Posted in fragments, life, Poems, story, thoughts

oblivious ( i gave you…)

” I think I just might hate you for peeling away everything I thought I knew –but — but how would I know, after all, I live in deceit.”

He stands, stretching his legs. Oblivious.Goes on another day. Oblivious.There is always work to be done and dreams to be caught.

There is always the sweet kiss of oblivion

against your ruined skin.

I think I just might  love you

for stripping away everything I thought was there to protect me from going after the power of flesh.

And was this just another game for me

and another life lesson for you.

I am always wishing you all the best

and letting you hold your hand to my throat

while I cry and try to help you all the more.

Maybe I am better off admitting that I was never here to heal you

for how can I heal you when all I do is hurt?

Why am I always chasing after people who only spit in my face and tatter my skirt?

I gave you my words.

I gave you my mind.

I gave you my heart.

and after all of that

you left

oblivious

that I had also given you

the only thing I cannot regret giving you.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, thoughts

Fear: In children and in adults.

The other day I was babysitting again and had a lot of time to think about fear as I attempted to put the two kids to bed. The oldest refused to go to sleep because, he eventually confiding in me, he saw monsters in the closet. I can only speculate that those monsters were merely the shadowy forms of a coiled up sleeping bag and a box on the top shelf, which as I looked at them myself through his eyes seemed very monstrous to me as well. I, however, knew that they were just boxes and blankets and not, in fact, some monster that would jump out at devour me the moment my eyes slid shut. In that sense, anything that I could claim to be a fear of mine would seem more rational than the fears of children. The question that I mostly had in mind in that whole scenario was: Whose fears are more relevant or better put, whose fears are really to be feared. I don’t mean necessarily the exact situation of a monster in the closet versus my fears but rather things children fear in comparison to the things we tend to fear as adults.

We stopped checking for monsters under the bed when we realised they were inside of us.

unknown

What do I fear?

I fear: putting myself out there and getting hurt,

failing,

living a life I will despise and becoming the people I despise,

hating,

my thoughts,

my capabilities and my incapabilities,

never knowing what could have been,

that all I do is hurt, people…

to create a short and vague list. And I think most people, especially adults fear things along this line if not these very things.  certainly, there is no questions that these fears are valid as with other common fears. I have been told in relation to another fear of mine that it was childlike, that is my fear of spiders. I hear this a lot from people who do not have that fear which is technically more of a full blown phobia, that I need to grow up and pull myself together it is just a tiny creature. In one sense that fear is more rational because some spiders can, in fact, hurt you and the instinct for me to get away from danger kicks in and takes over. However, despite the more rational aspect of this fear and maybe how it is seen as more childlike could one not make the argument that the chances of me being harmed by a spider or to take the babysitting example, of some monster in the closet, are slimmer than the chances of me inadvertently hurting people that I care about. I think to stack those odds it is more likely that I will fail at things that the boogeyman will tear me to shreds in the dark of night, People get murdered all the time but the chances that one will get murdered despite that are rather slim. SO, does that not validate my fears, the so-called adult one’s and almost belittle those of children?

I think that answer to this entire question of whose fears are more real, is a question that cannot be answered here alone and I hope opens up a new platform of thought for you even if I don’t reach a conclusion at the end of this post. However, I do think that in some ways, though childhood fears are less likely to happen they are more valid. If we look at my fears, a lot of them are created by the illusionary fear, this idea that we let worm its way into our minds and set in its roots deep, taking over our entire mind. Yes, it is real and the pain and sorrow associated with my fears is real as well but if I learned to not fear those things bearing that pain when sometimes it will inevitably happen would not be so much of a burden. Though I am wording this very badly and not explaining what I mean to say in the best way, I hope that my point is at least being made. My point being: Adult fears are sometimes fears we create for ourselves because we misunderstand life but children though they do reflect and think deeply about things usually have fewer things to deal with, fewer worries and so fear more instinctual things and in that way, our fears being created and theirs more natural, I could say that theirs are more reasonable.

What are your thoughts/comments?? I hope maybe to explore this idea further with you later.

Thank you for reading and bearing with me through my muddled train of thought.

-Eva M.M

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease

to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

 

Posted in fragments, life, thoughts

Reflections on my vulnerability #1

All things in their place and time

even the haunting notion of forgiveness

because, I think, we both lost ourselves in the intensity of sensuality.”

