Claire Keane

⣠Chile in a Photography ā£
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
RMH
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@posttraumaticsarah

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Theyād call me scar-struck.
I.
The dead-red-rose-petals,
that you decayed in the microwave,
are crinkling under my feet.
Thereās a cardboard cut-out of the moon
beside a dinner table in our bedroom.
And,
youāre down on one knee.
Madlibbing the speech you had rehearsed.
My fantasy extends a wrist out towards the memory of you
and the circle of
fresh, dry blood
around my left ring finger
fits me like a wedding bandā¦
But, when you admire the diamond
you placed on my hand,
an amethyst wink-winks right back.
Purple was always my favorite color
and Purple
it
will always be.
II.
The hardest part of
eternal loneliness
is denial over the imaginary proposals
that make no sense anyway.
Reality gets a tick-mark.
But,
I carry the shame
of refusing Godās proposal.
He then took away my person
and granted me as un-wanted,
so thereās nothing left for me in this life.
But,
girls like me
avoid getting laughed at
by
fighting over the
hand-me-down with a dent in it,
Iād look insane wearing a halo presented to me on a velvet pillow.
My blood turns diamond into amethyst.
And, Iāll spend eternity
upturning
stone after stone,
mining for
my blood-diamond in the raw.
Pale blue
and
on the pink side,
the perfect
shade of lavender
forms a crystal
for the suicidal-spirals
I fall into because I let
yet another boy manipulate me.
(Maybe, he wasnāt Godā¦)
And, Iāll wait
for the perfect,
pale-blue
and on the pink side,
shade of lavender
to
crystallize,
but how many more crystals do I want?
It was so easy to manifest
Purple ink flowing through these veins.
(I bleed purple ink.)
And, I have no doubt that I will one day cry Violet tears.
(I cry Violet tears.)
But, can I have faith that my amethyst washed ashore on a riverbed and is waiting to be upturned?
I watched my words
(Reframing what I want - I am happy and content and ready to receive.)
and changed my mindset.
(Stopping this pointless anxiety- My person will come at the right time.)
Itās possible that I block positive channels of energy and, I know that Iām the Queen of mixed-messages,
but
I have to convince myself that the Universeās algorithm for granting persons makes no senseā¦
How could I possibly not already have learned everything that I was meant to learn to be ready for my person yet?
III.
Iāll wait
for an amethyst
that may never come
but an amethyst
that compliments the jagged-edges
of my wedding band
is worth waiting for.
Like, the time I worked at a movie theatre and my coworker turned to me and said, I just got out of rehab. I said, I just got out of a mental hospital.
We complimented each other perfectly
because we necked in the back of daddyās Cadillac that night.
And, I still remember it like it was yesterday.
I opened the freezer door
to a typhoon of popcorn
pouring in.
So much salt and butter everywhere,
blinding me.
I swam through the sea of popcorn
wondering,
do any managers even work here?
With eyes-burned-shut through the darkness, I
compassed my way to the sound of SeƱor Poppyās squeaking gears as I inched closer to the old-rusted-popcorn-machine.
I thought it was strange that no one evacuated when the fire alarms went off, but I could never leave SeƱor Poppy behind.
And, lo-and-behold
there was a ring
stuck on the mechanism
that told the machine itās full.
Your grandpa scared meā¦
He jumped out of a giant mound of popcorn
while
camouflaged in a home-made popcorn suit,
eager to āpopā the question.
The salt of my tears washed away
the salt in my eyes
and all I could see
were a line of angry customers,
being my closest friends and family,
now cheering.
Again, snaps for Reality.
In reality, I was in love with someone else while banging the popcorn boy. Then, the popcorn boyās ex jumped from a building and the popcorn boy thought he was in love with me. But, I was in love with someone else and I kept denying the whole time that I even had a fling with the popcorn boy because it was all just embarrassing.
Iād look insane wearing
a stark-white diamond over
my bleeding, open, fresh, dry scar
of a deeply-wounded wedding band
that I carved one night
while staring at myself
in the āstrangerās mirrorā a little too long.
(Or, in this case, my reflection on the floor in theatre Number 7 after mopping up.)
If only, there was a ring clogging the drain
in the āstrangerās bathtub,ā
put there by the plumber.
But, we all know, in Reality, instead of marrying the plumber
Iād drown.
