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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Photo

Like a river flowing through me,

I feel the push of longing rolling down my back

in a surprising swell

that can only be moved, but never stopped

without the course of time

and unfavorable seasons

that are beyond my control.

I wish to push you

out of my mind and out of my heart,

like I can dam up the currents

and take you away.

But no, not now,

because, even on a bright, sunshine day,

you move on

and I sink my feet

into your banks

wishing to know

how far you’ve gone

and if I’ll ever leave the mud behind.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Audio

She said I don't know if I've ever been good enough I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in And I don't know if I've ever been really loved By a hand that's touched me And I feel like something's gonna give And I'm a little bit angry

Well, this ain't over, no, not here Not while I still need you around You don't owe me, we might change Yeah, we just might feel good

I wanna push you around

Well, I will Well, I will

I wanna push you down

Well, I will Well, I will

I wanna take you for granted I wanna take you for granted

Yeah, yeah, well, I will

She said I don't know why you ever would lie to me

Like I'm a little untrusting When I think that the truth is gonna hurt ya And I don't know why you couldn't just stay with me You couldn't stand to be near me When my face don't seem to want to shine 'Cause it's a little bit dirty

Well, don't just stand there, say nice things to me 'Cause I've been cheated, I've been wronged

And you, you don't know me Yeah, well, I can't change I won't do anything at all

I wanna push you around Well, I will Well, I will I wanna push you down Well, I will Well, I will I wanna take you for granted I wanna take you for granted Yeah, yeah, well, I will

Oh, but don't bowl me over

Just wait a minute, well, it kinda fell apart

Things get so crazy, crazy

Don't rush this baby, don't rush this baby, baby

I wanna push you around

Well, I will Well, I will I wanna push you down Well, I will Well, I will I wanna take you for granted, yeah, yeah, yeah I wanna take you, take you Yeah, well I will I will, I will, I will, yeah Well I will, I will I will, yeah Push you around And push you down I wanna push you around Well I will

#matchbox twenty #song quotes #song lyrics

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Summer Rain

Not until now

have I danced in the summer mischief

and felt its warmth.

The summer rain

comes and goes

like it chooses

its own timing,

but, really, I’ve always known

the weather doesn’t change

until I am willing to accept

its consequence.

You might roll away

or tap on my roof at night,

but the rhythmic tempest

of a summer rain

always comes home to me

on every horizon

and every shore.

I’ve learned to love

how rough or gentle you can be,

because you may change

and I may change

but I will always be

here

finding my footing

in your hazy pride and reluctant nostalgia.

There’s something about acceptance

the reminds me

of times the skies have opened up

without warning,

and I, with baited breath,

asked for one more time

to start again.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Scorched

I don’t hate you.

I don’t.

It’s the times

When my whole body

Rejects a loving touch,

and my mind is a blazing disaster

sending fire down my spine

and smoke into my lungs

That make me want to.

It’s those times

When I almost do.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Glass

Am I a glass vase

collecting the dust

and moisture

of your neglected flowers?

Am I the glass

that cools and warms

to your touch

so that I may only break

because your skin

on mine

left a faint

reminder

of how you can make me hold you

but you’re only here

until the water

grows stale.

You fill me up

But leave me wanting

more.

I am condensation

and dew drops

catching what I can

to fill the empty space;

I am a collector

of temporary things

that are beautiful.

It is not expectations that broke me.

I am a glass vase

that cools and warms to the touch

with my vulnerability

for careless hands that only see

what I can be: quiet, molded, hungry.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

I’m dealing with some uncomfortable feelings.

I struggle with pushing people away. It’s what I do. I’m convinced, often, that people will leave or that there’s some sort of obligation to be polite. It may be illogical, but it’s a thought that drives me more than it should.

I was feeling overwhelmed today by the sheer volume of unanswered messages, emails, and phone calls. A stack of, “Let’s catch up soon”s and “I’m so sorry I’ve been busy”s. I finally started to work my way through everything and I was really struck by this one conversation I had left hanging on pause.

A friend of mine, one I hadn’t spoken to in quite some years, very comfortably opened up to me and pointed out some very specific details of my life as well, things I had shared years ago. I was taken aback by this. Not so much their willingness to share; it was their keen interest and recollection of my life and some of my personal anecdotes that really surprised me.

