor around it
Nothing for me, at least
I do not belong here
I am no more in Him
than He is in me
Our fleshly entanglements are but
Fingers running through the wind
Meaningless
Cries the Queen
While hanging from the throne of a beggar

by L J Tausili