Color, love

The Rainbow Tree

In my sanctuary, the cerulean butterflies nestle
Their rhythmic fluttering peels my bark,
To expose my inward colors
That spill out and color-bomb as a rainbow
into your streets,
inside your home,
into your bedroom
and to dance in the loom of your heart
That flows upward
sensing to change the curvature of your mind
Into shuddering ecstasy
of the smearing iridescent presence of me

“Blue is the warmest colour” -Alt J

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Echo Muses

A Shading Response

After the subsiding of the color shock,
granite grey spills into my day
As liquid rock passes through these lens,
and up to mercury,
to surge the cerebellum bay

Panic flutters in my hearth of garnet consumption
Held a mudra to feel the rhythm
Within that upper mantle — a wild outcry
Some bottled up words burn brighter

You possess the flood
Let’s interrupt our patterns
For we our interdependent

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Art Illustration + Poems, Mental Health

Julie’s Mica Koi

She’s getting hit with temporal beats.
The neon spine waves — a felt music.
In the metallic night,
banish the derealization.
After the slit,
under the glitterance of scales.
Pain’s slivered mountain, entirety of fiber landscape.
Turned brazen, open the breastplate,
the golden garden awaits.

Rebirth into blooming blood clots
of affectionate friends.
Pond luck, beauty within the muck.
Her perseverance blind and by perchance?
Reality is dew saturated
in her cut palms of presence.
What happened happiness left?
To stop crawling out of her skin,
and sink back into her pores of molecules.
The bodily hearth.
The fervent of living.

Art and Words: NaRa

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Mental Health

Nacara

A ghost gaffs in my pearly bones,
to plant a splitting cellular rumor,
You piece of junk.
Burnt out as a string of lights.

At the ledge of my heart,
I sought magnificence of green aventurine, glowing room.
Where a child walked through,
a forest to a beach of silver sands
and sunstone shells.

As that child, I sat gathering seashells.
Preparing to build a bridge to mother’s lunar craters; to be engulfed, in a child’s mind a solacing embrace.
But the dawn always broke with the numbing morning antagonizing,
You’re too late.

Nowadays, I’m aware of her nature,
as cold and distant. Only a mirror, to the warmth I desired, in my blacken nights.

But I know the spuns of iridescents are still within. And I can burrow in the empty chambers of the furled spiral.
Even if I tip on my side and sink into the depths of a cave in the ocean; my love will never runout, dear.
For some, like me, must contract the fragmented consciousness, to revive back into the ever spinning expansion.

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Mental Health

Under the Channel, resting Solitude

I’m just one little rock,
In your river-bed.
The crowd, a fizzle of flooded bubbles;
To wash you with compliments and cut you deep down in your stoney bed.
Without their fickleness you’d would have forgotten your essence, fashioned as hard and dense, but with soft edges.
For their loving nature, is a constant rushing; destined to remember after we’ve all gone away.

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Mental Health, Mine Na Poems

Torn and Sewn

There’s gotta be
something more
beneath me?
More than this human heart.
I’m petrified at what I’ll find.
Just one little cut underneath
my bags of breath.
What flaws to see?

The deluge of empathy,
To not feel this dread alone,
Of these after-effects.
I know, I try so hard, to disguise.
I still want to be treasure!
To recover with silken weavings of your intricate masterpiece.
But how am I to be sure I deserve your crowning?
I’m meek in my garments of flesh.
And prefer you to see me as a mirage.

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Mine Na 11.

The Oleander Cocoon

I enter in this arch of light above my heart.
Take me back, to that gentle place.
Where I tread upon before age.

I hear a faint crowd in the back,
“Nurse, the scalpel to drag across the chest.”

I’m walking through a bush garden.
Oleanders to my right side.
Oleanders to my left side.
Only their sweet scent can drown the surface pain.
They conceal and protect.
What is left of my folds of consciousness.

In the inwards of the garden,
I rest on the alabaster ground; to bask my pallor body in the crystal light.

The spirits here are tender.
They delicately burrow love atoms in me.
While the living take me apart and rearrange me.

They lay me in cool chambers to relieve the surface heat, like a sunburn stinging inside of me.
I’m wrapped in satin flower petals.

Cocooned here, until I emerge
glistening…glistening
with child eyes.

Poem: Naomi Ruth

Image blended with Newsha Ghasemi Art

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