That’s when I realized, not even in a sad or morose way, but in a fascination with myself kind of way, that I think so little of myself in my relationships that I expect others to not think of my life, stories, and friendships as anything noteworthy. It’s rather unexpected, because I am so deeply concerned with others’ lives and their experiences. I can vividly recall ways in which someone made a difference in my life. I can even recall a girl, [name redacted], that I talked to once in a college dorm courtyard and gave her a reason to live. I gave her my number that night, but we didn’t talk much after that. I remember how she looked and I remember the look in her eyes. She hugged me.

I remember, once, being dressed in a costume where only my eyes were visible. A friend’s mother, whom I had never met, couldn’t stop remarking on how I had “the kindest eyes” she had ever seen. I haven’t spoken to them in years as well, but it stays with me.

Today, as I typed out a very long message responding to this aforementioned conversation I had left paused, I felt so uncomfortable with the idea that this person cared enough to remember such details about my life from so long ago. This was the thread that I pulled until I was examining how I view a lot of things. How I hold the most impossibly high standards for myself, but I hold the lowest expectations for others.

And here I am. I’m uncomfortable. It’s the timing of it all. I’ve been reconnecting with people lately, or trying to, and that usually comes with allowing some kind of vulnerability or relying on someone to be in control of things. I’ve chosen to simply not engage with anyone for a long time now. There’s a sense of safety and control in that.

I’ve felt, over the last couple of weeks, an inherent anxiety attached to these interactions. Hyper vigilant and analytical about things. If it’s someone online I don’t know, then I can disengage and feel protected. However, if it is someone that I know personally, someone that knows me truly or I’ve let past my walls, it’s anxiety-inducing.

I’m an anxious-avoidant type. If I feel the slightest change in a dynamic, I will likely be sitting on my own little island of anxiety about it while pushing away. It means that too much attention freaks me out but not enough will make me also freak out in a different way. I dislike this about myself, so uncomfortable is the only other place to be. It’s forcing myself to send a second message when the first goes unanswered. It’s telling myself not to take it personally when conversation goes dry or responses slow. It’s reminding myself not to block and delete people or things based on whatever ridiculous ideas I have in my head.

I wasn’t always this way. For several reasons, I struggle with the fear of abandonment. I know this. I’m not done with healing that. I know this. I’ve just entered a new territory of being in an officially open relationship, and as a polyam person there’s a lot of relief in having a sense of boundaries and consistency in my relationships. It’s exciting to me but also brings the icky feelings because I struggle with commitment and saying I’m in a consensual and ethically non monogamous relationship seems like a red flag to a lot of folks. Icky and exciting is uncomfortable. I know this.

Which is why I’m here admitting that I’m terribly uncomfortable. Living somewhere in this place of feeling needy and also wanting to be alone; wanting to seek reassurance and also never admitting to it. Feeling terribly preoccupied with relationships I’m currently prioritizing, convinced that it’s not mutual, while terribly guilty over relationships that I’m not prioritizing out of sheer time and mental energy.

I don’t have a poem tonight. I’m just awake and struggling with an awareness that I’m so close to isolating myself again when I know that I shouldn’t. All because of some self fulfilling prophecy that I have deeply rooted in my head that says to run before I get left. Why? Because “brain weasels” go to work, strings together a few data points, and then gets a conclusion.

It’s my blog, so I can write it. It’s my diary for the night, I suppose.

Hope y’all are doing alright out there. May the brain weasels leave you alone tonight. I’m wrestling mine here.

—Tox.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Poetry

Line

breaks

me into

a beautiful shimmering light

dancing

on your lips,

if only for a moment,

hovering on each letter

dripping

like honey

from one word

to the next line,

softened

by the reminder to pause.

If only line breaks

were little mistakes,

but they’re carefully placed,

daring the reader to

push farther or

pause

however long it takes,

like little movements of waves

lapping against the shore.

That’s why I love poetry.

I know how a line can

break and

beg

for forgiveness

for leaving someone wanting more.

—f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

New

I don’t miss

the old me.

That version

that let you

tell me who to be.

No,

I don’t miss

the girl I once was.

If I miss her,

I miss you,

and I just can’t

do that to myself anymore.

I’m new.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Musing

Is our love strong,

or our fear stronger?

What keeps it moving forward?

A tether to the past,

or a hand grasping for the future,

as if She answers to anyone

but time

and uncertainty.

