some unfinished business

Some really shitty first drafts; I look forward to working on my writing for the rest of the year, but for now, I am burying these here. Pretty awful, I think, but it could only mean I have room to grow still, if I work on it.

Came to think of it tonight.
I remembered that I forgot your eyes
for a while. You were there, and then
I would have killed to catch their light.

Come to think of it, I might forget
for a while. I remember your eyes.
You were here and now, the day and night.
There is little I would do to not regret.

Come to, think of it,
tonight, I might forget.

— untitled, 2014

sail away, you
on your rowboat for one
to land, to home

it was just a sandbar you think
to console yourself. temporary
reprieve from the tireless
ocean waves that hide home

during those full moons
when the sky feels closer

Sometimes you
miss it in the dark
land elsewhere
stay the night—

sometimes you miss it.
it was still a sandbar
you think.

—islands, 2016

She was obedient. She loved her mother, the old crone, more than she had ever thought of loving anyone else. I am afraid of the old cliches that have haunted affections, so I could not have much to say about her that would not make me feel ashamed of being so weak, but she was so very beautiful.

I had been drawn to the flowers, and so had she.

I walked the Earth only because beneath there was nothing but an emptiness unfulfilled by even the brightest ornaments or the purest golds and silvers and bronzes. I could have taken the dog out for a walk, but his three parts were as untamed as the rest of the emotions asleep within me: one was always hungry, the other always tired, the last one always a little too unenthusiastic. Having all three sorts sprouting out of one body and bringing them up for a walk sounded far too tiring. Even as a god, I did not think such a chore would be easy. Taking their lives would be the easy option, but that would defeat the whole purpose of the process. So I might as well take a walk for myself. A breath of fresh air, or so my brother would say. Lucky for him, he was closer to where the air dance around all day; if he lived underground he would think better than to say such blasphemies.

To be trapped in one’s thoughts, however, was of a different story. I could wander around the Earth throughout the entire day and yet not find any peace at all. My cage was in my head.

— excerpt from a piece about Hades and Persephone, 2013



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