Fire Tiger Writer

There was something hypnotizing about the way his eyes stared at the world before him, lost in thought, ankles crossed; his lips silent, but his soul flaming off his skin. It was impossible not to notice the rhythms he kept: his chest expanding and retracting with air, his eyelashes fluttering as he opened and closed his eyes, the way his head tilted and his hips shifted to accomodate his muscles. And I wanted nothing more than to see his thoughts, to unfold his image and see his true self in all its pure and dark colors. I wanted there to be no place his soul could hide. I wished we hadn't skin, as it barricaded our spirits from one another, our bodies producing nothing but shadows. The only things to communicate between us were our eyes, hands, and lips - and it felt as if it weren't enough. But I loved him in silence. In waiting. In images and rhythms. And I knew if I saw his complete soul - from thoughts to flames - I would gladly burn in all of his elements. . . . Unfold By Deidrea DeWitt 2.3.23 . . . #poety #poetsofig #lovepoems #poetsofinstagram #poetryofig #hypnotic #soul #soulmate #image #communication #love #skin #spirit https://www.instagram.com/p/CoNNIWNyjjr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

And I stayed up long past midnight because I was tired of sleeping through darkness, through dreams, through precious minutes that would never be returned to me. I wanted to watch the snow fall at 4am in the winter, To hear thunder in summer at dawn. But mostly, I wanted to live – to shed off empty schedules  and meaningless routines that fed neither my body or soul. And I wanted to praise my Father in darkness, as I did in light; to reflect on his hand in the seen and unseen, to heighten senses I had never used in daylight. And to live consciously – painfully, but purposely, through darkness, through dreams, through precious minutes that would never be returned to me. Stay Up By Deidrea DeWitt 1.15.23 . . . #poetry #poetsofig #poems #poemsofig #igpoetry #poet #poets #latepoetry #midnightpoetry #midnight #latenightthoughts #christianpoetry #writing #amwriting https://www.instagram.com/p/Cnqh-o9LGBn/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

I lay suspended between desire and drowning, between suffocating and holding my breath; Gasping for both life and death as I’m pulled deeper into bliss and tragedy. And I ached for his touch – for his rescue – to feel his lips breathe life back into me After decades of nightmares, memories, and truths had stolen my dreams and left me with insomnia. And every thought crashed,  every pain rippled into every nerve, and tears spilled from every corner, the salt water burning the wounds in my torn-up hands that had done all they could to build a home. And as I lay on the floor,  I saw the stars above the water, and I begged God to keep me alive even though I had lost the will to live. So I wrapped myself in heavy blankets, pretending its weight was his warmth, that his breath was in my ear, his fingers interlaced with mine to stop  the bleeding so they could heal. And I shut my eyes, never sleeping, only begging to be his – that he existed; That these wet dreams – The fatal mix of what I desired  and what was drowning me – would desert me so I could dream with the stars again. . . . WET DREAMS by Deidrea DeWitt 1.11.23 . . . #poetry #poetsofig #igpoetry #poet #darkpoetry #insomnia #pain #nightmares #savior #dreams #water #waterpoetry #sleep #home #poetsofinstagram #deidreadewitt #poems #poemoftheday #poemsofinstagram #poetrywriter #poetryandprose https://www.instagram.com/p/CnPkdvByJNe/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

The addiction was enough for me. Only in short bursts, of course, because the pleasure of addiction wasn't sustainable, and it was ungratifying even when it was. No -- addiction could only be delicious in small bursts of wanting, the ache of desire fermented just long enough to mature into something worth fulfilling. If the desire hadn't matured -- if it hadn't begun the process of breaking down within its host -- then there was no need to pacify it. There needed to be a descension. A breakdown. A helplessness found only in Purgatory. Addiction was only satisfying in the necessity of being saved. . . My writing journal, 1.2.23 . . . #writingjournal #journal #writing #thoughts #addiction #amwriting #writersofIG #writersofinstagram #desire #breakdown #insanity #poetry #prose #poetryandprose #midnightthoughts https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm9TIn9SlrV/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

I made this today. Relatedly, I also wrote 4 new poems today. That dream was brutal, guys. . . . #dream #meme #dreams #baddreams #saddreams #nightmares #badday #sadvibes #sad #imagination #dreaming https://www.instagram.com/p/Cmb-skPJqia/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

It has always been this way, ever since Eve wanted to be God and ate the forbidden fruit, blaming the serpent when she introduced evil into the world; and when Adam was faced with the choice to stop her or rebel against God, he chose to rebel and then blame God for creating Eve in the first place.