The book isn’t written

by the pages filled;

it is written

by a series of strokes

counting the spaces left

on each blank page ahead

that says,

“Hush, my darling,

there’s still time.”

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Avem

I read somewhere

that birds sing just before dawn

to tell their mates that they made it through the night.

I guess that’s not so bad.

All these nights,

crumpled papers and wrinkled sheets,

tossing and turning

without any sleep,

I thought I was waiting on someone

to sing to me.

No,

it was my night-song

singing to the world,

“Yes,

I am still here,”

singing to you,

“Yes, I am

still

here.”

Every page you turn

is another poem

that scooped up the love

I had to give.

Every line you read

is another night

of pouring myself out

into a chalice

fit for a sunrise feast

to break the dawn

and say it didn't break me.

I’ve written books,

and, with weary eyes,

I look to the skies

and sing this song

that says,

“Yes, I am still here.”

I sing for you,

but I,

I sing for me.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Electric

There’s an emptiness

that I can’t fill.

It’s a lonely hunger

for something more.

I’ve known empty

and I’ve known isolation;

they’ve been my friends

and my protectors

when I’ve needed something to keep me still.

But this...this

isn’t the kind of more

that I’ve been searching for.

Is this addiction

creeping back in?

I’m needing something to fill up my mind

like every tick of the clock

is my time to shine.

There isn’t rest

or stillness

for a hunger like this.

I brought it all back together

when it came apart.

I found out that I can do much more

than I ever thought.

I used to lie in slumber, waiting,

skulking by my baseboards

in a kind of anticipation

of what that more should be.

I was thankful

that the world

didn’t ask more of me.

I have it now.

I righted the ship.

I weathered the storm.

It’s so quiet. So still.

But, still,

I’m awake now

wishing

to stand in a red-light window

or dance on a stage

with the loudest music.

I want to wear my hair purple

and wear the highest heels

with black stockings

and not care how any of it feels.

I want my legs

to feel silk sheets.

I want to swim my way

through the currents of uncertainty

and submit to its risk.

I want to touch, feel, kiss,

taste the things

that I’ve long missed.

There’s an emptiness

that I can’t fill.

I survived the lows,

and I put my youth and victimhood

on the pyre of dumb mistakes

as an effigy of my weakness.

Is this an addiction

that calls me back?

A chase for the highs?

Or is this a lonely hunger

For something more?

I’ve always been the lucky one

who could never be satisfied

with anything

until the room is electric

and the only words

anyone can breathe

is more, more, more.

—f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

I’m in an odd mood that has me publishing drafts and deciding that I will name them + add appropriate hashtags later.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Poet

I would like to think

I’m a love poet

because,

for all the times I’ve gotten it wrong,

I still can find something

in everything

that had the audacity

to be right

and everything

aligned.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

4 AM

Sometimes

when I lie awake at night,

I wonder if you’re staring at a clock, too,

with these thoughts.

I wonder if

the streetlights are bright there

and the rumble of the cars

reminds you

of how even when the world slept,

we were so alive

together,

for only a moment:

headlights on a highway.

You weren’t mine.

We collided

with such force

that I forget that,

because I thought I could see

this coming

from even so far away.

Still,

the cars pass by,

humming their movement,

and, still,

I wonder

if you lie awake at night

at 4 a.m.

wondering

about me.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Space

Draw a map with my fingers

from point to point.

I’ll tell you the stories

that made me who I am,

and, if you and I were meant to meet,

it was written in the stars

that the spaces in between

are really ours

to hope

it all makes sense.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Tower

Oh, you silly one.

You’re never the exception;

I wasn’t built to admire you only.

Cast me out now;

hate me

for the reasons you loved me.

The fall from the pedestal is far.

It is you that built the shrine,

and it is you

that will crumble

when the foundation cracks.

I’ll topple this tower.

I’ll fly above it now.

--f.d.v.

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firstdraftvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Gentle

Hello, handsome.

As your nose

grazes my cheek

and I trace your

collarbone

with my fingers,

mapping the curves

that move with the drumming beat below,

I hear you sigh,

“I love how you are so gentle when you touch me.”

Oh, if you only knew,

I was taught to be gentle

by those

who wished to cage me

when I wanted to be rough.

I’ll submit

to your power,

but only because

I know

what power can do

with a woman like me.

—f.d.v.

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