hard-headed woman

I am a child of my country’s turbulent past. I drink my ancestors’ blood from my father’s cup. I am possessed by a memory I have never lived.

You say you don’t believe in love.

I guess to believe in something, you must learn the definition of it.

I do not know the definition of love.

But I know the warm glow resonating within my ribcage in old love songs, one verse at a time, tingling my spine. And I know the blush on my cheeks and the tear in my eyes when you make me smile for a little too long. I know the way you finish my sentence and the widening of your eyes when I steal your thoughts straight from the neurons in your brain. Or the way my skin moves in crashing waves at your stroke, or the way my body craves yours at the end of everyday, or the way our lips are magnetic and when they collide it seems to never be enough. And I know the security, the self-love, self-worth, self-appreciation that began with you and now end within me.

And since my senses are all I have, I believe in everything glowing, blushing, crawling, aching, seeping, whispering, serenading, exploding within me at every magnificent sight of you.

I want to bury my face in your face,

the tall slender hill of your nose tucked into the empty slope next to mine breathing warm life slipping down my lips sweetening the tip of my tongue,

your soft lashes light and gentle brushing the mount of my cheeks like a painter’s song,

your eyes swimming in blue and green glowing on my skin and reading it like poetry you would never understand,

the richness of your flushing lips trembling in a breathless craving for a taste of the secrets of my flesh and bone.

It is unfair how much you can damage someone and still walk away with your life and self intact as if nothing has changed without ever having to acknowledge how they replay the careless words you spat at them like prayers at three in the morning and retrace your heavy grip around their throat with spite burning in your eyes, and how scared they are of never being able to love themselves and therefore anyone else again because of the worthlessness you had drilled into their bones, and on you will walk, whistling your victorious tune, with that smirk floating on your lips, believing yourself the king of the world.

A tribute to doomed lovers

a new edit of an old story I wrote a while back

I want a man.

I want a man with a boy’s smile.

I want a man whom I would catch, in the corner of my eyes, longing for me when he thinks I’m not looking.

I want a man who would trace each syllable of a million love songs he’s carefully selected for an empty night.

I want a man with sighs in his eyes that, as I breathe in, tug at my chest, until my skin explodes with an intense hunger.

I want a man who would put his life on hold two seconds at a time to give me his all.

I want a man who would make my whole existence tremble at a graze of his distracted fingertips.

I want a man who, with me, takes turns at cops and robbers, each always a step ahead of the other.

I want a man with a depth of whose heart I will never comprehend but lays there, always, dormant, waiting to trap me, as I trip and fall, between the gasps of his lust, begging for him to swallow me whole.


But I need a man.

I need a man with a secured sight.

I need a man who shuts himself closed with only me inside.

I need a man who knows that his entire being belongs to me.

I need a man, so lovely and kind, who paints our future with a single brush of his smile.


So I have to rip myself out of these feverish fits of fantasy, as

Frost knew it best:

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep”

miles to go before I sleep.

(Source: hard-headedwoman)

This morning

when light broke into my room and

I slowly woke with a heavy head,

the sky was blue -

bright and clean

the wind was fresh

chasing weak clouds on their way -

there was no traces of fire

of explosives

of thundering sparkles

that took over the sky the night before.

My dense heart thumped

my eyes cracked open

and I said a timid

good morning

with shadows of wine

lingering on my lips.

It was a new day

it was a new year

but it was just

another day

another year -

my smile was still fragile

my fingers remained trembling

my heart still thirsty

my mind still stumbling, flickering, quivering

for something more



so intense that I would

drown, gasping, wrestling


that I was alive -

but it was just

another day

another year



Today is one of those days 

where my head is sunny

and my chest glows 

yellow and gold -

A stream of love-like shiver

flows through lines of my body

I never knew I had;

the tips of my fingers tingle

like they have a tune to dance to -

My eyes remain closed

but my vision is clear;

my head is foggy

yet I can feel the world -


Today is one of those days

where my mind, my heart, my guts, my fingers, my toes - I

am in love

with nothing in particular

and my existence grows large

with such clarity

and joy and pain and love -

Love, so heavy, so full

of love 

flooding, gushing 

from every pore of my being

filling up the room 

but with nowhere to go -

(Source: hard-headedwoman)

My chest is keeping me up tonight:

barely breathing

I trace needles creeping under my skin -

nails dragging, skipping, scraping

from my neck

marking the line of my back -

my ribs crackling at each other

pulling in, out, in, out, crushing

collapsing into a black hole

that is my chest

swallowing my air, my blood, my heart, my self in


(Source: hard-headedwoman)