It swallows me whole
The soft fabric
The scent of flowers
It holds me
It holds my weight
My pain
My Tears
My laughs
My thoughts
It wraps around me
I'm stuck
It doesn't let go
It stays on me
Becoming a
second skin
It surrounds me
Crowds my lungs
Blocks my vision
It's hurting my future
But it's protecting my present
When it lets me go
I climb out
I'm met with cold air
I'm met with silence
No more laughs
It was protecting me
And I left
And I'm sorry
So I dive back in
Hoping it accepts my apology
And it does
wrapping its arms around me
Again
Home is where the heart is
Home more often than not is found in people, not objects
But I am at a point in my life where my bed is my safe place
My bed is my office, a protector of my heart
I sit in my bed to dream of meeting that one person, having that one pet where their presence alone feels like home. Sometimes society makes me rush it, mistaking my home for people and places that are temporary and only warm for a week. So I’ll wait. I’ll wait for the day I find my home in him but for now I’ll allow my bed to cuddle me as I wait.
About the Creator
Michelle LJ
Writing allows me to escape the tornado of scars and fears in my mind if only for a moment
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A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli5 days ago in Poets
Standing Still
There are very few moments in life where time truly stands still. When your breath is taken from your chest and your body hangs weightless in that moment. Just long enough for it to stay with you from that day onwards. Deep in the red sands of the Australian Outback, I found that moment and clung to it forever.
By Kevin McLaughlin4 days ago in Wander
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