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The Writer Travels Home.

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Man, I haven’t been back home in a while. Safe to say I miss it, but I just… can’t seem to come back regularly, you know, the way normal people do. I haven’t seen these walls since the winds held hands with the winter, and the sun couldn’t do nothing but stand there and mourn. The rooms must ache with silence by now. Dust probably settles where love used to live. I long for this place I used to call my own. I too mourn it from time to time — tortured by wishes and what ifs, by memories that arrive uninvited and leave the door wide open behind them. Perhaps nobody wants me there anymore. Perhaps home got weary of waiting for my quick submission to the brilliance that is I. So do I never go back? Do I swallow my pride, pack half a bag, cross my fingers, and hope half this heart of mine is still enough for you and I? Because the rest just… wouldn’t understand why I ran away from home before. They never do. And maybe that is the cruelest part of longing — knowing there is a place in this w...
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LETTERS WRITTEN TO RAIN

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  So I'm finally writing you back .Years later and I've summed up the courage, a little hell and hopefully some well presented words.  I read old emails the other day in the middle of getting a few insignificant things done, over and over, just circling familiarity.  They sounded beautiful,  perhaps just as you were from when I felt I knew you; in all their honesty. It felt like a performance of a life time, CPR, giving life to a deflated organ again. I felt I wanted to write you beautiful things. Abandon my creative pain and otherwise relatable version of what it looks like to be beautifully broken, but I like it here.  It feels easy, even though it isn't. Rebuilding, fixing and mending, this time without running from terrorizing memories that devoured all the smoke in my lungs I pulled as weapons of mass destruction, killing everything that was of you, from the soles of my feet to the cracks in my spine, from those kisses. It was almost like breathing. I wante...
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ASSERTED FLOW, SETTLED AND PLANTED FIRMLY FORWARD.

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Ready, when you are, But even so, without you, to be of love, as uncertainty wraps around you but not this self Lucy, Ti's you, ti's you, ti's you, Of life, once again, Of life, ti's you unravelled, yet to be rediscovered. So Welcome, Darling at your dearest, Perhaps softest. How does it feel to breathe? Again? In harmony? One rhythmically with self, Failing and winning so successfully,  simultaneously with a mind untamed as if reborn. Untouched by men, gratitude lacked in women given love, from broken pieces collected from places touched by men with dirty hands, Oh, how I've missed you my lover... I've spent nights fantasising on these love notes I'd leave you. They've echoed deeply in her brain, flowed through heart and twirled in the stomach creating chaos instead of butterflies, floating violently up the spine imagining themselves as words, Yet they got stuck, trying not to precipitate into tears my mother wept that drive alone fro...
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Inside U, Inside Me

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L et me start this again. I reintroduce myself. A million and one times every year. Remade, rebranded, bandaged in pains and gains and fuller, more hungrier for this feeling than ever.  I greet you in the name of something new. Something I knew, and always known. I write this for the hopeful, hopeless and painters of pictures in a mind letting love flow from your brain to your heart.  I've been touched. I've been touched right. More gentle than I imagined possible. I've been smiling more, laughing more and more, more wanting that feeling of you. I've tasted a beginning of a whirlwind of the best and worst of you. From left to right, upper lip to bottom your fearlessness for the world. Come inside of me and see. All the tragedies blooming, the chaos meeting calm creating a beautiful storm, I think you'll make a home for yourself inside of me soon enough. There's a part of you I see in me and mine in you so it's only fitting. That I belong, wholly and solemnly...
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LAST CYCLE

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"will I ever, do as you do, perhaps feel as you do." I'd like to think I've grown. Perhaps he's shown me so much of everything I've been missing, from you, all of which I hate myself a little for taking so long to fathom.  So here I am, after all these new things, new places, new people still encountering him for what feels like the last time each time. I think this one's a little frustrated with me, for not being to able to extract that part from me, for perhaps understanding he potentially never will or because it has become all on me. It's dreadful to watch. We're certified to be each other's everything in such completion, where if he moves, I do and breathing seems easier when he's around. He feels a little like a home I've needed, but I'm terrified to say it out loud that I still do, somehow, somewhere deep in this purgatory, know he owns me. Well isn't this instantly sickening. I felt the same with him a year ago. I took m...
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NEW CYCLES - In My Head

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 Purposely, so into each other, he consumed me. Everything about me, he seemed to love it here. He saw me. completely, solely, visibly so unbothered by the drift in my energy.  For me, it was him still. He had broken into me. To the core and to my depth, my very thing he'd told himself to love about me, that everything about me is love and done in love. He had said, one time, in my presence, to some girl, "she's a lover, and I love that. Everything about her embodies love."  For a while I waited for him to say "I want that for her. to give it to her or at least learn her language and make it mine." I couldn't escape him, at the time it seemed even if I wanted to. In that moment he made sense, because sexually, he was all I knew, my unfulfilled fantasy, the person that had told me "don't move" while his being was inside. I had his soul deep in mine, and for the first time, he felt like mine.  This new cycle, was patient and gentle. He knew I...
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NEW CYCLES - Using One Another

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"I suppose I scared you off huh?" I asked, laying on his chest listening to him compress his breath without being too obvious. After listening to my tragic stories about how love did me dirty, he came back, again and again. I wanted to trust his interests, they seemed morbid but I compared them to a man with good intentions but men lie most, unnecessarily. He left that day knowing me, partially yet so wholly. I mean it was my entire life from just 10 months of a forever full of incomplete cycles. I knew my mess was alluring to him. He'd come back, I told him, and he'd want to save me, out of love or out of pity, but one way or another he'd become my new cycle of chaos. He'll like my depth, then grow to love it until he realizes it's as permanent as my birthmarks, then he'll leave. I wanted nothing from him; well, expect to use him to revisit a time I once loved, or plenty other moments, with another man, that wasn't him. I couldn't have him in ...
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