The god of my heart says,
I’ve glittered every door knob
in your palace of ache.
I’ve left feathers
on all of the windowsills
to tickle your toes on days
that you can’t back down
from your own darkness.
when you can’t break
from the mote of mirrors
that is hemming you
A two-headed horse
trying to run
in two different directions
tear itself apart.
There’s a waterfall
made of women
There’s a river
for you to ride on.
I am not one
of the sharp pebbles
under your knees
when you are praying
— What the God of My Heart Says to My Heart ✮ Amanda Oaks (via amanda-oaks)
8:41 pm • 20 July 2014 • 289 notes
Mildly bad news:
The charger for my laptop fizzled out after a long battle against its destiny (which was sealed the day my puppy nibbled at the wire, some months ago). As a result, my laptop is currently in a zombie state. I am borrowing another one with which to write this post. The point is, all my photographs and scribblings and bits of poems and pictures are not accessible to me. I’ve ordered a new charger, and hopefully I’ll be up and running again soon. For now, I’m going to be doing a lot of reblogging, which means I’ll be perusing a lot of you guys’ blogs!
Thanks again for your support, and please, please feel free to send any questions or comments my way. I don’t bite (or kick or scratch or punch or sneer or verbally attack or bean with snails, etc).
7:55 pm • 20 July 2014
I’M COMING BACK, DON’T GIVE UP ON MY BLOG! THANK Y’ALL! :-)
I will be gone for the next little while again, but I’LL BE BACK! Don’t give up on me! My presence is going to be patchy for the next two months or so but then, if all goes well, I’ll be back to my usual routine.
I am so happy to have y’all showing interest in my work. Lately I’ve had a surge of new notes on posts and followers, which makes my heart (/ego) all warm and melty. Thank you. I almost always follow back.
If anyone has questions- ANYTHING; curiosity about meanings, recommendations, advice, major philosophical , searching for inspiration, music, random- PLEASE, please, please send them my way. I don’t bite; I promise! Like I said, I’ll be gone for a bit (anywhere from a few days to a couple weeks- not sure yet) but I promise to answer anything that I receive as soon as I’m back.
Also, FYI: major progress on my manuscript. I’m working with a fabulous writing mentor who may have some helpful agent/publishing connections when the time comes. I’ll keep you guys posted.
Again, thank you all very, very much. I appreciate your support.
Yours Truly, CB
9:55 am • 13 July 2014 • 2 notes
Letter to My Best Friend Regarding Her First Heartbreak
Darling, when he told you God
doesn’t want us to be together,
he was trying to say I am afraid
of women stronger and more faithful
than I. There’s this commandment
that goes: Thou shalt not accommodate
the whims of a moronic asshole
who bails out on beauty in the name of
“God.” Well, it’s not written in the Bible
quite like that, but the point is,
I’m glad you kicked him out of your car.
I’m sorry you had to drive home alone.
I’m sorry he wore his forget-me-not blue
Oxford shirt and pretended his heart
was pinned to the sleeve. I’m sorry
his heart is more cardboard than nectarine,
lurking in its small, safe home. There’s this
terrible lesson that only the most
extraordinary have to learn, which is:
Thou shalt not despair in the face
of far more fragile souls. Thou shalt not
for a day forget the miracle living in
your skin. Darling, you are a sun-seared,
sea-glass eyed creature of fire and bone,
of salt and honey, of colors even Jesus
Christ dare not name for fear there are no
names beautiful enough. Darling, sometimes
the boys will show you their prettiest
seashells and they will love like children
in Toys’R’Us until they discover you are
the ocean. You are Atlantis. Sometimes,
they will run home to simpler girls.
You- you will gather yourself into
a mosaic and seal the cracks with gold.
You will love and rearrange and love
until you love your arrangement, and that
is when he will find you; the one
with the angel feather tucked between
his lungs, the feather God
Himself blessed with your name.
5:44 pm • 12 July 2014 • 50 notes
Live Through This
It began in her wrists
taut with pulse and ripped
through her arms
to the chiseled vertebra
at the base of her neck.
Fire licks her nerves. Heat
eats soft tissue into
ash and firefly embers.
Smoke fills her head.
She flames through
the acrid haze, knows
she is not arsonist, knows
she is not ocean, knows
she is not angel. If
you ask her why
she still breathes,
she will tell you:
Somewhere, there is light
that does not burn.
5:03 pm • 12 July 2014 • 12 notes
Still My Moon
I can’t stop the tide in me
from chasing your moon.
We haven’t talked for six
months. and you may have found
new oceans, but listen, I
thought love was bullshit until
I lost you and now I know it isn’t
because of how much it costs
to tear off the tags. There are butterflies
in body bags that used to wing
for you; birds in my ribcage that used to
sing for you and now the mockingbirds
are paper cranes craning their necks
between my bars to find
your eyes. Now the paper cranes
are bleeding heart doves. Even I
can tell how pitiful my love’s
resilience is. I think etiquette involves me
leaving you be, but you were the first
open sea I felt safe swimming in,
and I knew we were kerosene/lighter
from the beginning, but I’ll never
forget the way we loved while
the whole damn city burned down.
4:57 pm • 12 July 2014 • 28 notes
What I Should Have Said and Done That Day On the Rooftop
That day on the rooftop when you kissed me cocoon
and I kissed you butterfly, you pulled up your shirt
to reveal the slight curve of your starved belly
over the waist of your chopstick jeans, and you told me
you hated it- I can’t remember what I said back, but I think I said I know.
I think I said something that was not and should have been:
You are beautiful and you need to feed your beauty. Please
eat. I should have kissed the sliver of fat clinging to your civil-
war-struck body and I should have held you instead of
letting you hold me. I should have listened to the statements
in your questions. I should have cooked for you.
I should have held your hand for an hour and a half after
you finished eating. I should have cried in front of you
instead of crying alone, so you could see me wanting you
to love more than your absences, more than your bones.
4:51 pm • 12 July 2014 • 2 notes