To Jolt Now Is To Die A Pleasant Death

I have stopped counting the days,

Talks of a husband underwent a resurgence

A teeny tiny vascillation 

So minuscule it’s almost not there 

But it feels nice I suppose as some sort of

Background noise 

Jolt out of a state into another

Out of stagnation into fire

Droplets of blood, charcoal dark

And coagulated 

A cleansing — purifying thing 

There was no pain 

But it was heavy I think, like 

Lead 

I couldn’t move my arms. 

Jolt out of the jolting into a calm 

Good friends and laughs 

I had stopped counting the days, I really did

It was the distraction I wished for from the start 

Only it wasn’t a distraction it was a pacification

The kind I needed not knowing how to desire it — whatever 

I thank my Lord for the jolts

Like slaps of alertness 

Consciousness

He hasn’t returned yet but he will

They’re fighting, I should be with them 

They smiled at me and tightened their fists,

So lovingly told me to be patient,

I will meet with you soon

My heart is waving at this universe that is revolving on an end

A halt fastened with that pixie dust we secretly want to believe actually exists

It does in that sense I suppose, 

It smiles as it eases to its finish

Please come back to me — but I must learn,

I must learn to be patient and to remember my brothers and sisters 

I must jolt that jolt and rest there for a while 

And rest there


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2017/04/17/jolt/

One Month

Disclaimer: this feature photo is one I took at some vintage boutique where they sold everything rustic. I photographed that frame in hopes one day I would paint that scene — it had imbued me with such a tranquility the first time I glanced at it, but I never began the project. Of course I didn’t. We writers love talking those talks. 

It has been one month. 

Well,

Two days to a month– 

I miss him and my leggy heart is feeble

Oscillating with its lame arms hanging like string 

The month was thought to feel like a year but my spatial perception of time has felt nothing 

Yesterday, it speaks

He was only gone yesterday — but before yesterday no sensory motor functioning gears up in the recall center

It is as though a chunk of placid procedural memory, a non thought induced or selectively attended memory, has turned blue

Depleted of its energy of function 

I think it is grey now — gradually ripening and drying to soon break off 

And dissipate into the rest of the rust 

I wonder if other things are dying too 

Perhaps enough will stay until a Miracle 

My eyes have started wincing from an intensity — I’m not sure which side it presses from 

But I’m certain it’s stomping on all of my sides

Slowly breaking me inside — perhaps waiting for an implosion with nippy fingers and a concealed smile 

But this pain is auspicious somehow,

I think it is the dark before that dawn? Or whatever the expression —

I await more darkness then, I suppose

A deeper incision until the blade becomes a part of me

No longer armory 

I think this is a happy post,

It is a little straining to breathe and my larynx feels wrapped in sandpaper 

As it mixes prose yolk with a fork until it turns runny, 

Probably illegible

But definitely transparent — predictable 

Flatulent, I suppose. 

I’m a charlatan writer who rarely exhibits the emotions she pens

But tonight my fingers seemed to have tapped a buildup of vocabulary describing a petulant patience

Perhaps I should change the title of this post to that truth,

For once.

P-please P-please Be Patie

Disclaimer: the following post is ridiculously personal. I know I haven’t made these lame disclaimers in a while, but just in case any of you feel confused about the tone, it is because my mind gears can get stuck in some function sometimes, a computing error, so it blurts out nonsense. Just as with most of my other personal posts they are usually for me to reread after a certain problem has passed (with the will of God), anyways thank you for sticking around. And sorry that these posts make no sense, I’ll hopefully be putting up better content soon. 

It has been 19 days. It feels like 19 months. Nineteen. Perhaps a few years. 

We are entering the third week of incarceration — mental psychical flatulent prison. 

Let us pretend to be wrecked, injured from spewing debris.

Let us force some muscles to curve and laugh with the kids until he returns.

Let us inhale then exhale and not choke in between,

Nothing is broken 

Perhaps except for her — but she’s always been away

Love is no entity requiring observable forms of emotive behavior,

I suppose that necessitates a grinding pain of infatuated idealism that is as feeble as the last gazelle in the herd

Targeted as sure prey 

I know little of the sense that is to arrive from my words, perhaps they are not mine for right now 

I understand writers embody a certain prestige, an air that usually reads ascetic on paper

And hedonistic in practice 

Truth is not from the mind that already seeks — that one has already launched

I am created and will return soon

I am passing through, not staying anywhere here so comfort feels terrifying 

Repose is not for now — why can’t you understand?! 

