Feb. 15th, 2017

[personal profile] redcheekdays
I think i met all the
wrong men before
you and i think they
ruined me but i
think you’re really
handsome the way
a map is handsome,
with skin wide open
soaked in the whole
world’s ink. i
think i’m done pulling
paint off the walls i
think i want to read
you the names of
every city that ever
burned down, i think
we’d like it there.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
it is cold in the room, and I am hungry but whole. I open my eyes, climb out of bed. I pull a sweater over my head, fill the kettle. I break the hand, slice the heart—I mean I break the bread, slice the apple—and eat them.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
There are times I cannot stand
in my own skin; it lies
on me like a visitor. Oh, it happens
without warning, creeping across
my shoulders before I wake; behind
my eyes when I scrape my tongue.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Long after you have stopped laughing, I can hear your laugh running up and down my veins–and yet–are we a dream?
[personal profile] redcheekdays
We are built

to live in each other.
This means we are built

to ruin.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.

from Manic

Feb. 15th, 2017 09:59 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
She is the redheaded breeze on your face.
She is the movement,
the hum and stir.
The cut and fury. Tornado,
iron-fanged wrath.
She is the fistful of rings, the pile of glass
after the steel tip of the boot.
This is how the mind frays.
How a mad girl pops and sizzles.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Now you have made loneliness
holy and useful
and no longer needed
now
your light shines very brightly
but I want you
to know
your darkness also
rich
and beyond fear.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
no more cities and you pull me
toward you, sliding your hands
into my coat, telling me
your name over and over, hurrying
your mouth into mine.
We have, each of us, nothing.
We will give it to each other.

(28 of 30)

Feb. 15th, 2017 10:03 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Your touch
gets me so tender,
everything comes up
black and blue.

My heart
looks like a bruise
and I almost don’t mind.

God, I almost don’t mind.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Some people live as though they are already dead. There are people moving around us who are consumed by their past, terrified of their future, and stuck in their anger and jealousy. They are not alive; they are just walking corpses.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Learn how to breathe with lungs smoldering;
when the smoke fills every space
and the aftertaste on your tongue lingers for days:
sharp, bitter, and unrelenting.

Learn how to breathe with battery acid in your throat.

Teach yourself how to breathe, if you have to.
Build yourself a new set of lungs, if you have to.

Inhale. (No, you’re not okay.)

Exhale. (Stop thinking you have to be.)

from Proof

Feb. 15th, 2017 10:09 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I kissed you until I burned the roof
of my mouth, until there was no sugar
left in the house.

Doctors gave me your MRI scans. I colored
in the crevices of your brain with charcoal
crayons. I hung them up like curtains.

They let in light: my walls glowed skeletons.
Copies of your insides kept me awake
for days, I daydreamed about bleach. Hospitals

perched on cliffs. I brewed fresh coffee pots
every single day, brought you mail so you could
see your name on white envelopes, held mirrors

up to your face so you could remember. No matter
what I did, our mouths still tasted like ashes.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Finally, she said: “I’m lonely” – it’s weird but you tell the wolves things, sometimes. You can’t help it, all these old wounds come open and suddenly you’re confessing to a wolf who never says anything back. She said: “I’m lonely,” and they ate her in the street.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate feeling. I feel—everything. It is my genius. It burns me like fire.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
And wasn’t it sacred, the sweetness
we licked from each other’s hands?
And were we not lovely, then, were we not
as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame?
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I am not good with fragile things, but I swear I will love all that you unearth for me—your stinted roots, all the tender you’ve long buried.

from Coal

Feb. 15th, 2017 10:16 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Today I heard my heart screeching like a subway train
loudly enough to remind me it was still human
loudly enough to hurt
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I was full of letters I hadn’t sent you.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I ask you for violence, in the nonsense and you, you give your grace, your light and your warmth.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Humans in love are terrible. You see them come hungering at one another like prehistoric wolves, you see something struggling for life in between them like a root or a soul and it flares for a moment, then they smash it.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I tore myself out of my own mother’s womb.
There was no other way to arrive in this world.
A terrified midwife named me Monster
and left me in the pine woods with only the moon.
My mother’s blood dripped from my treed head.

In a dream my mother came to me and said
if I was to survive
I must find joy within my own wild self.

When I awoke I was alone in solitude’s blue woods.

* * *

A woman found me and took me to her mountain home
high at the end of an abandoned logging road.
We spent long winter evenings by the fire;
I sat at the hearth as she read aloud myths of the Greeks
while the woodstove roared behind me.
She sometimes paused to watch the wall of shadows
cast by my antlers. The shadows danced
across the entire room like an oak’s wind-shaken branches.

