chrysoulis

[chrysoulis]

she strokes a finger across your ribcage and lets it unfurl for her, lets you fall apart for her like a grace. she dances herself through gaps between your bones like lightning, shatters them. she is sewing your collapsed pieces back together. you fall apart and she fits you back together and makes the shapes form a different picture, she is reforming the jigsaw of you and cutting out edges where there was none. this is spring retaking the earth, this is winter toppled off its throne, this is her nails tracing the veins of your bleeding heart still in its ribcage. what does it mean to be remade?

remaking // wto for @chrysoulis

#ahhhh i love this!!! #i'm so not the greatest at writing soft love #but i love love love reading it #so thank youuuu for writing this ahhh ily

[chrysoulis]

maybe i am in heaven and heaven is scary

how did i get here | p.m.r.

#P.M.R. #poetry

[chrysoulis]

i. babies are born with almost one hundred more bones than adults. as we age, the solid parts of us fuse together, get stronger. we become whole but lose edges of ourselves that will never greet the sun. soft spots fade. your fractured self, sewn together.   ii. like trees add layers every year, bones grow concentrically.   iii. like trees grow around their wounds, i grew around you. the need that blossomed between hands, the ache that settled into marrow & became a companion. humans can adapt to nearly anything. trees will swell through fences, crack stone. my skeleton, exposed, might be enough to spark these nerves to life again.   iv. maybe / our bones / are born so lonely / they melt / into each other / & forget / the boundaries / forget the pain / forget how easy / it is to lose / yourself / in someone / else.

forest skeleton || a.s.w.

[chrysoulis]

this will be a network for aspirant novelists! inherent negativity is not welcome and will be banned from this space if shown. other than that, this network is accepting all types of writers! 

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#CHECK IT OUT AND APPLY <3

[chrysoulis]

i love it so much wowwww <3

holy terror // @inkflowsnetwork 

#recs #this is so beautiful #<3 <3 #my heart kind of hurts

[chrysoulis]

my sister went to the river bend and returned without her shadow two by two, they line up in front of me mine, hers, theirs and march silently, steadily their darkness spreading like a drop of blood in crystal clear water the crystal spoke the maps are lost so I continue forwards

- i lost before i knew i was playing | p.m.r.

#poetry #poems #p.m.r.

[chrysoulis]

cold touch

don’t ask me where the cold starts, i wouldn’t know. all I know is how it moves through my body, its icy sharpness seeping into all the spaces within me i touch my finger to the bathroom mirror and watch as Ice Crystals blossom over the glass until my face is broken and my eyes are greyblue but for as long as i’ve been made of cold, i’ve been starving for heat       and so i longed for you, you who was made of light and heat and desire and the minute i looked at you, i desired nothing else but to have you, i feared nothing else but that i’d ruin you, spread Ice Crystals over your golden face like i did to my own   and yet, when i touch you, when i lay my trembling fingers on your skin you sigh, lean into my touch, your cheeks rosy with warmth. and maybe i was meant to love you.      

–maybe we were meant to go together | p.m.r. | written for @julykings prompts

[chrysoulis]

Zig-Zag Girl is available now!

#recs

[chrysoulis]

cold touch

don’t ask me where the cold starts, i wouldn’t know. all I know is how it moves through my body, its icy sharpness seeping into all the spaces within me i touch my finger to the bathroom mirror and watch as Ice Crystals blossom over the glass until my face is broken and my eyes are greyblue but for as long as i've been made of cold, i've been starving for heat       and so i longed for you, you who was made of light and heat and desire and the minute i looked at you, i desired nothing else but to have you, i feared nothing else but that i'd ruin you, spread Ice Crystals over your golden face like i did to my own   and yet, when i touch you, when i lay my trembling fingers on your skin you sigh, lean into my touch, your cheeks rosy with warmth. and maybe i was meant to love you.      

--maybe we were meant to go together | p.m.r. | written for @julykings prompts

#p.m.r. #prompts #julykings prompts #poetry

[chrysoulis]

FIFTEEN is an exploration as well as a record in fifteen poems about the uncertainty of future growth, and a look back on the years and lessons already experienced.

