The Oracle’s Metamorphosis

I don’t feel like a human much anymore.
An empty that has become so familiar one would think you were always this way.
Not a single care to finish what I start because I learned that all ends the same.
Is this depression? Is this enlightenment?
I do not feel concerned, feeling very little as I write.
Not a word moves me, not a tear quakes me.
I stare forward, blank, and mildly irritated.
Do not wrap your arms around me in pity, do not rub my back and say you love me. I do not want love; I find no solace in your words of affection.
I desire only shallow things now, my dreams now a dress I have packed at the bottom of a chest and hid in the attics of my mind.
On the exhale, I feel solid, just as I do on the inhale.
No visions when I close my eyes, no pleasure envelops me as I smile.
I’m so small.
Like a child in the palm of a hand, curling up close, trying to stay warm.
I am the Eskimo, alone in their hut, wrapped tight in animal skins, knees pulled to my chest.
The world is but a rose petal held to the light, veins and intricacies with an opaque shield behind, hiding a word I will never quite know.
And I stare blankly at the world before me, unphased by it’s detail, taken aback by its predictability.
I take my pairs of hands up to my ears, my mouth, and my eyes, cloaking all in voluntary night.
And with that, a grin carves into my stomach and opens wide to laugh grimly.
I stifle a chuckle at its absurdity and we both embrace ignorance as one being.
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A Young God’s Reprimands

I loved him past the tears he shed upon my head that drowned me in a sticky sort of web.
I would hold my arms up to reach his face and whisper for him to open his eyes and we would gaze silently into each other’s abyss.
When he would float too far past the Milky Ways and nebulas, I would be his tether back to Earth, ready to accept him back home.
I just…love him so much. I wanted to see him always well.
I would take his tears, his pains, his fears, I would take it all if it meant him breathing fresh air for only just a few moments, if meant him sleeping sound for just one more night.
But now, I am the regret and disgust left in shambles on his doorstep, ready for the mailman to ship me back to space where I will bite the nubs of my nails clean off my fingers in confusion and frustration for a thousand more light years to come.
If I loved too deeply, why was I not pulled up before my oxygen tank ran out?
If I cared too much, why feed me more and more honeycombs from your dead, rotten fingers?
But I may just overestimate myself too much, darling.
Perhaps, in your eyes, I was not enough to quench your inquisitive values, your fairytales of water-walking men, and perfect matrimony.
You have taunted my urge for perfection so much that you never realized your own imperfection in your lust for something so unreal and unobtainable.
Gods, how I hate the feeling of sweetly-dipped memories we shared, of tongue against tongue, forbidden fruit to mouth.
How lucky you are, child of hell, that you were given the power to taste my every feature with your eyes and your mouth, the very first might I add and-
No, no, no; this is not about you so hush your seething, forked tongue before I pull your ill-grown teeth right out your jaws with my fathers’ rusted pliers.
You evil little snake, devil of a man who crept into my temple and ravished the bodies of my oracles, I curse your very existence as you plague my origins with your depravity.
I see you, seeking out the freshest of the batch, tugging the robes from their shoulders and biting their necks while calling them ‘kisses’. The way you look into their eyes as you forget the goodness in your heart and take, and take, and take.
You spineless, coward, little, insignificant waste of breath, how I wish to snuff your light out, but your candle’s wick is far too stubborn to bend for any love of yours, too stubborn to even tilt for me.
May your bow-legged limbs stretch to the farthest ends of earth and snap and shatter into pieces you will never find.
May your jaws become weak, just like the teeth inside, and become unhinged for eternity, the same way you do when you lusted for my body.
And may your mind, yes your mind, become consumed by the ghosts of my oracles as I feast upon the remains of your shambled corpse for you are my greatest love and deepest hate and no one deserves to experience you but me.

Honorary: The King of Pitched Voids and Uncertainty

The world blessed his eyelids so that he can see the vastness of eternity, but never the minute breaths of those so delicately before him.

Past countless worlds he would walk, steps slow and trudging, as the fabrication of time upon his shoulders would drape past his ankles and cascade down into decades and seconds alike.

So lonely was this weightless Atlas, so countless the blinks of smaller life he glimpsed at for a time unknown.

And so the satellites dusted his domain to prick his feet while he stepped, and so those very same ones shall become nothing more than dust themselves.

Those smaller than him wondered what thoughts he possessed beneath that stoic facade of all knowing and power, only to find themselves still wondering at the gasp of their last breath.

So valiant this King of Pitched Voids and Uncertainty, so valiant a journey you live for, if you can even call it as such. To live without taking a breath, to see without your own eyes, to be without truly being.

And thus he envelops himself quietly in stillness, keeping himself warm with odd memories that even he barely remembers.

Eclipsing

I feel the earth turn slowly in my favor,
and the moon and sun become mute,
to face the universe with a new found purpose,
and accept its flaws in whole.
From Pluto, to Mercury, to every galaxy in our cluster,
from what lies beyond the present and eternity,
extend your arms to grasp the entirety of creation,
lest it be living, dead, or so on,
and turn every particle to a being of light,
so that it beams and gleams and sparkles.
Thus when the time acceptance comes to an end,
and the earth returns to its steady course,
the sun and moon shall yawn their gifts upon our tiny world,
so life shall, again, march on.

Apocalyptic

Gently, I loved you under pale sunlight and disaster strikes
Crimson arrows shot from angry god’s bows streak in the reflection of your eyes
As I bring myself gently down onto you
Watching as your eyes flutter like hummingbirds’ wings for a split second
Before a stellar meteorite crashes down, crashing onto your lips
I seek refuge in the warmth of your mouth, in the palms of your hand as our estranged bodies become a little too familiar
with one another
Earth rumbles with a hunger, a growl from your throat,
then breaks into crannies, biting into the niches of your neck
My vocal chords are strummed like a harp by the dirt-sullied winds and soothed still by your calloused fingertips
And as the world falls out of orbit, I fall onto your chest, exhausted but content, the constellations of your sleepy smile draw me in to gaze at you more closely
For the universe has grown into a rush of cold
And we wrap into one another to keep warm until we finally crash
Back into the familiarity of our bed.

Aftermath of A God’s World

You’re warm like summer and silky as cream

Slipping past my fingertips

As I raise you above your planet

And spill you back to whence you came

You are the sand that caresses my palms

And I feel every grain

I value every creature, every child that is mine

From the empty-eyed doe to the bow legged goat

Lovingly, I whisper life into their lungs and light into their minds

Bite me all you like, I shall never harm you

But bring destruction upon yourselves, that is when I cannot save you

You are hot like the summer and white as sour milk

The pearly bones of your existence slip past my fingertips

As you are risen above your planet

And crushed inside my palm

And spilled back to whence you came


This is a re-post from my Instagram. I felt that all poetry should eventually find its way back home to here, no matter where they are first birthed.

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