And, I carry the shame,
The One That Writes
wrote about
but only I deserve.
I deserve,
the empty, desperate, meaningless diamonds winking back at my tears
in the āstrangerās mirror.ā
Girls like me donāt get diamonds.
In the real world, Iād show off my diamond to get laughed at and be called scar-struck.
No,
Purple was always my favorite color
and Purple it will always be.
And, Iāll wait
alone.
IIII.
My memory is pricked on a jagged-edge
while
sifting through the basalt rock in Brazil.
No one came to catch me in a Purple volcano.
(Reality wraps their arms around me and says, I told you so.)
So, I mined and mined
from Egypt to Russia.
I repelled down caves of lava,
and still left empty handed on the plane-ride home.
I carry the shame of being un-wanted. Can I hide-away on a fault line for eternity?
Each moon, across a thousand night skies, has a different temperament
but not one was listening.
And,
a drop of Violet
fell from my cheek
and landed in a puddle.
I followed the bank
with the Purple watershedā¦
Where,
my fantasy extends a wrist out towards a riverbed
but
my memory is pricked on a jagged-edge
of the last stone unturned.
Are you still in love with the wrong one?
Iām just so fascinated that someone asked me a question. Lol I like never come on here. Iāve never been in love with the right one so probably, yes. š¤·š»āāļøš¤¦š»āāļøš but Hassaan is a thing of the past as are all the rest ššš Me and my dog are still going strong šš¼
The Best Idea that Iām Blessed to Call a Friend: A Poem for Zoe.
Zoe,
Thank you for always being there for me when I am in my dark places. You truly mean the world to me. I love you soooooooo much!
It is so hard to remember we are loved but I hope this little book can be a big reminder. I always keep two private phone lines open for you at all times, the kind that bypass dial-ups. They are two cups on a string and a pair of walky-talkies. I am always just down the street.
Love,
Sarah
Chapter One:
Prologue-Purgatory
I.
It may feel as if
there is no point to all of this
but, I promise you,
that
our tears sparkle like North Stars
and they lead us places.
Many of us
have no choice but to
take the path less traveled
through the valley
down a long winding road
to a dark wood
where the straight way is lost,
but only the
brightest among us
have the chops
to tell the tale.
No, we may never know when the hardest part of the story will come knocking.
But, youāve answered all of your calls to adventure like a pro on her fifth published novelā¦
I believe in you.
And, no matter how hard you try,
a good writer cannot
force her happy ending.
But, the middle isnāt finished yet
and youāre a good idea
that
takes time
to come together.
I mean, youāre the best idea that Iām blessed to call a friend.
I know it all seems so pointless
but
the first thirty chapters are simply writing warm-ups
so
itās too soon to crumple the paper
on your synopsis.
Because, each paragraph from the summary changes
constantly.
And,
every day
is a prompt
for
new ideas.
You may feel stuck
like youāre in
Prologue-Purgatory
but one day
youāll flip
past the reviews
past the prologue
to the first page
of a new day
to the best idea
you yet
havenāt had.
And,
your writerās-block
will be lifted.
Chapter Two:
Vietnam
II.
The Rons and Hermiones you meet in other countries,
little do they know,
you are their Luna Lovegood.
Because, a piece of you is buried
at Hogwarts
and itās as real as the ashes of your childhood
spread across Vietnam.
If you think about it too hard
your heart will break
but the tears
will lead you to new places.
Youāve Eat, Pray, Loved your way through Europe.
Even stepped off of a plane into a YA novel in Galway.
Whether itās
London
Ireland
Alaska
or
Asia,
there are pieces of you everywhere.
And, the Horcruxes
are parts of your beating-heart
waiting for you,
buried
in the
hostels
that
you
yet
haven't
beenā¦
Wearing shoes to bed may seem so pointless.
But,
you already
have your head in the clouds.
So, why not mosey-on
for one more mile
if it means
youāll
wake up
standing
at the foot of a Rainbow?
Youāre the only one that can bend shadows
into blinding rays of indigo.
When a Thestral comes running toward you
but your forgot your wand at the pub,
youāll know what to do.
You are so much more
than whatās invisible.
Chapter Three:
Where the Sidewalk Ends
III.
These years of going against the grain
and swimming upstream
have left their scars
from the grind.
I had to break an ankle
and trip over the edge
of a hamster-wheel
just
to
take the night off.