* * *

The woman was worried when I would not wear dresses.
I walked naked through the woods.
She hung the wash from my head
on hot summer days when I sat in the sun to read.
The woman grew worried when I would not shed
my crown with the seasons as the whitetails did.
“But I am not a whitetail,” I said.

* * *

When I became a woman
in the summer of my fifteenth year,
I found myself
suddenly changed in the mirror.
My many-pronged crown had grown
into a wildness all its own;
highly stylized, the bright
anarchic antlers were majestic to my eye.

The woman saw me and smiled. “What you are I cannot say,
but nature has created you.
You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

When night came it brought a full moon.
I walked through the woods to the lake
and knelt in the cool grass on its bank.
I saw my reflection on the water,
I touched my face.
You are fearfully and wonderfully made.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix.

from Round

Feb. 15th, 2017 10:24 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Under every sentence:
we are alive.

Under that:
someday we won’t be.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Above all else, it is about leaving a mark that I existed: I was here. I was hungry. I was defeated. I was happy. I was sad. I was in love. I was afraid. I was hopeful. I had an idea and I had a good purpose and that’s why I made works of art.

Gravity

Feb. 15th, 2017 10:27 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
The first time
I heard my name
in your mouth,
the ground felt like
a language I haven’t
spoken in years.
I forgot everything
I knew about gravity.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
She had studied the universe all her life, but had overlooked its clearest message: For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
He who delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I dreamed you were a poem,
I say, a poem I wanted to show someone
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Ten Women I Have Been Warned Against Becoming:

1. The Girl Who Takes Up Too Much Space, always, her shoulders too wide in stairwells, her hips too big in doorways, her voice too loud in classes. This woman does not understand the art of crumbling, of curling herself tight like the spiral of a fern, soft, delicate, unwilling to reach out the ivy of her fingers to grasp onto what should rightfully be hers. This is a beast, an elephant, a moving mountain and she is capable of flattening you, she is capable of ruining you, she is capable of making you feel as small and insignificant in her life as she is supposed to be. You are this woman’s footnote to history, you are her side note in song lyrics, you are constantly interrupted by her with a witty joke you wish you thought of. I asked what the problem was with being a steamroller instead of a sunflower and I was laughed down.

2. The Beautiful One, the long hair or the slim waist or the pretty eyes or the lips like bowstrings. This woman looks good in everything because she’s confident in whatever you put her in. She’ll cut her hair short on you no matter how you like it, she’ll wear high heels and step on your opinions, she’ll look hot as hell no matter what size she is. See, the reason you can’t trust her is because women like this don’t need your permission, they’ll do as they please and get away with it. They’ll say no to you, over and over. Teach your daughters that beautiful means dangerous, teach them to distrust women who love themselves. Equate beautiful with vapid, equate pretty with stupid, take their power from them. Say they’re vain for their makeup, refuse to see them without it. These women are snakes, they are serpents. I said maybe the problem lies with you being unable to control yourself and was told to get off my pedestal.

3. A Bitch. Women are supposed to be ladies in the street but will tear skin under sheets. I’m told: Never raise your voice. Speak gently. Submit. Hold your opinion against your lips and when you admit to it, make sure it comes out as a butterfly wing suggestion. Don’t disagree. Don’t undermine someone else’s authority, regardless of whether or not they deserve your respect. Someone touches you, just move away from them. Don’t hit. Don’t talk back. Be like the ruins of Rome, only beautiful if you can’t hear your quiet death.

4. The Needy One. I have heard how others spit when they talk about how she gave you everything and you shoved it back down her throat until she choked on it, until she came back crawling and asked you what she did, until her palms and knees were scraped for want of just a little affection - never be this woman, I’m told, because she’s a joke and the joke is that she dared to have more emotion than you did. The truth is, I’m told, the one who cares less in a partnership is the one who wins. I didn’t know this was a competition.

5. The Cock Tease, certified stripper, how dare that girl look like that and not want me to sleep with her. Lust is always personified as a lady in red with a dress slit up her thigh. Lust is sinful because it’s power, it’s not asking for attention - it’s demanding it. I’m told she is the worst kind of woman, that looking good is supposed to be some kind of shame on her kin. I’m told not to leave the house in such a short skirt, not with a shirt so low, not with a lace back, not with high heels, not dressed like that. My lipstick can’t be too red, my hair can’t be too mussed, I can’t just “turn someone on like that and then leave them wanting.” I mentioned that instant gratification actually ruins our psyche and was told that being led on was “exhausting.” I said that there was a difference between purposefully tricking someone into liking you and just being attractive or friendly. I was told there’s also a difference between coffee and tea but both result in caffeine. I said, “I’ve been turned on in class by the girls I talk to but I didn’t expect anything from them,” and they said, “It’s different, you’re not a man,” but couldn’t explain where that difference was.

