❄️amabee❄️

can you ever become
more than you are?
Questioning means
you’ve already begun to start.

#poetry

obsessed with my new friend #witchhatatelier

laugh and buck
be wild as fuck
but never forget
wild ones still hug their mamas necks,
and your bad behavior will bite
those you love next.

#poetry

silent is the bite
of death upon my neck
a reckoning,
a reunion,
a ruination of futures we never met.
The taste of the ecstasy of teeth in me
what a painting we must make—
Death and I,
in lovers’ embrace.

#poetry #vampire #goth

Ambedo

n. A kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details; raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream in your coffee. Briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

Mother if I could live again,
I’d be your Mama, your next of kin
so you could know the grace
of being raised by such a gentle soul.
If the universe can grant me a wish,
let it be that we all meet again
#poetry #grief #mother #daughter #processing

let me shelter all this love inside a
child whose soul is as bright as yours.
who loves to open kitchen windows and living room doors.
who wants to see every four am
fog.
I’d embrace your mystery and teach you to value it as fact.
Children are geniuses,
everyone knows that.

Hold you tender and dear
teach you math and never to fear
why an answer might lead to pain.
I’d erase any trace of that from your brain.
Make pastures far wilder and greener
than those that raised us to hide our better selves.
If life should be so kind,

I do not want children in this life.
Yet in another,
I would tuck you in.
Tell you every bedtime story.
Lift you on my shoulders to breathe from higher places
I know not if you ever ventured to.
Mother believe me I—if we end
up tied together in another life—
would be your Mom this time.

Scrolling inevitably brings grief to me,
universally isolating as it is.
Eventually will I think anything
besides, “I want my mom back.”
Eventually will I breathe through posts reminding me—oh right. . .
Mom slipped into that final, silent sleep.

When!
When?
Please.

#poetry #grief #dailypoem

What is a wish
if not a promise
to oneself of a future endeavor?
What is a dream if not the
seeds of a wish?

Where are you planting your promises?
When do you water them?
When do you harvest?

Since when did obtainability have anything to do with wishing-dreaming-wanting?

#poetry

kindle less fires,
than you remember starting.

visit more tables,
than you can fathom setting.

laugh and cry and sing,
words alone waste life’s mysteries.

do more than a luna moth might,
knowing the exact time until they die.

Love so deeply,
our grief comforts more than aches.

#poetry

Obsessed with #witchhatateliertrailer as if i needed an excuse to cosplay her again

Happy birthday, Qifrey! (19 November)

I shove you in the words as if they
will fill the ashes on my desk with thoughts.
Its a conversation,
or perhaps I do it just to hear you again
whispered, tender, grotesque--a gentle decree
"Remember, no dog-ears, leave pages free."

#poem #poetry #grieving #writingpoetry

Smiling in stillness, stuck driving a pickup
getting up to nothing good I reckon.
I knew not the story behind the snapshot,
it was handed to me at your funeral.
Where all the goodbyes grieve like I do,
it was nice to say hello to something new.

I shove in a photograph
right after committing our titular taboo
I want to try something new
in the newness of a world without you.

**Dog Earring**

Lost in other realms
I read and reel
until the crickets start signaling
it's the moon's time to feel.

Habit flips down a corner,
you always begged not to dog-ear a page
remember--"leave no trace!"

Endless reeling,
stone cold windows of steel
the icy winters of youth
know just what the years steal.

What I once begged for—a sled and an hour—is a flick of the wrist.
Unnecessary. Next year.
The sledding hill has been barren for years.
If it snowed would the urge drive my bones?
#poetry

A bird that cannot fly retains its wings
i cannot say eloquently what i cannot say plainly.

i can only erupt
vomiting like Vesuvius
as everything turns to ash
and call myself a monicker earned for feats far greater than words from me.

I retain Poet, flapping endlessly.

sunset like a painting
circumstances from dateline
overnight corpses and coffins and coffee become my Sunday times.

My sister bent over,
clutching so tightly I thought
she would never let go.

Tears reflect, rolling down
but the metal has no arms
with which to wrap around.

So I do.
Swaying to her sobbing tune.
Everyone returns to life.
I convince her we have to go.

She lets go.
Did I?

there are 496 instances of grief
in my voicemail box

it’s near five hundred now
i remove the phone app
there will never be five hundred
i hide all notifications
I need no more reminders
of what once always was
of what now never can be

The phone rings
instead of Mom
saying it’s fine
saying “sorry to worry you”
I hear “There’s no easy way to say”
what the caller’s title conveys
the knowledge seeps in
through silence anyway

Mom won’t be calling again

being lost? It’s life’s only purpose.
When the time comes to lay down
your bones
then you’ll be found
so for now
fly directionless
fly free
fly endlessly

north— the way I lied
south— how we met again.
to the east, supper time
in the west morning coffee
brewed under Sunday’s Times.
When we lift up the hood along the drive
everyone is trying to get by.
there is no world that does not encompass
the endless efforts of humanity

sunset like a painting

northern lights