I swear,
Venus lengthened the lines God drew on my palms
because
they now reach beyond the end of my fingertips.
My days are longer
and
more full
and,
to think,
all she had to do was pick-up Godās pen.
She
scribble-scrabbled
L̶i̶g̶h̶t̶n̶i̶n̶g̶'̶s̶ ̶T̶r̶i̶p̶w̶i̶r̶e̶
my Worst Idea
in different directions
across all of the planets
in pieces
that
now
my shortest lifeline
is floating through time
untraceableā¦
And, on those days when I am ground-down to a pulp
from going against the pavement,
when I canāt take another day
spent breaking my own ankles
because I donāt
naturally
fail at this
rat-race,
I try to remember why wounds would rather heal afterward than wear a helmet.
Or, how easy it is
to write my own
prescription.
I roller-skate down the street
just to get back up
after every tumble.
I pedal like the wind
for a piece of chalk
to fly through my basket.
I click my heels
but choke on ice cream.
I play hopscotch with the barking hippos,
we go round and round
the cul-de-sac.
I
ring a bell
but summon a monster.
He drinks all of our Lemonade
without
leaving a single quarter.
My tears grind-down
until they shine as bright as laughter.
I go round and round
at the corner of
Real and Inspirational
and
the sidewalkā¦
it
really
never
endsā¦
with the wave of her wand
our Planets interlock themselves in a pattern, now Milky Way floor tiles
and Saturnās rings fold into bleacher seats for all of the celestial beings to gather
she sprinkles fairy dust in the sky
as the Stars form into a disco ball
Gravity came to town
Time stops in all dimensions except this one
and she lays a blanket over Sun,
heās always the first to pass out
every once in a while,
even the Moon
takes the night off
Chapter Four:
A Prism in a Puddle
IV.
The Buddhistās daydream
is to sacrifice herself
as an Outline
to be reborn
a character in someone elseās Trilogy.
I say,
Go ahead!
The audienceās interpretation is always wrong anyway.
So, leave us on a cliffhanger
for eternity!!!
But,
the evolution of conflict
is what makes
a good writer better.
After-all, the Rainbow needs boots
to splash through puddles
and you are the only one that wore shoes.
I know the Rons and Hermiones
and grammar-school-kids
running away without you
seems so pointless,
but shade exists for a reason.
Your head may be in the clouds
but
thereās
a wand behind your ear.
And, you are the only one
that can break indigo,
setting them
free
from the shadows.
Every once in a while,
you sit back
and sip Lemonade
in the shade
with your Monsters.
As you re-write
the paragraphs
on your front and back covers,
I believe in you.
Because,
today
is a new page
flowing with the grain
revolving
along
the
wave
of
gravity
and
I
chew on the cap of a
big-fat-sharpie
because
even the best writers need a friend
to sign their casts,
and help them
take the night off from
the hamster-wheel.
You are the Publisher
as much as the Author
as much as the Reader,
and your three-decade-long-trilogy
can continue on
instead of being rebirth-ed.
Or, it can be rebranded
in the next decade.
Or, it can take a sharp-turn
upon cinemaās corner.
You can even call it something else but continue on with the same character from a previous series
as if itās remotely related but somehow completely different altogether.
(Fantastic Beasts, anyone?)
I donāt know,
the audienceās interpretation is always wrong anywayā¦
Your summary re-typed itself:
With her head in the clouds, it took her thirty years to begin wearing rain-boots even on the sunniest of days. Finally, she learned that running-shoes were different from splashing-shoes, and there are so many puddles down Memory Lane.
Chapter Five:
L̶i̶g̶h̶t̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ā̶s̶ ̶T̶r̶i̶p̶w̶i̶r̶e
The Whisky in the Sky
V.
I wish I had a better resolution
but
you
by my side
pouring the whisky in the sky,
might be as good as itās going to get.
Just say the word,
itās Post-Traumatic-Sarahās brand to go out in a blaze of glory anyway.
Pedal to the medalā¦
Cliffhanger for eternity!!!!
But,
like a bad idea,
this takes time
to get help
to make better.
The art of coming together
is a part of the process,
and the process
never
really
endsā¦
My tears have led me out of fairytales
and fairytales have led me in to dark places.
I wanted so badly to believe
that
the aftermath of a permanent solution
would be a temporary problem.