6. A Slut, obviously ruined by another person’s touch. It doesn’t matter how many people she’s actually been with, it’s all about the rumors she carries with her. Easy. Harlot. You’ll still try to get with her, you’ll still take her into your bed and kiss her and say things you don’t mean - but you’ll defame her name when you talk to your buddies. My father used to say “A slut is fine for the night, but the virgin is who you take home and marry.” Maybe he didn’t know he was teaching his daughter to hate her sexuality. Maybe he didn’t know that every time she’d be kissed, her whole system would shake until she felt ready to combust, shame and self-hatred shivering against her spine. Maybe he didn’t know she’d disconnect emotions and sex because he always told her, “Boys are different, they won’t care about you.” Nobody said to her that it was okay to experiment. See, the funny thing is, I’m a dancer so I know exactly where my center of gravity is. I know how hard I’ll fall in each direction. Yet out of fear of getting hurt, I won’t let a single person inside of my bed.

7. The Soulmate. Never love romance more than you love being cynical. Never show weakness, never like pink, never think maybe you might find someone nice and settle down with them. Someone will find you, I was told, And if you’re lucky, he’ll put up with you when you start getting old. Never be the woman who believes in happily ever after, never be dumb enough to think maybe someone could love you after all of your mistakes. It has nothing to do with whether or not a family is important to you and you’re in a good place where a relationship would make your life better - you’re not a princess. You don’t get married, you settle.

8. The Girl With Strength, who can outrun everyone and who is stronger than her boyfriend. “See the thing about boys,” says my daddy, “Is that you have to let them win.” I sat at home and read stories about Artemis and wanted to become the huntress, too. I wanted to howl at the moon, I wanted to slay the beasts that bested me, I wanted to rule my kingdom with bloody fists. But girls are never athletes, never supposed to be “built,” regardless of the fact civilizations were constructed on our spines and we made homes in war by the steel of our ribs. Never be strong. We are supposed to wilt.

9. The Lady CEO: because if you choose work over family, are you really a girl? How dare you fight your way to the top through every pair of eyes that bore through your blouse, through every meeting where you were hushed by the sound of someone else talking, through every time someone called you “sweetie,” how dare you yearn for something. Is your husband the stay-at-home one? I can’t imagine how that is going. He’s not a real man, after all. I don’t give it long before the divorce. How dare you decide you’re happy being single. Don’t you know you’re supposed to bear children. Where is your honor? Where is your wisdom? Who cares if you are the leader, the best suited for your position, the quickest-thinking, the one who makes the hardest clients come back again. Don’t you see? Across history, women have been terrible at success. They always lose their man in the end. (When I said, “I would rather be a famous author than a mediocre mother,” I was told, “No, don’t worry, you’ll be a fine mommy.”)

10. THE GIRL I AM: FIRECRACKER AND DON’T YOU FUCKING FORGET IT I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS AND I WON’T FUCKING REGRET IT I’M NOT YOUR PRETTY GIRL I’M NOT YOUR ANYTHING I’M PERFECT, MOTHERFUCKER, AND I’M NOT GOING TO GIVE UP WHAT I’M DOING. I DON’T WANT TO BE “LADYLIKE” THAT LITERALLY MEANS NOTHING I’M NOT GOING TO STOP STANDING UP AND DEMANDING WHAT’S COMING TO ME. I’M GONNA BE SOMEBODY. I’M GONNA MAKE THEM REMEMBER ME. I REFUSE TO BE OVERSHADOWED IN HISTORY. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO CREATE BUT YOU MADE ME A DRAGON YOU PUT ME IN THE FIRE AND WHEN I STOPPED BURNING I LEARNED HOW TO GLOW DON’T THINK YOU CAN STOP ME YOU CAN’T TAME A TORNADO.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I am peeling down to my best self,
exhaling my telephone static.
There is no space for silence.
This is the breath before a yell,
the promise of sound.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Pour yourself into me and I will not let a drop of you hit the ground.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of the beautiful.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
why is it always the woman who has to see past the beast in the man? why does she always have to clean his wounds, even after he has damaged her beyond repair? why is it always the man who is worthy of forgiveness for being a monster?

