Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

I Love You, But I Have To Go

It’s all falling down.
London Bridge,
and all the things you dreamed of,
as you stared across the river at it.
I love you, but I have to go,
because there’s nothing else I can do,
except mourn you in solitude when I eventually arrive on safer shores, of course,
but for now,
all I can do is pull away my fingertips from your grasping, desperate hand,
tear my eyes from the face I’ve stared at for a lifetime and walk away.

I love you, but I have to go,
because you have to die so that I can live,
and I know you’ll never understand why,
but I love you,
more than my departure suggests, and I know this is best,
but something about the way you wail makes it so hard to hang it all up and go.
The sky is aflame,
we swipe the clouds left and right with warm hands,
but you know that I have to go,
don’t you?

I love you, but I have to go.
I love you, but you have to let me go,
and I’d tell you
“No, I won’t forget you”
but the way you cling to what’s left of me shows that you know I will.
I take one last look at your familiar eyes,
your gaze so defeated under the glassy guard of the Thames,
and my hand hurts without you to hold it,
but the world is aflame,
the sun is sleeping on the ground,
and I love you, but I have to go.

I’ll never know if you were crying,
as you slip further under the surface,
but you had to die,
so I could live,
reborn and free of who I was, with you.
I love you, but I have to go.

Maybe one day,
when it all cools down,
you can come back around,
but for now,
I have to rebuild a new girl for us to be.
I love you, and I’ll come back for you, one day.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Vanity Of The Violet Divinity

I am lost in my reflection,

painting away my pain,

ebony across my eyelids and pink paint on my soft lips.

This is just the vanity of the violet divinity,

with my eyelashes thunderous and thick,

throat full of codeine that tampers with my whisky dreams.

Dreams where I am not defined by what I see,

because I just feel sweet peach lights dancing all across my skin,

soft violins play out the sun set,

and I am so beautiful.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Purple Princess

My blood is violet,
my aura, lilac,
amethyst around my wrist,
soft kisses and passive violence.
Sweet as jam,
the right kind of timeless,
heather in my hair,
as I hold onto healing.
I was once reeling,
reaching outside the raindrops,
feeling nothing,
until I took a break from myself,
deciding I could smile,
if I wanted to,
and that I could share sensual summers with Saints and spirits.
I am the daughter of Prometheus,
Athena’s angel.
My cards are on the table,
telling me all the things that I already know,
weary sighs are my symphony,
as I sleep with my eyes open.
I am a widow of my own war,
sangria spills from my eyes,
and I am at peace with what I’ve done to myself.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Running Across Broken Bridges

There she stands,

clear path,

created from necessity and staring up at me,

her body, bright under the kind light of the moon.

It is time to be true to myself,

but I take one step,

full of dread and then I hesitate,

staring at the quiet confidence of the bridge before me,

who stares back towards me,

asking what I’m so afraid of.

There may be voices beneath her,

planks that go missing,

parts of her body that will not survive our journey together,

and she has the audacity to ask,

“What are you so afraid of?”

They say that the longest journey begins with the smallest step,

but small steps feel substantial when you look down,

suddenly confronted by everything you have to lose.

I lie.

I tell her that I’m not afraid,

I’ve never been afraid,

because I am not that kind of girl.

I tell her that I am a child of the sea,

so,

if she were to drop me into the river beneath her,

it wouldn’t be such a crime.

I am, of course, lying.

I may be a child of the sea,

but I have no wish to drown,

and I may be afraid,

but something about her tells me that I can’t confide in her,

so with my eyes closed,

and my lies beneath my cheap shoes,

I rush along the bridge,

walking with such purpose that I think I may be possessed,

because if I am quick, and if I feign confidence,

I will make it across before she can convince me I can’t.

Posted in Blog

The Half Blood Princess

The sunrise and the sunset,

swirling above the clouds in the skyline,

daughter of two warring tribes,

half blood princess,

a patchwork blanket that will never be finished.

There is conflict in my skin,

and the many mannerisms I stole from the two that built me.

Two,

going on a great adventure,

but growing impatient,

with how slowly pages turn,

and how the cycles around the sun are unpredictable.

I was once impossible,

illegal,

but I am the end of war,

for the brief moments that they remember,

how happy my arrival made them.