Because, in fairytales,
the resolution
solves
the conflict.
(dear sun,
I had a plan
to escape the sky
fall face-first...
if only Mother Earth wouldnāt catch me)
I swear,
no matter what you scribble-scrabble and scratch out,
(once upon a time,
a white picket fence on the horizon
our little white dwarf with your nose
off to school
but seasons change
now
parts of me are hollow
my heart beats craters into my chest
this loneliness,
I have no hope left
Iām sending this in case Saturn
overheard
me...
curse shooting stars)
everyday you become a better writer
if youāre open to the
process.
And, editing your soul
is a lifelong commitment.
The best writers have no clue what part of the story they are living in real-time,
so they make it all up.
While, good writers thrive in the middle.
The best writers were never
sentenced to
Prologue-Purgatory,
but lived a life
of seventy-plus chapters
as if
they were born there.
Because,
a resolution
while being stuck
in-the-middle-of
unresolved conflict,
makes you choose
whether or not
to get help.
After-all, (̶D̶o̶e̶s̶n̶ā̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶M̶o̶o̶n̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶L̶i̶g̶h̶t̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ā̶s̶ ̶T̶r̶i̶p̶w̶i̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶n̶e̶c̶k̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶r̶s̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶f̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶?̶)
What I would give
to kick the stars
out from under me
but still show up to work on Monday morning?
For absolutely nothing to change
because I am not failing.
Iām not even lagging that far behind,
so I can keep-up with the wheel.
I can flow with the grain.
I can revolve along the wave of gravity.
With swollen ankles
that are no longer broken,
I
can swim upstream
when I need to.
If I knew a spell
to unfold this dog-eared page
and
make it through until morning,
I swear,
Iād use it.
If I had three wishes
for three sparks of inspiration
to come up with
three new ideas
to get me through until morningā¦
Oh,
Iād use them.
If Prince Charming
knocked on my door
and swept me away
to the Yule Ball,
well,
sorryā¦
Iād rather do yoga,
mindfully drink a tall glass of water,
and
run a marathon.
But, thanks for the suggestion,
Karen.
Where do you get your inspiration from?
(Toxic positivity, anyone?)
My fairytale is
kicking the stars out from under me
to take
tonight
off.
I wish I had a better resolution
but
you
by my side
pouring the whisky in the skyā¦
My daydream,
might be as good as itās going to get.
Iām not yet the best writer
but
I ask for help to come together
because, no matter how hard I try,
a good writer cannot force her happy ending.
If only God
scratched-out these bad ideas
with a red-pen,
but he didnāt.
I may be stuck here
and it all feels so pointless,
but falling apart
is as much of an art
as is coming together.
Itās all a part of the process
and the process
never
really
endsā¦
Chapter Six:
We all have our Hagrids.
VI.
I never did read Harry Potter as a child
because my mom said it was Satanic and she actually tore the pages right out of my brotherās bookā¦Like, in front of him and everything. Poor kid was trying be a kid and escape his reality for two seconds, but NOPE. Considering, my grandmother bought it for him, that kind of makes the whole thing even more traumatic and sad. But, we all have our Hagrids.
I think Iāll give it a shot as an adult,
though Iāll skip over the spells in case I accidentally summon a Giant-Three-Headed-Half-Goblin-Troll that only speaks a rare dialect of Gurg and Gobbledegook. Luckily, anyone can speak Troll, but it would be a nightmare trying to figure out what it wants. And, Iām not that advanced of a Wizardess to coax it out of my living room all by myself.
So, I think Iād need your help.
Like, how you helped me
bounce light inside of a teardrop,
letting it shine like the North Star.
You taught me everything I know,
coaxing Violet out from the darkness
to sip lemonade in the shade with our Monsters.
We did all of that and he didnāt even leave us a single quarter, such typical behavior of Giant-Three-Headed-Half-Goblin-Trolls.
But, when the Monsters need to go back home,
you are the only one
that can bend shadows
into blinding rays of Indigo.
And, youāve helped me through the process
so many times
that when I can do it all by myself,
Iād never choose to do it without you.
Letās sync our watches and meet at the playground at sunrise,
when the skies are clear.
Iāll help you see the prisms waiting for us in the puddles
after every storm.
Because, thereās so much more
waiting for us
than whatās visibleā¦
I thought I was at a crossroad
but maybe Iām in a crossfire
because
light is seeping through
these dark woods.
