i’m sorry for not titling things, i just like them without titles and sometimes i can’t think of them lol.
song: frank ocean’s music, all of it, always, especially white ferrari
i’m in the kitchen,
arms folded and
frank ocean singing to
me
somewhere
i feel i’ve forgotten how
to write poems
forgotten how one line
tumbles
into another,
how one word clasps
hands and tangles fingers
with another,
how the desperate love of
the letters holds until
i’ve formed some representation
of how i feel and think
(welcome to my mind)
i think about godspeed
and blessings,
and the warm ruffle of feathers
before an Angel touches you.
i think about warmth
and cold
and how devastating it is
when everything seems too warm,
or too cold
i think about playing memories back and forth,
about nitpicking moments
and searching
and clawing
and wishing you knew then,
and how i’ll always be there for me,
how i am
i think about how i’m in the kitchen
and how i love the kitchen
and cleaning the kitchen,
and how i even love the leaky tap
drip drip
i realise, arms clasped around myself,
that here,
in this very lovely kitchen,
there is something utterly delightful in
the ability to hold myself
i trust the Universe to catch me here,
i trust the Universe to hold me here,
hold me close until Parts become Whole
and Oneness consumes me so
that i can’t even think coherently anymore
my skin is warm to the the touch,
and i think maybe an Angel has visited me,
like the faeries i see flying around the kitchen
or maybe my skin isn’t warm,
but id like to believe what i believe
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