GET IT HERE

AT PICK YOUR PRICE, SUGGESTED PRICE IS $1, PLEASE SUPPORT THE AUTHOR

Today is the first of October which means it’s the end me as a Fifteen year old poet this month. To celebrate I created a new cover for my first ever chapbook ‘FIFTEEN’ which is something I’ve wanted to do for a while! Enjoy!

#YAS #I'm so buying this as soon as i can <3

[chrysoulis]

follow the yellow brick road they told me where to go and every time i looked back i could see them pointing their fingers down the same road   so i did what i was told and i went where I should drag the witch down and make her pay they told me what to do and when i stood in front of the witch with my hands trembling she just smiled sadly left the bucket where i could find it spread her arms wide as she melted and rejoined the stars     ding, dong, the witch is dead they told me to rejoice they showed me how to cheer as people congratulated me on work that i had no hand in   i thought about how the witch allowed me to live more free than anyone ever had before so the story cannot end here

-- everyone deserves a chance to fly  |  p.m.r.

#p.m.r. #twigs prompts #poetry

[chrysoulis]

icicles dangle, frosted and sunlight-ichor glinting off of them. i’d paint it if my colors didn’t always become stagnant, my shapes crooked and broken, if my painting could mean anything like the way the cold seeps into my bloodstream. if i bled now would it drain out of me like something frozen? homeostasis, the powerpoint says in bright letters, contradicts that—but i feel frozen. my words are always regurgitated jumbles coming out clumsy letters stark red and blood-sticky onto crystaled snow, splashes bold against white. maybe i write like i paint: force letters out until they come in all the wrong shapes i don’t know how to fix, just like i paint. maybe i do everything like i paint. and all the things on my tongue are running away and—one time a lifetime ago i read something that asked why writers couldn’t be honest and i’m trying to be honest, i am, i swear. i want to burn my truths and weave delicate, frost-frozen palaces of lies in their place, but here i am stripping myself raw like peeling strips off the copper of my skin doesn’t just reveal bloody hunks of meat underneath. my fingernails carve faint swirls into a frostbitten lake—just let my diving body shatter this ice and let me swallow my breaths of biting water, just let me break my way to other truths.

frozen lake // wto for @julykings

#recs #this is beautiful #kavi you kill me #stab me through the fuckign heart

[chrysoulis]

i can hear myself in the sound my fingers make when they                         T A P           against my thighs and i worry that everyone else can hear it too hear me screaming without words                 who                               i am                 what i seal up my mouth and ears to hide myself but it’s not enough my body speaks on its own          it’s          not          enough you offer me the world but i already have one of my own and i don’t want to leave tap           tap                     tap                               my fingers                                                       nothing left to do nothing left to see                                  nothing is enough so everything will have to suffice

—living life in fast forward  | p.m.r.

#p.m.r. #poetry #userobsceneic #inkflowsnetwork

[chrysoulis]

As you can see, I’m laying on the ground, and I don’t know anything about myself. He destroyed me, I think. I wish I had something better to say about him these days, like the way he brought me flowers at the hospital, or his glittering eyes in the sunset – but reality is catching up on me. And about high time it did, because it was always late these following years. Aisyah was right. He had no right to let me break like that. He had no right to let me wither away like that. But I’m on the ground, and it’s only his hand reaching out to me. I know the other one’s holding a razor, but I’m desperate.

ari to anto, (yet another) another character-exploratory poem; originally written for day 10 of nbc’s 2017 30 day writing challenge, dramatic monologue. (via humaintain)

#yes okay just rip my HEART OUT #this was beautiful #i'm in love with all these ppl #recs

[chrysoulis]

my jaws crave to gnaw / but i’m terrified of the bite / terrified what it will mean to us / so i’m sinking my teeth into my own arm / knowing this is how someone will find me one day / with the white of my tooth scraping at the white of my bone /

my teeth - crooked spaced out teeth - drip blood marrow / and gold / when i pull them out / it feels like sucking all the bad blood out / leeching out my overgrown veins / and you call it ichor / like i’m some sort of god / like i’m some sort of god to you / and it makes me ache i could be that to someone / to you /

people like me better when i’m nice / adjective adjective adjective of all the ways i’m better do nothing but mix cocktails of hurt / i’ve seen it in the eyes of girls just waiting to go home / people like me when i’m nice / just enough to make them smile with their teeth - straight white teeth /

and i like me better when i’m nice / call it human nature but i’m still naming it teenage mistakes while i’m here / trying to make my smile straight on camera when my lips are tilted just so / what angle makes me sweetest / my teeth the goldest /