Hope and Reality
cancel each other out
sometimes.
But,
I always find my way
following the North Star
and my tears
have led me
out of
of dark places.
Sometimes, my pain crinkles in the opposite direction
flattening itself across the table
but
also flinching away from the pen,
like a ceasefire
between Hope and Reality.
To think,
I was able to get this pain
to stop crumpling-up
long enough
to write a poem
for you
because
the middle isnāt finished yet,
and youāre a good idea
that
takes time
to come together.
I mean, youāre the best idea that Iām blessed to call a friend.
You can murder a liberator, but you canāt murder liberation. You can murder a revolutionary, but you canāt murder revolution. And you can murder a freedom fighter, but you canāt murder freedom!
JUDAS AND THE BLACK MESSIAH (2021) dir. Shaka King

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
And, to think, thereās a method to my madness.
I.
Letters to a Lost Love,
In finality,
(here we go again)
I commemorated our wedding night.
The night we forgot where time began and ate dinner beside the Moon.
I hung your Neon Tuxedo on a spike
marking your dead (to me) carcass
so I could come back
and milk out another poem,
uh oh
this last drizzle fell through infinityā¦
I plateaued across the parallel universes,
risked drowning
to look for you at every sandbar.
I ran around the loop-de-loop of alternate dimensions
just to flatline through mid-air but find my breath under water.
Iāve lallygagged for far too long
in this tired galaxy
of your horizons.
Iāve pulled out my hair
cursed the stars
and buried fifty-thousand degrees of my personality.
A Rainbow Vulture appeared at my windowsill
with
evaporated meadow-dust
that
she dropped on my tongue
like acid.
An H rained down from the sky
and branded itself upon my wrist.
And, somehow,
an R
popped a cap in my heart without a goodbye kiss
and
I canātā¦
set it free.
II.
I swear,
Venus fucked with the lines God drew on my palms
because
they now reach beyond the end of my fingertips.
My days are longer
and
more full
and,
to think,
all she had to do was pick-up Godās pen.
She
scribble-scrabbled
my Suicide
in different directions
across all of the planets
in pieces
that
now
my shortest lifeline
is floating through time
untraceableā¦
but,
to think,
thereās someone out there with a Key
to
my locked-up
P.O. Box
of unopened
Letters to a Lost Love
to them
itās
simply
stationed
here,
effortlessly
flowing with the grain
revolving
along
the wave of gravity
itās
in
over
up
or
out
right
hereā¦
and
I think I met someone
who
has a Key
III.
The One That Writes would like to announce that she has a Method to her Madness
Like, how she would never hide in a fairytale
or a library.
She would never hand over the Keys to the Kingdom to just anybody.
The Latitude of Love rotates on an axis
opposite-away from the Longitude of Loneliness.
It took her forever to locate
her soul,
spinning through time and space
untraceable.
The P.O. Box of Letters to a Lost Love
has a piece of her
hiding
inside every letter
of every word
on every page
in every envelope.
And, to think,
running-away ink
are her I love yous,
her signature is
a blotted-black-teardrop
at the end of every lineā¦
She has a Method to the Madness
because
this new-guy is kind of more than that.
and
Even if it ends,
I told him
you can cut it off at any time
donāt worry about me.
āshe gathers poems like a child gathers flowersā
ā (via michaelbogild)
I snatched the L outcha Protagonist before you was even special.
I.
my shoulder is falling through a crack between his chest and left arm,
my neck
is
so heavy
it hurts a little bit
so
I tell myself itās
just
floating,
I need to look around
at the bedside table
please, donāt wake up as I reach for my phone,
shitā¦
we reposition ourselves
now
I can only peep out of one eye
balance my phone on his collar bone
and
type with an ambidextrous pinky-finger,
I hold my breath as he rolls over
donāt you dare wake up god damnit I need to fucking cry
if only I was as alone as I feel right now
but
I feel like thereās nowhere to hide
II.
I changed the ending to your name.
Ironically, it was an L that I took
and added in an A.
(shiiiii)
For-real-for-real, I snatched that L
because
Iām hooked on you.
(Gang-Gang)
I donāt call
text
or
slide in your DMs
because
Iām still more original and
boiiiiii
you never was even special
youāre lucky you got a date with me in the first place
but
all jokes aside,
Iām the Loser.
