like a slow drip
faded sunlight stream through
cracks in the cement
cars drive past but they don't slow they don't stop
people walk past but they don't look they don't see
day and night are confused
they wear each other's faces
like a slow drip
flowers melt into the earth
and are reborn
silver winds fly through your
my wounded cuts don't heal
IN LOVE AND WAR
FOR THE CAPTURE
OR THE DEATH B.J.CACACE 1/22/2018 Tagged by my friend and very talented @valanasazi_writes #valanazazi_writeschallenge
Being in love has a passion that is full
of fire, igniting into a war if need be for
the one who is loved.
Whether it be for a lover, child or friend,
love can warm us with a hug, on a cold
winters night. Make us feel secure when
Insecurities take their seat at our table.
Love is many things, feels different emotions.
The wedding vows, "until death do us part,"
could be a literal death, but now a days, simply
means the death of love, which ends in divorce.
But the love that goes to war for another, is a
love that stands by you. The one that takes up
shield and sword to go into battle for you, or stands beside you in battle, dying for you, or along side of you.
I am loved by many and many are loved by me.
It is to them I give honor and salute.
Like the men and women who went into the war zone for the love of their country. To my friends...thank you for your love in times of war. I love you all...LOVE, PEACE AND LIGHT. B.J.CACACE 1/22/2018 #shortstoriesofinstagram #writersofinstagram #poetryofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #loveoffriends #blogging #knowthyself #creativewriting #womenwhowrite #battlewarzone #the_beloved_shine
[Quando penso alla mia eterna corsa contro al tempo e agli impegni che affollano la mia giornata,
penso a te.
Quando penso che vorrei fermare l orologio e sedermi sull 'erba a leggere un romanzo,
penso ancora a te.
Tu, il paziente con più lunga degenza nel reparto psichiatrico.
Ogni volta che sono sul punto di mollare tutto, mi tornano alla mente le nostre chiacchierate su Dostoevskij e la nostra fascinazione per Virginia Woolf.
Sono stata spesso sul punto di mollare tutto, un po' come te,perché sono fallibile, ed il motivo per cui ci siamo "incontrati" è che non te l ho mai nascosto.
Mi ricordo di te in momenti come questi, in cui la stanchezza prevale sulla motivazione.
Mi torna alla mente il suono angosciato, ma al tempo stesso calmo della tua voce quando, quel giorno in cui la malattia non ti proteggeva dalla sofferenza, mi hai detto che avevo il cuore giusto per poter accogliere il destino che mi era stato riservato.
Le tue parole per molti sono quelle di un paziente con psicosi cronica riacutizzata, per me sono state conforto ed ispirazione in un momento in cui mi sentivo disintegrata.
Faccio questa strada, quasi ogni giorno, da 4 mesi. Sono stanca, ed ho paura. So che adesso stai bene, me lo dice quel cuore grande che tu hai visto in me. Sto bene anche io, e avevi ragione. La giusta collocazione io l ho trovata. Ora so che non potrei essere in altro luogo se non in questo, a qualsiasi sacrificio. E sai, ora persino il cuore funziona meglio. L'ho aggiustato, anche per te]
#poetry #poem #poet #poetsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #writing #poetsofig #writer #poetrycommunity #poems #wordporn #writersofig #words #spilledink #instapoet #typewriter #prose #poets #creativewriting #instapoem #writers #write #writerscommunity #instapoetry #writingcommunity #spokenword #poetryisnotdead #igpoets
She fled once again, not knowing what she had to endure, just thinking about what she has already. To a land of "nowhere".
She thought to herself, what made this time different or difficult from the last?
The only other time she was away from what she called home, was when she had a purpose and not malice in her heart. And what made it bearable was the fact that she had someone to get back to, at the end of each day. Whether she missed home or not, she didn't regret a single day away from home. A place that made you vulnerable and where people swore to break you down inch by inch, she felt safe because something inside her said so.
Now she's used to silence and even a glimpse of vulnerability or a sound at a high pitch makes her turn back around. She's finding these pieces one by one, in a place she thought she never could, because she's losing herself. But maybe, the upside to all of this is, the previous life is lost, the pieces were upgraded along the way or maybe lost. And who cares? Because no one remembers or cares enough to put it together. Only thing she can look forward to is, a new thing.
She realises, whether it's noisy or not, it's what made her feel all of that. She realises that she is better with all the things at the back of her mind than not at all. Because then that would be like the place where she lives "nowhere". The pain, the vulnerability, the happiness, the endurance is all her. In the case of anyone's life, there were conflicting stories just like hers.
She'll probably crawl, have panic attacks more often, be shit scared, but she knows what she knows and the best part is, she doesn't have to make anyone understand why?
It's her. Whether you let her be or not, she's there and she will prevail.
Realising she wasn't for everyone emancipated her.
#poetsofinstagram #onelove #youareenough #selflove #poemsporn #wordporn #writerscommunity #writerscorner #spilledink #poeticjustice #dailyhealing #beautifulart #mentalhealth #poetsofinstagram #depression #effortisattractive #lessonsforeveryday #effortisattractive #plymouthuniversity #art #wordporn #writerscommunity #poetry #quotes #dailyhealing #artparasites
'If time dilates when one moves at high speeds, does it contract when one moves barely at all? It must: the days have shortened considerably'- Dr Paul Kalanithi. In these anguished, twisting moments, time doesn't contract so much as it gasps, shrinking the four walls and with it, the very world which I inhabit. The truest pain is felt from above the body rather than in it, ones own mind so desperate to clamber away from its own neural pathways that it scurries into the corner of the ceiling, webbed and watching from above. Seconds pass, or maybe lifetimes. Time is measured in these moments not by pace but rather pacing, a lioness caged and scowling. I am startled by a scream, and I am further startled when I realise that it is my own. The refrain is foreign, unfamiliar. I am fascinated as my lips furl their way around another aching howl, a child learning to sound out a familiar pain in new form. It is easier, nigh kinder, to hone my focus on the clumsy fumbling of my lips around these screams, than it is to pay attention to where the screams are bellowing from. And still I float, suspended in a hammock of my faulted DNA, watching from above as I writhe and sweat and retch amongst the sheets. And I lay there for a lifetime, a chapter, half a dessert spoon, and not a calendar longer. I cannot tell you how much time has passed until I return to my earthly flesh. But I can reassure you that time and clots and another day lost can indeed dilate, contract, inspire and expire when you yourself fail to move from your world of one bed. And still, you move mountains.