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Alanna aka Aalayah
chaosandcrafts
Welcome to Our Lives of Creativity and Chaos!
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why is my rage not righteous like yours?
why? why? why?
why must i be slow to my anger, why must i be the fool when i give in? when i am human, when i break easily beneath the weight of my existence? the existence you gave to me, that you forced into my hands?
why must i be soft? why must i have smooth edges and tender bones?
i want to let this out.
all of this
this
this
heat. fire. rage.
i know it displeases you. i know you dislike it. i know it angers you, this fury that rests in my blood cells, and i keep it quiet for you. i push it down, to the last shelf in my chest, tucked away behind the cobwebs and dust, behind the forgotten memories of what i no longer have, of what i no longer covet. i push it down,
down
down
until you cannot see it
and you cannot hear it.
but i see it
i hear it.
it hasn't gone away. it lingers, and it grows, and it curdles like spoiled milk. and it's
mine.
why is my rage not righteous like yours?
i am yours. you sculpted me with your hands, you put time into the creation of me, and i cannot feel this.
you will not let me feel this.
my rage is wrath. my rage is cracking branches in the heat of a wildfire, the snapping of fingers that refuse to let go. my rage is human and holy, soul and sin.
and i won't feel it.
for you.
your rage is destruction and beginnings. your rage is rapture. plague. six days and ten generations, select and precise and intentional. your rage is divine and cruel and uncaring, and you are allowed it. it is permitted. it is respects, expected, and longed for.
why is my rage not righteous like yours?
won't you give it to me?
give me your rage.
i am yours.
give me your rage.
i beg of you.
strike me. smite me. shower my body with your rage until i cannot feel my own. let it consume me, let it destroy me from the inside out.
#this poem went with a drawing of a falling bird on canvas#suspended from the ceiling#poetry#poets on tumblr#art
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i am created from dirt. from soil and dust. i am buried in dirt. in soil and dust. it fills my throat. it burns.
i hover in the aether. i am a ghost of the man i was. haunted by the sunday morning shame that bleeds into every hour of the day, this heinous wrath that is preached out of me. i repent for the shape of my bones, for the colour of my blood, for how my eyes do not see. for the dirt soil dust that chokes me. where do i place all of this? there is no space in my chest for my grief, no room in my skull for my rage.
you say i am filthy. you say i am hideous. you say i am monstrous and demented.
then i curse the shape of your hands.
you liar. you liar. you liar. you liar. you liar.
#for my art piece ‘open grave’#poetry#poets on tumblr#free verse poem#poem#religious themes#vaguely but all my art this year has had religious themes
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the words of god bound his wrists and ankles
like a lamb led to slaughter
there is divinity in his blood
that spreads through his veins like a disease
placed lovingly, carefully, tenderly, viciously
by a gentle hand with blood caught under the nails
and in the creases of its palm
and he was sculpted by sanctity
in god’s own image
and in god’s own image he is butchered
carried to a heavenly doorstep and sliced open
eviscerated, gutted, mutilated
his blood spills to the earth in atonement,
in apology
and he is cast aside, left to return to the ground from which he was taken
left to drip his holy disease into the dirt,
his human divinity that stains
the hands of those that loved him
he fades with the taste of sweet sin on his tongue
and the whisper of god’s everlasting love in his ear
when he closes his eyes he can pretend he is home
in the arms of his lover
who has never felt heartbreak like he will when the sun rises
and he finds his bed empty and cold
it will be weeks before he learns the truth
and the truth will break his heart all over again
the continental divide splitting his chest wide open,
ripping him apart
and he will fall to his knees
and face the sky
and cry to a god that ignores him
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being trans is such a mindfuck. nobody knows who i am. i dont need to come out, im fine as i am. i hide behind my clothes. i dont recognise myself in the mirror. i dont know if i ever will. i want to transition. im scared of change. i want to be seen and known. i am in danger. queer joy is beautiful. i am more open than a queer person used to be able to be. someone like me was murdered yesterday. i saw their face on the news, and the reporter used the wrong name. wearing mens’ clothes brings me joy, and the joy is reminiscent of a little girl. i want to be pretty. my skin doesnt fit and my voice is not mine. im scared i might love my father more. i dont need to come out, i can manage this all. im going to die someday anyway, it wont matter. a kid was staring at me in the bookstore today and i saw my past in their eyes. i wonder if they saw their future in mine. i want to be someones boyfriend. i am my brothers sister. all bodies are beautiful except mine. god created grapes but not wine and wheat but not bread. god hates fags. there is something wrong with me. if i ignore it, itll go away. its not going away. it hasnt gone away in seven years. i dont want to be a stereotype. i love brash vulgarity. my mother thinks i am beautiful. i share her face. i know ill regret it if i never come out. i dont want to waste my life wearing a costume. i dont know if i want to sacrifice the life that ive had for the life i could have. someone out there understands me. someone else would kill me without regret. someone would cry if i was gone. someone would praise my killer as a hero. there are photos and illustrations of people like me in the past. our history has been erased. theyre still trying to erase us. i dont know if the present is worth the future. i want to be happy. i dont feel like i deserve it. ‘female’ leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. ‘woman’ makes me see stars. i am one but not the other. i am the ghost of the person i want to be. i encourage others and love them regardless. i am a hypocrite. ive been in hiding since i was thirteen. i want to be loud. my mother spent nine months creating me. i will spend the rest of my life creating myself. i am scared. i am angry. i am beautiful and sickening and i want to rip my skin apart to make space for something new. my rage is glorious. they will never understand. i do not need them to. i am so lonely. i am an artist and i want to be a masterpiece. they call my creation mutilation. i dont want to make my parents sad. i want my brother to like me. i am visibly queer. that man shouted at me to smile because he was treating me like a woman. what i have right now is enough. i want more. i don’t know if ill ever have it. if i die tomorrow, i will be buried in a dress. it will be a dress that is already in my closet, a pretty dress that i havent worn in years.