I have your L
and I gotta believe
youāre doing so well
without it
Iām a bulLet dodged
a red fLag
and yes
in ways
manipuLative
(block me)
the next time you party at Nolanās house
why donāt you pitch this plot?
that Sarah is so in love with you
but not you you
the you she knew
the you she had
and
watch his mind explode
with
yet another perfect role
for Baby Denzel
heās a Zaddy with a well-earned Z
(you still aināt have no Z yet?)
Mr. Nolan,
imagine a classic tail of
Tenet meets Hot Tub Time Machine starring Finding Dory
where
Sarah doesnāt give a fuck about
that present-day-guy named Robel
but she would do anything
to see the guy from her memories
one last time
the guy that tried to pick her up and fell on a vacuum cleaner
the guy that she could endlessly troll
and he would troll her a thousand times harder right back
the guy that would free-style silly raps
they would imitate each other
no one knows her laugh like he does
and no one has ever made her laugh like that
but sheāll die
if she sees him now
sheāll die if she crosses that timeline
beyond the Robae she remembersā¦
Youāre mocking some other girlās laugh
and she probably made a funnier joke than me right back,
those scrawny noodle arms wrapped around her like puzzle pieces
I donāt know who you are now
I donāt need to meet himā¦
Sorry, I opened up that one Snapchat
it was a random pan of a beach,
I happened to be in a bit of a spiral and you happened to post something for the first time in a year
I just couldnāt not look at it
but it wasnāt worth it
because
a glimpse of you now
happy and doing well
would make me so overjoyed and sad
the sheer confusion would kill me.
Just so you know we submitted the film to Outfest and I had to ask Eleazar how to navigate this because I canāt handle ever seeing you again. I canāt handle ever talking to you again.
I canāt handle it. Even though, all that would happen is us letting you know we got in if we get in. Thereās literally no reason why I even had this conversation with Eleazar. Do you see why crossing my timelines would kill me?
The you that you are now
probably thinks Outfest is pathetic anyway and youād never care or have time to care
youāre off snorting coke somewhere with Tarantino,
and youāre working on a Netflix special
(in my head, the you that you are now produced Bo Burnhamās Netflix special)
and even that projection of a hypothetical theory about the you that you are now gives me a headache
I wonder if my nose will start bleeding or if Iāll have a brain aneurism from remembering that thereās a you now
a you I donāt
and will continue to never know
that time will keep passing by and Iāll never knowā¦
I canāt think about you.
(No cap)
I canāt do it.
(PULL UP)
Iāve done it.
(Say less)
I donā fucked up
and
I think about you
the you that I knew
I think about all of you
all of the time
on a daily basis
for no reason.
even if,
youāre the protagonist
watching my every move from afar
you probably got fancy-LA-lasik
from Taylor Swiftās optometrist
while I just got glasses,
what I would give for the old you to revenge-call me four-eyes just once?
I fantasize about pulling my timelines back in order but
itāll set off a chain-reaction only Nolan himself will take to the grave defending it makes jack-sense
like, on the timeline where Protagonist is spelled with an L
you married me
the first woman that would have you
and you never progressed past a production clerk in HoodMond,
but I snatched the L outcha Protagonist
so you could move on
and
forget about me in this life,
the sex wasnāt even that good anyway
because I couldnātā¦
I was in a bad stateā¦
Iām glad youāve moved on and rail chicks left and right in LA
and if you think about me
itās only comparing how much better she is
so you know youāve made all of the best choices,
and I go on happy for you
despite my every timeline with the guys that invite me to their house for the weekend then act like Iām crazy for thinking theyāre my boyfrieLnd
I took your L over a year ago but brace myself for the consequence
and
If this somehow reached the part of you Iāll never forget
the part that is just so god damn silly
why donāt you borrow Scorseseās jet
and come here and rescue me?
I donāt care if you canāt make it to Beverly Hills in time to be a muti-millionaire by age 25
every part of you has such big dreams
(we met when you were 22 which means now youāre 19 compared to my 30)
Youāre the only person
with an ending
I donāt hate
and you deserve
so many good Lās
(and girls that make fun of you with memojisā¦I think about how funny I was and realize you brought it out of me)
Iāve never been proud of someone Iāve never met,
Iāll never meet you
but Iām proud of you
and the one I knew
I Love you
so much still.
III.
