Mental Health

Elasticity

The self sabotage roping you in.
How to trust in that shaky hydra of skin?
As you search through it all,
Everything you thought was love;
Horded into corners.
Pushed aside, rummage through,
When your mind can bare to touch it.
Separate the conversations,
Into more tolerable piles.

Stacked up to the ceiling;
All those long ago friends.
You behooved their art,
Spinning wonder towards
The ethereal 9 to 10.
Treasures found in medicine cabinets, borrowed hasselblad lap shots
On bedspreads, and shower curtains,
Became sudden backdrops.

His black hair tugs
At your memory strings.
Backwards in the darkroom
For the make-out session.
Only wanted you as a moving stranger.
We exposed and dramatized our Destructions.
Too much vodka weeping
And highway speeding.
But he followed you home;
To thread you into a knot
And began to call you his friend.

How many more after him?
Lowell’s alarm,”they’ll never come back.”
His firewords,
Burned it all down,
Heaps of ashes.
It was idealistic,
The origin of expectations
For them.
At last you can’t pretend.

In the morning,
You still have your asana
And a mantra to reshape and liberate; everything you’ve enslaved.
For daily shallow sighs, eventually snowballs into an avalanche.
Only your breath remains
For the restitution.

Art: Sara Willett

Words: Nara

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Mine Na 13.

A blanket of camouflage

Don’t you wanna touch?
Her soul’s intricate web of lace.
Her crushed velvet skin.
She’s been on fire for centuries.
Every birth, born with cinder eyes.
Past deaths so violent;
Left violet raised marks
In the next skin,
Every sin a tender shame.
Provoked to pinch and pull at her flesh.
A pattern maimed.
A timid frame.
Before, behind closed doors,
Leaped in camera’s eye.
Until out the window,
She layed in crimson snow.
Now in this life, her 22nd urgency,
Has faded in a winter’s remorse.
And she floats on into the age of 34.
In zenith, no more.

Poem & Art: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt

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Kryptonite

The Ruminating Corner

  
Swaying in my heart.

The quarrels we start.

The tandemonium we spark.

For Adeline stole my line,

And sketched you so vividly.

That my heart vexed from the memory.

And wire spires poke from my skin.

I never understood symmetry.   

My spine is winding, crouching in pain;

Listening to the rain.

Writing your name.

Hoping to stay sane.

Longing for the moonglow.

For silver linings are brighter after we fight.

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Into the Skin of Europa (series)

Skin’s Deceit: Into the Skin of Europa (part 2.)

An image on the oval.                                                                                                                                     A great lack luster view,
That was printed in the memory                                                                                                           Of June.                                                                                                                                                               A stark-white body of an ex-lover;                                                                                                         She really never knew.
A birdsong as an alarm,
For a summer morning.

Nadiah makes the decision not to                                                                                                         Wilt underneath the covers,
And stumbles to the bathroom.
In hopes, that sleep made her                                                                                                               Skin iridescent like a candy wrapper.
Perhaps, even she transformed Into
An ancient siren, with a magical
Sparkling blue-green fin!

But once more she sees that reality
Has won again and, that were her feet
She used to go stare at the same
Old stains.
Thin long reddish lines meet her                                                                                                     Tender blue topaz eyes.
She has to empathize with herself                                                                                                         That she is special.                                                                                                                                             Not being refined like her sisters,                                                                                                 Doesn’t mean she needs to give
Into dusk’s torture.
Where she sleeps with men
That don’t sleep next to her.
And where she pretends that she                                                                                                           Will soon arrive at love.

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

Enshrine Skin

The flutter of flags in the wind,
To sanctify her solitude of grievance.
She wants to be worthy of this utterance.
She has ripened in this season…
Spent with eyes closed and casted to the ground.

Golden bands to open the mind’s eye.
Mummified in golden chants,
To caress the awakening of skin.

The ritual has begun.
Mala crowns her blossoming mind.
Unearthed, in the sacred,
To become a living shrine.

Poem and Art by: Naomi Ruth W.

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