Keep your body here now let your mind travel to a start — the one that slowly placed you here

You’ve lost a good chunk of expression, but who cares about this language anyway 

Learn and learn and learn then die 

Return and return and return alright 

He will come back to you. He. Will. Return. 

Ah, patience if you can hear me,

I pray for your warmth. 

And I pray for your serenity 

I wonder if there is such a thing as a liar who knows not whom they are

Perhaps it feels easier to loosen a commitment to some scar, the wind filling it with grit — coating it in a timed dust that I let pass through 

I have always had the choice to know how to live, I have always been driven by some motive to exist — but never like this what a blessing!

I remember so clearly being honest with myself 

As a child with frilly hands, a shaking pen and the mind of a goldfish – where’s my next meal? My next round transparent bowl of water? Maybe today I can nibble instead of bite and tomorrow I can crunch and not wiggle —

Meaningless

Faulty purposes like weighted sacks of curse words and fables (cloooouds)

I asked myself where I wanted to be and I couldn’t decide 

I laugh now because it is that I could not comprehend. That question was not cogent, it didn’t filter properly I suppose 

I don’t know what other question I could have asked this eleven or twelve year old nobody 

Perhaps, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Ugh 

Impure puerile games. No game played right

I didn’t want yesterday or tomorrow, but I was sure I didn’t want it to all end. What was it? It? It. 

It was a swirl of confounded idiocy unguided — just thrown there, written in some splotchy ink on yellow paper, unreadable from the age

Probably from the structure 

God has blessed me with this peace. I have been blessed with a tranquil motive to proceed with the certainty it won’t be for long 

“For today is work and no grade, and tomorrow is grade and no work.” It doesn’t read as poetically in this language.

Ugh, this was never enough — how did I ever grasp such an undermined infatuation? 

الحمد الله الحمد الله الحمد الله. اللهم إني أسألك الفردوس الأعلى. رب أفرع علي صبرا جميلة — رب ورده إلينا قريبا انك انت الرزاق الكريم  

Feature photo is my photography 

Imprudent

They are like those jittery critters 

Creepy critters, but cute 

Cute creepy critters

Jumping in jovial joy

I suppose they’re usually called butterflies

Inside the stomach of an adolescent girl watching some impending event 

It’s probably some boy, some symbol of synchronized similarity 

That this is real 

That is a past that hurts —

It hurts to return by words, or to have him talk to me about it 

There seems to be a struggle with words as I attempt to put something down 

There is little eloquence that comes with that facile wave of a graceful wand painting letters of nothing 

And pretending there is meaning

Tonight I am staring at this screen — wondering whether this frilly type of worry is healthy 

I am not too certain what fits best as an expatiation of the beautiful ineffability, I merely continue to efface side after side until something sounds fine 

So there lies little assurance that the stupid teenage girl can be okay, that she can exist like a distant ghost hovers above a soul — as that has been spoken it rests as some haunting — I don’t want that certainly 

Certainly certainly 

I think I want the days to just pass 

So that he may meet my family and I may meet his 

So that some desicion of certainty may be made 

So that I can grow up and feel at ease that

If not escape here then there 

Patience isn’t from me, nothing is I must be certain 

Ah, I cannot formulate words 

I am so certainly stupidly excited. 
endnote: this feature photo is my art and photography 

Article #1: What Is Religious Freedom?

I have joined my University’s magazine as an editor. For the first issue, they’ve allowed me to participate as a writer. The theme everyone chose was ‘Religion’, and after observing a huge amount of negativity on everything that has to do with that topic, I decided to write this piece. I only hope that they won’t shift or remove any of this during publication — but I have decided to post it on my favorite platform nonetheless. This is probably the most passionate I have been about writing in a long time. [Guys, I swear I wrote this in half an hour. It’s the passion, I tell you!] Continue reading “Article #1: What Is Religious Freedom?”