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sunflower-5-daily-oil-by-Krista-Hasson

‘Sunflower’ by Krista Hasson

I’m running out of breath;
my sweat is overflowing.

My thighs are widely apart;
he’s in six-feet deep.

I can taste my tears;

I can’t feel my legs.

He’s giving me life but
I know this is deadly.


Whose grave is he digging?

Is it mine or his?

Will I die again 
or is this the good living?

Rebirth

'Longing in Silence by Aricadia

‘Longing in Silence’ by Aricadia

It is always hard-
cutting strong, karmic cords.
It’s like a birth experience;
isn’t it why we sometimes
cry in fetal positions?

In truth,
one is birthing oneself,
and conjoining different pieces
into one self.

Art and music help,
writing included.
Patience and hope are necessary

because the ‘umbilical’ cord
that attaches one to the past,
to the old self,
always fall and seals off by itself,
gradually,
the pain leaves,
maybe even slowly,
and the memories and lessons are left.

Praise for the Sunflower

Sunflower

Oh, how beautiful you are!
Look at you;
see how grand you’ve become!
From your darkness came this light;
from your dark seeds of pain,
piercing, heart-wrenching pain,
came these beautiful, bright petals,
such awe-striking sight!
I want to lose myself in you;

you are the clearest, sweetest dream.
I want to find myself in you,
your royal highness,
Queen of Wands.

I adore you!

My Love, I Don’t Understand

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‘ Reclining Lady’ by Margaret Garcia

Baby, now that you’re out of flesh,
do you really still see me?
Do you rub my belly when we’re together alone?
Do you still hold my hand when I pee?

Darling, now that you don’t have a mouth,
can you still taste some of my food?
Do you still giggle when I dance unclad for you?
Do I still get you in the mood?

Honey, without your hands and arms,
can you feel my temperature when I’m ill?
Do you twitch my nipples and kiss my lips?
Is my love a thing you can feel?

My love, do you like my new waist beads?
I can’t tell, and it’s driving me crazy.
Why won’t you come take me,
so I can be with you?
Will we never make a baby?

The Priestess

The High Priestess (2018)

Painted by Kiarra Lynn Smith

The high priestess lives on her throne,
the wounded healer,
scarred to the bone.

Drenched in her own precious blood,
the tears she holds in                             
could make a flood.

The souls before her form a line,
her chants, the bread,
her music, the wine.

She closes her eyes to see and feel;
she was raised to serve,
uplifted to kneel.

Falling in Love is Masochistic

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Painted by John Park

I will never understand,
for as long as I live,
why people crave so hard,
why people ache so bad,
to fall in love.

I know that falling is nice,
falling is like flying,
and flying is nice,
but when the clock strikes 12,
one will have to pay the price.

Landing is tough,
landing is rough,
there are cuts on the face and neck,
and blood on the thighs and head.
The heart is broken into several pieces,
and air is taken out of the lungs.
The knees lose life and strength,
and the sides become so badly bent.

I hope they learn a lesson or two.
I stand by the scene and I watch,
hoping they’ll never, ever return,
but people climb on love’s hill again,
with smiles on their lips
and laughter in their mouths,
wobbling with a partner in hand,
to fall into that dark pit once more,
to die again.

What Have Love Do For Me?

Red Scar Peju Alatise

As I dey look you for eye,
your pity just dey do me for mind,
but the wahala wey you dey look for,
na the wahala wey you go find.

You dey shine eye well well but
e be like say you no dey see.
My body and blood don hot well well;
what have this love thing do for me?

I dey always do plenty things for man;
I dey cook all kind sweet sweet food.
Of all the man wey I don love,
las las, no one even do me good.

The palava wey love give me too much;
I no just get strength for pain again.
Abeg waka away comot from my front;
If I love you now, wetin I go gain?

Between Worlds

SLEEP BY RENAT RAMAZANOV

‘Sleep’ by Renat Ramazanov

Do you know what it means,
do you know how it feels,
to be one of the living
at a time when you are dead?

To not be of that world,
the one you left behind,
or be fully in that one,
the one that is ahead.

You are able to move
but you can barely walk.
You are able to say words
but you can barely talk.
You are very sensitive
but you can barely sense.
You remember how to remember
but you can barely think.

You are able to hear
but you very barely know.
It’s hard for you to understand,
and so painfully so.
You are able to look
but you can barely see.
You’re hanging in midair;
you don’t have any wings.

To not be able to rewind
and start all over again,
or be able to move on,
and fly far far away.

Do you know what it means
when everything means nothing?
Do you know how it feels
when you cannot feel?

The Cycle

GetAttachment

She holds the key to your heart,
after you hand it over to her,
and when things don’t work out between you,
she throws the key at you.
You pick the key up,
turn it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tell yourself that she has locked it for good,
as if she has the power to.

When you hold the key
to the heart of a new “she”,
after she hands it over to you,
you delightfully throw the key at her
when things don’t work out between you.
She picks the key up,
turns it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tells herself that you have locked it for good,
as if you have the power to.

Each person nurses their pain
and doctors their true feelings,
dwelling on past pain,
staying away from true healing,
until something or someone
shows up to show them

that the heart does not,
the heart does not need,
the heart does not need a key, anyway.

Fighting Our Demons

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We start to fight our demons
when we stop fighting,
suppressing our emotions,
keeping our hurts in.
When we accept transformation,
and release our hearts for mending,
roll with the wheel of fortune,
and open our souls for healing.
When we accept the very truth that
each end is a new begining.