- Biting Down | L.B  © 2017

Written For @julykings Week Three Prompt: Gold Tooth

#recs #Lau all of your poems just KILL me omg

[chrysoulis]

i. Lakshmi opens a casino resort in Macau, builds it higher than the moon and covers it in gold disguised as glass and steel and polished wood: things that whisper ‘wealth’ in quiet tones. She plays the game better than ever; her worshippers number the thousands, praying nightly at altars of slot machines and roulette wheels, all of them chanting her name, the threads of their fortunes sliding through her hands like the red watered silk she wears. Vishnu stands to her left and lets his touch linger at her waist, plays with the lotus in her hair; she thinks she’ll let him catch her this life, and smiles. … ii. Ganesh writes code in San Francisco, wears elephant shirts to work, spends his money collecting what passes for modern art— mostly Cubism and Andy Warhol, though he has a few framed photographs of tasteful nudes, and of course he can never resist stealing statues of himself from West Coast art museums— but only the ones that were stolen first (which is most of them). He writes letters to his father on Fridays, talks with his mother on the phone every night, and lets his brother sleep on his couch, still high on adrenaline and likely sporting a black eye or broken jaw. They don’t really talk, but Skanda ruffles his hair as he walks past, and Ganesh rolls his eyes. Some things will never change. … iii. Sarasvati sings on street corners, writes poetry for strangers, trades thoughts for coins and coins for thoughts, spends all her evenings performing on half-lit stages and half her nights talking of art, history, philosophy—she giggles until she snorts when most of her audience thinks she’s spinning lies. That’s not how it happened, they say. Of course it was, is her reply. I was there. I am always there. … iv. Brahma teaches at a local university and thinks, I am too old for this. But he writes books anyways, corrects dissertations, delivers lectures in a smooth, modulated voice, looks awkwardly away when his students come to office hours to flirt, ignores Vishnu when his friend shows up beneath his window, serenading him with a wine-tinged voice (still fresh and sweet despite the centuries). Come on! he shouts ‘til he’s blue in the face. Live a little! You are spending too much time with Shiva, Brahma answers, still prim and proper after all these years. But he leaves his door unlocked, doesn’t say a word when his wife comes home smelling like smoke and half-forgotten secrets, her eyes bright with new knowledge. Guess what I learned tonight? she says, and shows him, and he thinks he’s living quite a lot, thank you very much. … v. Ganga swims the English Channel, floats in the Dead Sea, takes a barrel down Niagara Falls, smuggles contraband on the Nile, spends a year, then two, then twenty in the Amazon. She enters the Olympics once—water polo, not swimming, does she look like a bitch to you ? (Nobody asked you, Parvati.) Her teams wins a bronze medal, and she goes home and tosses it in her river, watches it sink as she tongues the new gap in her mouth, wonders if her sons have been born again, wonders if they need their mother to drown them. … vi. Kali dances ‘til the soles of her feet blister, 'til her toes ooze blood like carmine paint, macabre patterns forming on her soul-black skin. She dances in crowded clubs, chin tilted up, eyes wide open, screaming, screaming. She gets up in the morning, hunts down men-turned-monsters, mouth grinning, screaming, screaming. Her teeth are stained red (like her hands, her feet). She is always hungry. … vii. When strangers come to her temple and ask her how she finds the modern world, Devi throws her head back and laughs and laughs until she can laugh no more—the sound of it a monsoon, the sound of it a cracking of mountains. “The world has always been modern,” she says, smiling. (do not say she smiles like a tigress; the tigress smiles like her) “How do I find it? Simple. I keep my eyes open, and there it is, mine for the making.”

they build temples on every shore | a.s.c. (via literallysunshine)

#recs

[chrysoulis]

they say war is hell, so peace should be holy but darling, the only thing i ever held sacred was your name in my mouth they say do not take the lord’s name in vain, so i muffle the sounds against your neck, and hope the heavens are not listening

but if they could hear me, they would not begrudge me this (via literallysunshine)

#recs