Ascension

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I had covered my fragility with a skin of stone. Believed that to be needed, was to be loved. That to be compassionate was to avoid causing pain, and therefore meant to deny the self. That to be loyal was to lock away the truth as a secret. That the jewel of my consciousness needed a protector. I wore the future as a brittle crown that cut and bled when I strayed from the path others wished me to walk. The butterfly of my soul flutters incessantly within the labyrinth prison of thought I have bound myself within. But to offer false hope is cruel. Trembling, I sought to open the window to allow my soul back in. Remembering the fall I realise I have allowed devolution to go too far with half-truths and excuses of why fear was too strong. But ascent is still possible. It is absolutely vital and ravenous, I hunger for it.

errant

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Image 1 and 2 courtesy of zemotion

 

Blood Memory

Memorybox_naked_in_the_rain

The blood it remembers.

In the gush of memories,

That are now expected,

That I cannot fathom,

The bird within my breast

Fluttering, insistantly

against my ribcage

If only I could free

The trembling bird

Without losing myself.

 

errant.

Ear parcel: Smith & Burrows ‘Wonderful Life’

Image courtesy of Naked In The Rain

Somber

Sweet sixteen and she has scarred herself deep again.

Not quite enough to depart

But enough for us to know she intended it to be so.

So again we wait,

Wait on the knifes edge,

Wait on her bitter whim,

Wait to see if the fear will overcome her,

Praying she finds the courage to live.

 

師傅領進門, 修行在個人

Teachers open the door. You enter by yourself.

Doused

the_great_volcano_in_the_sky_by_shadowfire_x-d4u1svl

I noticed today that my inner child has curled up away from the world, my playfulness guarded with wary somber, interactions clothed in cautious mistrust, my sexuality hidden beneath plated armor. In my everyday life I have closed a part of me away dousing my usual vibrancy, cheeky wit and natural smile. Is this the result of the ending of my 2013? Or a general malaise born of frustration in my nine to five that houses, feeds and clothes but does nothing for my creative desires? I hold deep sadness in my heart an unsounded loss that I quail at, longing for something on the tip of my tongue but unable to give voice or articulacy. It rumbles disconsolately and now, as I take pause, forms shape; mortality sensed, regret pours in, glimpsed half thoughts ignored unite creating a cohesive image. I feel my age, I see life’s potential ending and know I have regret. I want greater meaning and honesty, I want a life of my own. It is time to shake my tresses free of the mundane and let my soul stretch and bathe in imaginations light.

I will start, as I always do when serious about something, with a list.

Words by errant satiety image from deviantart