A leaf under frozen waters
Every breath a sigh
Of tickling hopes
Prone to break
With every last try.
Edward Weston – Tina on the Azotea, Mexico, 1924
Can you read me
From all the tear stains
On the books I lent you?
I dived into it, although I was told not to.
I dived into the abyss, a splash of hues all around; beautiful yet dangerous.
I am blinded. Reality is as bleak as it could be.
Death smells close, inching closer with every passing shade of red.
And yet I dive in deeper; deeper till I hit the rock bottom.
Photo Art By © R U S L A N • I S I N E V
When you said you would leave
I stood there, with nothing but a blanket to save me from the cold.
The blanket saved me from the cold but you failed to see that I,
I was numb with how cold my heart felt.
You left it cold.
You left and I don’t blame you
Because from what you taught me
I was my own God
And so were you.
I have my own battles to win and you,
You have your own dragons to slay.
But I felt numb.
Numb because maybe you let go of my tiny finger one minute too soon
That I hardly got a second to get my feet together and stand upright.
And you left.
You left for your share of battle scars
And I, I watched you leave like a helpless kid that doesn’t know what to do.
You left, leaving me to be my own god.
I was my own God now, but was I?
Just when I had made peace with the fact that it is my call to be what I want to
And do what I want to,
That my experiences, good or bad where mine to wear like a proud scar or like a badge of honor
One fine day you decide to show up around the corner and call them all a stain on my soul
But wasn’t I my own god?
Wasn’t I the one who decides?
Or was it all a make believe fairy tale like the ones I begged you to read me?
You decided to show up with a new face
A new head, and a new self that said a woman is a woman, and a man is something a woman could and should never be.
You said I was shameless to wear the attitude I wore,
That I thought my body was my own
That I could paint my hair a dead red if I want
That my tits bounced way too much, so I should strap on a bra and stop being an attention seeker.
You left back then,
I’m leaving you now
No explanations owned no goodbyes earned.
By Ahn Sun Mi
A touch we crave. The one which lets sparks fly all over.
Chills; a blood rush.
A touch, is all it takes.