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Quote
If you don’t remember Death, Death reminds you to do so. And if you can’t cope with the facts the next best thing is to go away for a holiday
Memento Mori Muriel Sparks

Personal
Well guess who's right back where they started again? Spending time with that same old someone, living in the same place I once did when I started posting here on dA, and whiling away the hours in the same libraries under the same sun and the same sky but this time I feel different inside, more stable and happy and sure which can only be to the good.

I am writing now and then, posting now and then, proud of my work now and then, but mainly doing other things like PhD research which is actually a better outlet for my creativity and emotions somehow (even I'm not sure why).

What are your plans for the summer? Make me jealous with all your travels and reading and brilliant imaginations set free across your pages! Admiration is a wonderful catalyst for self-improvement.

Currently Reading: Eat Pray Love Elizabeth Gilbert, I Capture the Castle Dodie Smith
Just Finished: Vile Bodies Evelyn Waugh, The Valleys of the Assassins Freya Stark

Feature
the hexedbring me a noose; i haven't felt panic since the west was wondrous and easy to control.pile up kindling and spit flame upon it, nothing you have built is sacred.rake me over coals, tie my body to the riverbed; aim each impossible curse at my skull.a bounty to whomever can bid my neck break. twenty-nine teen.it's the blank static hum of a city that's trying too hard. it's sleeping less and studying more. it's getting As and still not feeling good enough. it's getting a C and feeling worthless. it's reading Faulkner and Morrison and all the great American novels not because you want to but because it's required for class. it’s volunteering at the shelter because it’ll look good on your resume. it's working weekends because you need the money. it's staying after school because you need the recommendation letter. it's debating intersectional feminism and global warming with your Tinder date. it's doing it for the Instagram. it's pictures of your ... dead is a four letter word, but so is life.still have your poster up on my wall. wrote you more poems than i’ve ever written another person, whittled into paranoia for you, probing across empty spaces and missed phone calls and once in three months but it’s alright because we’re busy living life from here. made a joke about a baseball bat femur. made a promise to survive. i hope all the love i have for you reaches you, wraps around you like a winter coat. i still don’t understand isadora’s scarves, and sure, i write poems about nooses sometimes but i just want to hold your hand, just want you to stay warm. painstakingly scrawled on an age-crumbled scrollmap engraved on my back, you traced the ley lines, the long lines the cycles of the moonmust grappled and dust dappled, i lay in your cartographer's crate fault line fingernails scoring your cherry chest hydrocodone of the humanat a loss for words, i sit. and continue doing this since the beginning of morn'. full fraction full of all quarters where i'm from, my throat is full from the saliva and blood that runs but my heart is full of love that stuns. my love that stuns. my love, the sun. light of my pupil, how this love sinks deeper. have we met before? love letters all too familiar but this bloom all too new. disclaimer advised no one has been as close to the one as this one and i think this is the one. i think she is the one. there is only one that i want.unlike poets before her, satellites and mechs-in-a-can, she is not controlled by such confines. what a con... on love, in disaster: a triptychI.perhaps people should come with warnings, like-leaves clutter everywhere -makes a lot of messes and mistakes -doesn't know how to close cabinents -occasionally runs stop signs -tries to sleep the depression away -knows how to fall in love but -doesn't know how to stay thereII.every road on the way to youwas filled with potholes, every turna lesson in can i grab something tighter ,every red light and stop sign and speed limitseen as a suggestion and not a ruleIII.in hindsight i should have realized:you see love as an adventure, not a destination. recklessly, without a parachute, i sky- divedinto you, praying to be caught only to findyou ... keepsakesmaybe it's like this:staring at a snow globe in summer smudged fingerprints on the outer glass; you can't see anything but the people who touched it before youand it's just an old sliver of life under the fog, a fresh fall always drifting in lesbian cowboy boot anthem.i took your garden key and grew roses in your backyard. the summer is so hot it burns, but i like to think that i am a knockout in this leather jacket. i do my make-up to make me look like lily of the valley, like sunflower ends and the tips of matchsticks. with a laugh curdling at the ends, i frequent the local pub on karaoke nights. i get off to the sounds of murder, sometimes i find a pretty vampire girl and i press her against the back-alley wall, leave her with a hickey for once. my knuckles are mountain ridges, which has been said before, but i mean it in a voodoo way. when i bite soft on them avalanches roar like a promise. last fri... introduction.---if a man loves you he sees your walls like a canvas for him to trace his hand upon and write German love poems in white paint. years later he will find that hand print and measure it to his own and laugh and say yes, I was here when I was young and a different person and you were yet foreign to my eyes. he will laugh into your skin and introduce himself again in case you forget.hello, he will say, I'm the man who finger painted my intentions on your distrust in a language you didn't understand. he will speak to you in German and you will still think it sounds angry and he will say, you thought I was yelling when I was only in love with ... Fourth Line Loveyou snuck knives into my spine with surgical precision, planted a gnarled seed in my heartsoil & I, stubborn to make it bloom beautifully, tended each day with tender care black roots seated beneath a pouring glow I continue to offer each morning as water, as life, as another way I wrap the weeds around my fingers & pull, pull, pull forever this ritual pinpricks of purpleblue imbued with Springhope, colors uncover I coax them & send the weeds tumbling like a bullet back down a cold barrel still there are some things I cannot reach my back hurts but I know the petals will come after springthere is always some thing left behind, and in the months after spring time is always reserved for reassembling the pieces for rediscovering the way my reflection looks, for trying to stitch gold around the clouds as if my hands were a sunset.in the months after spring i am searching for the person i remember being before losses outmatched gains and even the ocean looked emptier than usual and mountains slouched— their posture decaying the way a lover stood, curving like a question i could never answer.in these months after spring, i think i can start again but winter is always greedy and i always crack.my hands get so dry even if my face ... untitled #39picture a lion a bird in its mouth, you— brave heart. trying to pretend your teeth aren’t sharp (enough to kill me). picture a bird in a lion’s mouth, hoping for mercy, waiting for a promise, wishing to be a cat to claw its way out. you saw my shadow mistook it for a giant and then, in your arms, i became the saddest girl alive.