I sit, saying to myself, cupping my fist in my fist, clasping my fingers around my pale knuckles and clenching.Some wind runs itself through my spine. A wicked bird streaks itself across the silent spring sky. Blue.In the distance, the moment is dismembered by the bladed cackle of an ambulance wailing against my blank canvas. I lift my legs from the earth and curl my arms around my knees to shield them from seeing. I watch and the sky murmurs.Blue. I was told in the adrenaline of vibrant and rough-hewn conversation that I am vulnerable.Those words both the razor to my skin and the stitches that will heal me once again. The mundaneness of hunger, its casual indifference towards sorrow, reminds me that I am still alive. Alive but I am fear. A mother walks by pushing a stroller, glancing over at me nervously. Does she see my feathers fall from my perch? I unravel myself, stepping onto the paved park path. “Move forward.” I say to myself. I am resolved. I have forgiven you though I can not yet forgive myself. I walk home next to that algae covered blue.

All things in their time and place.

All things are given their due.

-Eva M.M.

Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in Poems, thoughts

the ceraunophile

charged

the night beams

he shifts against the earth

and I am

regret

the ceraunophile

reads the sky

back to the water clogged soil

and I am

fear

ignited

the world aflame

he dreams of freedom

and I am

alive

the ceraunophile

traces my jawline

sparks of radiant electricity slicing

and I am

eternal

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Thank you all for reading. This poem came to me because I was reading this article about lightening and came across this word and after some investigating, I found out it basically means one who loves lightening and thunder. Though it can actually mean one who is physically sexually aroused by thunder and lightening and I did slightly add that idea to my poem, I mostly stuck with one who has a deep love and admiration for lightening. I wanted to keep this poem sparse in that I did not use punctuation and kind of just let the words flow instead of being separated so to speak. While I know this is far from a perfect poem I wanted to keep it this way for many reasons. In a way, it is kind of jarring and shaped like a strange lightening bolt. Let me know your questions, comments and thoughts though. Thanks.

Posted in song anaylsis, songs, thoughts

Song Analysis ‘Human” By: Sevdaliza

I am very excited for today’s song analysis because I have recently discovered Sevdaliza, an Iranian-Dutch singer and songwriter who creates music you want to dance to, sing along with and often gives you something to think about as well. I chose this song in particular because it was the first of her songs I heard but also because for the shorter amount of lyrics that it has it still is one of my favorites of hers. In blue is the link to the music video which I urge you to watch but after reading through this post and composing your own mental idea of what you think it would be like because I assure you it will be a very interesting music video.

Human

Nothing…

I am, I have
I breathe in and out
I own a heart
An ear and an eye
I’ve only been here one time

It’s passing me by
Been in and out
And in front of my judgmental eyes
My precious disguise
Business so cold
Can’t cope with my own
How to not fail

I only have a few brief comments to share with you on the lyrics to this song because I think it is very hard to do a deep, interpretative reading of this song but I do think something needs to be said. The raw language she uses creates this very earthy, simple, we exist attitude. We are here. We are. We have these things. Simply put, we live. We are human. Yet, as the lyrics above begin to delve into we also have lie and disguises and we pass judgement. Ultimately we ask ourselves: how to not fail?In short, we are human.

I am flesh, bones
I am skin, soul
I am human
Nothing more than human
I am sweat, flaws
I am veins, scars
I am human
Nothing more than human

I am flesh, bones
I am skin, soul
I am human
Nothing more than human

I am human
I am human

Thank you for reading and checking out this artist. I hope you

will come to enjoy her music as much as I do.

–Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in Poems

Morning Meditations ( 4.11.17)

First, before I share the poem I wanted to wish you all  beltaed Easter, I kind of fell of the grid this past week and a half and now that I am on Spring break I am kind of just veging out staring at the celing instead of getting all the things I had planned to get done done. Anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful Easter and got to spend some time with loved ones.

Secondly, I did a reading of the this poem as with a few of my others but I need advice on how to share audio on this site. I don’t have a plan that allows me to so I nee to link it to another site. If anybody has an idea on what site to do that with or any ideas in general about the whole process that would be much apprciated. Until then, I will just share with you the written version and if I figur things out later, reupload it with the audio for you to listen to me nervous voice. Thanks millions for the advice and as always for reading.

