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❝ The world is silent and still
The stars are all falling Around us: wide open spaces Within us: all our quiet grief (The same in the end). ❞
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❝ a halo, a haunting, a howling ❞ author's note: sometimes you write something that isn't going anywhere, but you like it enough to share it with the world. such is the case with these three words, which kind of came out of nowhere and wouldn't go away until i wrote them down. writing, i tell you. maybe one day these words will spark a larger piece...
❝ i sit and i hold your hand. that’s it. that’s the story. that’s what matters. nothing that came before, none of the bleeding or the fighting, the weeping or the reaping. not the mud or the rain, not the cold or the pain. just you and me and your hand in mine. because i sat and i held it and your fingers opened like you didn’t mind. like it was easy. like we could’ve been doing this all along. nothing else matters. not where we’re going, or how, not what’s to become of us, or what’s to be done now. i sit and i hold your hand. that’s it. that’s the story. there’s no before or after. just this. just us. just that i sit and i hold your hand. ❞ — a break, a coming together
❝ well here is the thing i have not written you in a long time have not transcribed your form in dark ink and brisk movements against white have not mulled over the fullness of you in my mouth have not held you tender, held you sweet held you between the arch of my fingers and the ribs about my heart but here is the thing it is like the tree: twenty years ago, and again, now. ❞ —a seed planted, and replanted
❝ sweetheart i say,
and i mean something lighter than beloved something truer than dear something richer than honey. sweetheart i say, and it begins with a kiss and melts into a smile falls to a sigh and drops to a pulse rises in an effortless crest ends light as air. sweetheart, i say, and i mean you. ❞ ❝ i was feeling self-destructive so i kissed an angel and left it at the altar ❞ --how to heal a heart that never had a chance at breaking
❝ i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love and so i open a blank page and i begin and all that spills out is everything but love, is the absence of it, is the yearning for it, is the remembrance of it, is all the places it used to be and all the ways it used to taste and all the ways i held it close and every way and every time that i let it go or i lost it or it left me. i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love as it is now, right now, but i can’t, i can’t, because it’s never here, it’s something i had and something i want, something gone and something coming. it’s not for now, it’s not for here, it’s not for this, it’s too big for all that, it’s only visible, only tangible, in hindsight and in headlights. i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love, but right here, right now, it’s something simultaneously flying away and flying toward me, and by that i mean i am always waiting and always looking back at it long gone by. ❞ — i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love and by that i mean i will always be wanting to write about love and by that i mean love is all that’s left
❝ you are a star, it says, a flickering light in a vacuum, a void, a lack. you dim and then brighten and age and consume and burn and rage and guide and beautify. i should think that is worth the sadness. i do not feel sad when i see you. i feel love. ❞ —an angel to a child of adam
❝ there are butterflies flying around a mountain long, long gone,
the moon is a dead, empty thing that is still beautiful, still shining, & i will go on, i will be fine. ❞ |
sumayyah writes poetry......because sometimes she Feels Things™ and then has to scribble those Feelings down so she can get them out of her head and move on with her day. |
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