Or -- even more common -- you'll become someone better than you ever imagined.

My favorite verse. This verse is the entire theme to my favorite book of all time, PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY... and I keep it close to me as I pursue my dreams of writing and publishing books. I've realized that I don't really want to be famous. I just want to be seen. And that is the desire of every individual, as God is the One who sees the ultimate depths of us; everything we are, were, and will be. And it's easy to lose your soul in the process of searching for affection and purpose, feeding it empty calories as it begs for substance. Feed your soul what it actually craves. Submit it to God and see how He sees and loves you once you've given it over to Him. The world will fade. Your soul will not. Take care of it. . . . #soul #mark #bibleverse #fame #food #soulfood #craving #doriangray #biblestudy #love #affection #christianity #substance https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl2y5zXrfiV/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

I met him between passion and will, in the space where control and sanity were muted colors compared to the vibrance of his eyes and skin. The veins of his hands and neck were composed of pale blue and heavy crimson, his serenity and danger pumping straight to my heart. There was nothing to decipher whether the warmth of his blood was for consumption or destruction -- and I didn't care to ask. The dark contours of his lips blurred the lines of love and lust, straight into the realm of obsession. With his hands and mouth, he bled his colors into me, my pale earth tones slipping onto the floor as his breath filled me with heaven. And my soul changed colors - from the muted existence of my passion and will... to the vibrancy of his consumption and destruction. . . . Muted 11.13.22 Deidrea DeWitt . . . * * * * * #poetsofig #poems #poetry #igpoetry #poppoetry #lovepoems #darkpoems #lovepoetry #indiepoets #poet #poets #sinfulpoems #sin #love #idolatry #healing #fear #deeppoems #infatuation #painfulpoetry #pain #longing #yearning #soul #vibrance #colors #color #muted #mute https://www.instagram.com/p/Ck5v4NlrG4P/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

And there was poetry about women, but not about the men they loved. There was nothing about the way a woman desired the creature who came before her. What must Eve have felt when she awakened to find Man next to her, realizing that she was a piece of him? That his skin was only hers to touch, that his eyes could look to no one else but her. That his whispers were only between her and God, that his laughter was only for her to hear. And what must she have felt realizing that Man’s heart ached for her before she had even existed; that his heart sank with the weight of loneliness down to the last of ribs, so God took one of them out to sculpt her who Man had been aching for? Did she see the way Man’s eyes rested with her beside him? Did she see the way the sweat ran down his brow as he worked to provide for her? And in her time, did she notice how his hands had been formed to hold her, to arouse her, to hold her up in paradise? Did she notice how the tones and notes in his voice were different from every other creature in the Garden, that he knew nothing of poetry until the day she was created? And in return – What poetry did she write? Did she ever tell Man of her obsession – how his existence was the reason for her own? How there was no peace for her away from his heart since she had once been the bone next to it? Did she ever tell him how the notes of his voice soothed her and allowed her to breathe deeper, or how his hands had been keeping her together? That her eyes were only for him in paradise? He was a piece of the finale of creation. The only other piece outside of herself. And somehow – There was no poetry about the man that woman loved. Nothing about how his existence was the reason for her own; nothing about how she would do anything for the creature who came before her. About Man 10.18.22 Deidrea DeWitt

-Morning journal entry  

So find time to draw, sew, sing, write, sculpt, dance, cook, play, build, design, act, and whatever else heals you. Don’t trade you soul for an empty paycheck. Work, create, play, admire, dream, repeat.

Adam Clarke (Bible Commentary, Colossians Ch 3)

The sun will rise again tomorrow. Keep going.

Esther Meek

Journal, 6.2.22