 

Morning Meditations

the trees are dusted with the light of the sun

the grass is veiled with the dew of the morn

-ing rises, sleep slowly slinks away–away

and I

posed

with me spine to the rays

and my head tucked away

–away

the icy breath of waiting to be known

the burning pause of being alone

solitude, festering fear fades away–away

and I

posed

with leg over leg

palms pressed away

–away

the radiant tendrils of tranquilty

the dominant tastes of freedom and peace

being, I feel this life pass away–away

and I

posed

with my back to the earth

breath floats away

–away.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, Poems, story, thoughts

The fallen and the sullen.

He says, “Trust itself is gangrene.”

I watch him cry, tucking his fingers within his palms, clenching, releasing, uncurling, repeating—Being. I want to reach out, brush aside his downpour but my joints are clogged and my heart is heavy. I blink. Then I force myself to breathe. Still. Still my parched lips will not dare to speak.

He continues,” I let her corrode everything I was,” and angrily in midst my storm, I want to scream at him, “You are corroding me now, you hypocrite.” I remain silent. His voice like acid against my skin. I let him empty himself to me.

“You are such a good friend.” He says, “friend…friend,” a dagger to me. I blink. I force myself to smile lightly, reach out, wrap my arms around him but still my lips they will not part.

“Everything she told me, I let myself think that was what I really was–” He pauses, “–am.” He pauses again, “but I’m not and it took you to show me that. I think that is why I met you, You were sent to heal me, You’re—You are an angel.”

I curl in rage, wanting to lunge at him. Kiss him. Wrap my hands around his neck and hurt him. Conflicted: I remain silent.

“You just somehow understand. I’ve never had that before, you know. I have always felt so belittled—insignificant, like a speck in everyone’s eyes. You taught me I am spectacular. You, just so gentle and non-judgmental. You’re an angel.”

I boil, instinctively placing two fingers against my wrists, nervously wondering if he can see my fury. Racing, I surge to myself, “You know nothing of me. Can’t you see the wickedness in my eyes? Can’t yo see I am pain?” He can’t see a thing, red-rimmed eyes full of release. I force myself to stare into them but all I see is my own grief; And my lacerated lips bitten bare, they will not speak.

Dawn sounds of death,

Spring smells of decay.

He speaks till dewdrops descend. We sit together, the fallen and the sullen drowning in the deafening horizon of being.

He stands, stretching his legs. He holds out his hand to pull me up, a morphing soul peeling apart at the edges.

“So this is goodbye.” He says. He leans in, kisses my cheek, Pulls away Walks away. I stand staring at his back, receding, falling from view, until he vanishes.

-Eva M.M.

Thank you my lovely ink angels as always for reading and sharing your thoughts and feedback with me in the comments!

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in book, book review, books, thoughts

Book Review: ” In the wood” By: Tana French

My rating ( out of ten): 8

Looking for a murder mystery that dives deep into the pathos of the human mind? Looking for a story with a twist that takes place in the Irish countryside? Well, then this is the book for you. Tana French pens a stunning must-read in which two murder cases weld together past and present as one man struggles to decipher the truth in the face of his own battles.  Detective team Maddox and Ryan are a perfect pair able to solve any case they work on together but the weight and tragedy of the case strain their relationship. We are allowed to see this tension between the two main characters as well as their inner lives without anything being taken away from the depth and intensity of the plot.

I am actually going to Ireland this summer and after reading this book, I am a little weary of going into the woods and at the same time I am lured by the beauty of it.  I hope that if you also pick up this book, you will enjoy it as much as I did.

Have you already read it? If so, what are your thoughts on this book? Also, I welcome any suggestions from you guys as well on books that you think I would enjoy reading.And most importantly, thank you as always for reading.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

The human heart #3

This is the third and last version of the human heart poem. Very short. very brief. very different but after reading this version and the other two versions as well, do you think taking out this many words altered the poem too much or do you think the same initial feeling was still carried all the way through. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below and thank you as always for reading.

The human heart #3

Fragile.

Fleeting.

Built to break.

Dawnduskular.

It shatters.

Muddled.

Lise is loss.

Stitches snap.

Bleeding

tears.

Gone.

Vanished.

Nothing.

My dreams

passing

to silence

the silence,

his arms:

Stillness.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”