I want to see the beast in the beauty.

the half smile, half snarl. the unapologetic anger. I would like to see the man forgive the monster. to see her, blood and all, and love her anyway.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I will fit into whatever spaces you let me.
If loving you means getting dirty, bring on the grime.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I stretched out my hand
to touch him once
on the back of his neck. Please let me stay.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
With you, intimacy colours my voice. Even ‘hello’ sounds like ‘come here’.

from Chime

Feb. 15th, 2017 11:25 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Sometimes I am just a girl with wounded poems and a bright laugh
who likes cheap beer and pink polka dots, who winces
when her friends argue and cannot bring herself to love
[personal profile] redcheekdays
We sleep together in the dark
but confuse
light with love.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I left my bones and my scars
and went out
like a poltergeist
totally empty
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I feel like I am floating in plasma
I need a teacher or a lover
I need someone to risk being involved with me.
I am so vain
and I am so masochistic.
How can they coexist?
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I work as hard as I can but there is an inner dissociation. A bleak detachment. Maybe it makes me unreal to people & that is why they can’t love me.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
i.
she is born of war. she speaks the language of battle and there is steel in her smile. her hands are made to hold on too tightly and to kiss her is to feel like the universe is resting on the tip of your tongue and to dance with her is to dance in the light of a collapsing star.

ii.
i am rubble, i am debris littered in the corners of
morning dry eyes. i am the weathered rocks of the acropolis -
i sleep and dream of shoe soles beating lines into my skin and
if all you give me is time all i will do is erode.

iii.
oh, darling.
against the pull of a supernova i am nothing but ash.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Give me your skin
as sheer as a cobweb,
let me open it up
and listen in and scoop out the dark.

I Cannot

Feb. 15th, 2017 11:45 am
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I envy you. Every moment
You can leave me.

I cannot
leave myself.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
And it was Death itself who stood behind me, with his arms wrapped around me as tight as iron bands, and his lipless mouth kissing my neck as if in love. But as well as the horror, I also felt a strange longing.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
hipbones like crosses
holy of holies of holies
she is meant for worship
and i pray i pray i pray

(she is crumbling to pieces)
[personal profile] redcheekdays
and when our bodies rise again,
they will be wildflowers, then rabbits,
then wolves singing a perfect love
to the beautiful, meaningless moon.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I understood why she did it. At that moment I knew why people tagged graffiti on the walls of neat little houses and scratched the paint on new cars and beat up well-tended children. It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
If I were a poet, that’s what I’d write about. People who worked in the middle of the night. Men who loaded trains, emergency room nurses with their gentle hands. Night clerks in hotels, cabdrivers on graveyard, waitresses in all-night coffee shops. They knew the world, how precious it was when a person remembered your name, the comfort of a rhetorical question, “How’s it going, how’s the kids?” They knew how long the night was. They knew the sound life made as it left. It rattled, like a slamming screen door in the wind. Night workers lived without illusions, they wiped dreams off counters, they loaded freight. They headed back to the airport for one last fare.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
Don’t hoard the past... Don’t cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.

Apollo

Feb. 15th, 2017 12:22 pm
[personal profile] redcheekdays
The sun inside of him
rages like wildfire
and he is
gold
gold
gold
and he is
scorching the skin of my heart,
yet still he pretends
that he is safe for me to love,
that his hands are gentle,
that his fingerprints won’t be
seared into the notches of my spine.

The sun inside of him
could set the kingdom ablaze;
he knows this, he does.

And he still asks me to love him,
to face the flame.

Find me in the ashes.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
and she is divine, untouchable
terrifying, dangerous and heartbreaking
and you’ve heard the stories, everyone has
how those who try to reach the moon
end up scorched by the sun instead
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I’m not really so hard & cynical after all — in fact I’m still dangerously soft.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I lay down with you in imagination
& ran away from you
in life.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
there is a monster in me, too. i feel it;
a meanness, growing like a tree
in my belly.

is it hidden-in my long fingered hands
in my hair the color of blood?

in my wildfire love
only a god could bear?

is that why i was spared?

i’ll have you know:
i am as bloodthirsty as my father
and that was not thread you unwound

i’ll have you know-
that bull was a brother to me.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
We wear clothes, and speak, and create civilizations, and believe we are more than wolves. But inside us there is a word we cannot pronounce and that is who we are.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
I became the bad part of town:
the woman your mama warned you about.
I was the blood in the water, and oh —
it felt so good
to run so red.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
This is the story of how I never stopped running.
This is the story of how,
when the wolves knocked,
I met them at the door
and I became the beast, instead.
[personal profile] redcheekdays
When I saw him look at me with lust, I dropped my eyes but, in glancing away from him, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. And I saw myself, suddenly, as he saw me, my pale face, the way the muscles in my neck stuck out like thin wire. I saw how much that cruel necklace became me. And, for the first time in my innocent and confined life, I sensed in myself a potentiality for corruption that took my breath away.

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