A collection of eight pieces of art by her Hersoulwrites1.
- THE gods OF THIS EARTH.
She laid by the sea, body washed up, breathing in harsh pants.
A mocking wave could have toppled her over.
Legs stiff; fingers curved in a receiving pose,
She prayed to Astraeus, saying, “Give me life.”
Once the thrill of the great divide had come, she opened her mouth and consumed saltwater.
Once again, she prayed, this time to Poseidon, “take me under and take your time.” Aether, the god of the air, shook his head at her. Then, he whispered with the force of the wind, “choose one.” She responded weakly, “whichever comes first.”
2. THE TWO BECOME ONE.
When you cut yourself, I bleed.
Seated on an Andesite, all I see is red.
When you touch yourself, I feel it.
Like a ribbon dancing between my legs.
When your world spins, mine never stands still.
My stamina, your strong wind did steal.
Our life forces are joined; it’s eerie,
But two has always been better than one.
Be careful with yourself, my love.
These days, you live and die for two.
In retrospect, neither you nor I knew what love meant.
To us, it meant to suffer, so the air around us was always filled with neglect.
We always found pleasure in each other’s pain.
It’s the fucking paradox I regret.
Your mother’s heart was never as soft as petals.
My father’s heart was built with metals.
You were raised by a sadistic au pair.
No wonder you never grew a pair.
I was left alone for most of my childhood
That’s why I never fully enjoyed adulthood.
Could it be that to us, love itself has no depth?
And we are fishes swimming against the current.
And if being swept downstream meant showing vulnerability,
We would rather be apart than exert that kind of energy.
Not on each other.
We just don’t know how.
I love, I fall apart; the anguish washes over me.
In the end, it’s the strength to try again that remains.
I chose to die by my lover’s side, but he’d rather dine with another. A solemn promise was wasted on a cold winter night when I whispered before a priest, “only death can keep us apart.”
My oath I took seriously, even after I wedded a man who lusted after another religiously. So, I shall cut him open and carve my name upon his heart. Then, I shall follow Juliet into the night. And after the pit of red is filled with crystal water, knowing him, he will speak the words of love to another.
But with every breath he takes soon after, my name will brag against his chest, whispering, “love who you want, but you will always have me in your heart.”
6. ONCE MORE.
God goes on dreaming about making you once more with feeling. I go on wishing about loving you once more with meaning.
I am light; I shine.
You’ll never know what a battle it was to finally admit
that I was my darkness and my torch, my fire and my match.
If I could drag myself across a pavement because my feet couldn’t hold me up,
I can break through my confinements and taste the early morning sun.
When I say I am light, it is not me being proud.
It’s because I fought unseen battles and won.
I say it so it feels real. I say it because I know what it means to feel like hell.
8. THE STORY OF HER.
She heard the River calling just across the railroad tracks. It was hidden behind sickly fall bushes, patiently waiting for the spontaneous combustion of human action. A Virginia Woolf; a Theodore finch; a bottomless pit. It was one of those days where her full-blown smile waned as the day went on. It became crooked, morphed into dull lines, drifted into the shadows, and then disappeared.
Night had fallen on a sad little day and what was left was the dangerous realization that she had failed again. As she stared into space with glass eyes, a strange eruption shook her whole being. She didn’t know what was happening. She couldn’t recognize the sounds coming out of her. She was alive, but this was what it felt like to stop living; she was sure of it. The weeping, the wailing, the hiccups, the quiet wordless groans, and the trepidation. Her tears formed into diamonds; the diamonds, in turn, pierced her skin, adding salt to an already injured soul.
Again, the River called. It was an unspoken suggestion. Before anyone ever knew what was going on, she would be a present sorrow, a fond memory, and a past transgression. For one hidden moment, she allowed the thought. She permitted it to slip into her mind like soft silk. It touched her like a lover, a slow seduction. She looked at the train tracks, the sickly bushes, and what lay just ahead of it. Virginia Woolf and hardcore stones, Theodore Finch, going in search of the bottom.
The misty clouds of her mind didn’t clear. Although she was hopelessly seduced by what could be, she was too tired to do anything about anything. Instead, she laid her tear-stained cheeks on her cold sheets & drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Pictures retrieved from Pinterest.
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