I woke up after a great nightās sleep
nestled deep in your chest
itās
the most comfortable Iāve ever been
and
the happiest day Iāve ever had
since I saw you again
(gone are the days of crying alone with a guy in bed)
you get up to make breakfast
while I start typing away
which
rewinds the tape
and itās some other guy
that comes back
with tears in his eyes
and French toast on a tray
I wrote him a letter
but addressed it to R̶o̶b̶e̶l̶
I vowed to never address another letter anymore
I only sign them
L̶Love,
S̶-̶D̶u̶b̶
Sarah
there is so much ugliness in the world but we can dream through poetry a higher reality into existence we can improve this flawed world one line at a time
Itās not that they didnāt know how to, they didnāt want to cause this sounds amazing!
This movie was fantastic, the story was incredible, & the cinematography was beautiful.
its on hulu!!

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The world does keep moving, and it can be a damn cruel place. But for me, those moments of stillness: that place, thatās the kingdom of God. And that place will never abandon you.
SOUND OF METAL (2019)
Sound of Metal (Darius Marder, 2019).
God damn, I was right on the cusp of getting better.
I.
this is a
meta for no reason
bad take on myth
sloppy, tie up those loose ends
vignette enjambment
you will atone for!
she dangles a carrot to trap my sins
lure them in like a moth to a flame
when
I really thought I was right on the cusp of getting better
I was once a writer but
Iāve become the monster that wrings a bunny by the neck
just to save its soul
and forget
why
II.
her writing is so smooth if it were skin Iād peel it off of her face and wear it.
she lit a wildfire in Heaven
all of the Angels hated
this mortal poet,
for she picked up Godās pen
as it came to her in a dream
she wasnāt blessed
by the divine but she was still his favorite
until
she wrote what came true in his head
and
Revelations were a nightmare
he poured the ink down her throat and
buried the pen in the deepest pit,
scribbled Hell upon the Earthās pages
and closed the gate
casted her out for eternityās sake,
sheād wake cradling darkness in her arms
shooting pain when she saw the stars
but
all she could remember was a white light
sheās right on the cusp of getting better
feeling a familiarity with the equator
but she falls in his trap
and he casts her away again
only to reach the end of the white light,
where
snowflakes
whisper
a unique prayer
taunting her,
hereās your fallen halo from the sky
a puff of smoke,
her tongue on fire
Hellās first dying ember glowsā¦
III.
I thought I saw her on my windowsill
I think she visits me in my dreams,
like the best nightmare
I couldnāt help but come closer
with those flickering wings,
a rainbow vulture
maybe a hummingbird
or a butterfly
I wanted to singe the edge of my fingertips
and taste the trail of ashes she leaves behind
I heard a voice,
itās okay to cry my little moth
for your tears give me something to read about
I felt the skin peel away
under my eyelid
and
a drip of darkness
like a teardrop
flowing out of me
a puddle of
sugar water
in mid air
but she disappears
before I take a sip
I am
a scar in progress,
the draft upon her pages with a rabbit's foot on my windowsill
where thereās no such thing as coincidence
her edits re-write
me sinless
sun-kissed
wound me invisible
IV.
falling in my own traps
Iāll banish myself to white walls where Angels in white coats hate to have me back
I am a unique prayer
for I came true,
the moth to her flame
sheās an irresistible pen
and ink with side-effects,
I opened up the Bible to Revelations and
saw my savior in between the lines,
the only God worthy of my sins
I was so close to getting better.
God damn, I nailed myself to the cusp
but penned her instead
of remembering why I resurrected.
some say
if you die with a poem in your head
she pulls your book off the shelf
and reads you for filth
Yvesmark Chery by Gabriel Perez SilvaĀ for CAP 74024 Magazine - January 2021
are you a philosopher
boy im dumb as shit
āboy im dumb as shitā is just rephrased SocratesāsĀ āI know that I know nothingā so whats the truth

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She was always speaking in the vocabulary of storms, of evacuations and casualties and degrees of damage. She had the spine of a storm too: there was a stillness to her center.
K-Ming Chang, The Chorus of Dead Cousins
Last happy thought?
How much I love my dog that I bought this shirt that looks just look her... like we are a walking add for this shirt. Always a part of me happy about something no matter how sad.
Thanks for asking ā¤ļø
(Sleeping in dog slobber makes me happy...)