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i’m supposed to find the silver linings around storm clouds, but they’re hard to find in the dark. and good god! i have a body! what a horrible idea; who gave me this? am i my father’s son? does he know? the world is so loud, and i am so tired. it keeps talking singing screaming just to spite me. am i in the wrong if i talk sing scream back? sometimes i think too hard and it gets me short of breath. i left my heart somewhere between the stars and city lights, in every poem i have read, every song i have heard. i am made of what ifs and maybes, an ice sculpture left in the sun. a bird with feathers just a shade out of place, headed straight into the ground instead of getting a taste of the clouds with the others. the only star in the sky not part of a myth. i am deserving of unrequitedness, of unkind words, of open umbrellas and broken mirrors. i am sitting inside an abandoned building, crumbling and desolate and barren, watching while the world passes me by, too fast for me to catch up. me and these bricks. me and this concrete. watching the blurring shades of black and white, of more or less, give or take, spend or save, stay or go. floating and stumbling through with my see-through skin and barely-beating heart, the butterflies in my heart and the spiders in my veins. i am their home. i feed them coffee and self doubt, and maybe if i don’t exist at all, i can go on and exist forever.
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i would pull the stars through the window if you asked me to. i’d take the sky and put it in your hands. i’d give you a taste of the clouds. i would put sunlight in your morning coffee and give you the breath from my own lungs, turn water into wine and let your favourite flowers grow from the palm of my hand. i would slice the sun like a grapefruit were you to crave something sweet, and let the swarms of butterflies free from my stomach to see you smile. i would trace your veins with dancing fingertips and make your blood cells glow. i would part the seas for you to pass without dampening your clothes, move storm clouds from where they rest in the sky so the thunder doesn’t hurt your ears, shut off cities so you could say hello to orion and ursa major. i would hold you until your bones stop aching, braid the wind into your hair, heal your wounds with just my tears. i would remove time from existence to hold you longer, harness the heat of the sun to keep you warm. i would love you in the divine way you deserve if you would let me.
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i felt like you loved me just to spite me. you remembered my sisters birthday. i never wanted to answer your calls. you read my favourite book. i left you on read for days. you bought my favourite ice cream flavour. i forgot about our plans. you surprised me with flowers. i called you the wrong name. you took photos of me in the sunlight. i would get mad at everything. you painted my nails for me. my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. you remembered all your promises. i always wished you would forget. you made me feel so lovely. i wanted to hide from you. you know how i take my coffee. i dont know your favourite colour. you met my parents. i wish they would stop asking about you. your eyes always shined at me. i hate eye contact. you got me my favourite necklace. i wear it every day. you talked about our wedding. i wanted to go home. you held my hand like it was fragile. i wanted to break yours. you told me i was beautiful. the words sounded like metal scraping in my skull. you were all i ever wanted. i didn’t deserve you. you didnt deserve me. you glowed like the sun. we always joked that i was vampire. you texted me all the time. i pretended you didn’t exist. you wanted to go on dates. i was claustrophobic. you gave me everything you could. it was more than i could bear.
#poem#poetry#poets on tumblr#sad poem#love poetry#installation artwork#installation art#installation#installation piece
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i felt like you loved me just to spite me. you remembered my sisters birthday. i never wanted to answer your calls. you read my favourite book. i left you on read for days. you bought my favourite ice cream flavour. i forgot about our plans. you surprised me with flowers. i called you the wrong name. you took photos of me in the sunlight. i would get mad at everything. you painted my nails for me. my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. you remembered all your promises. i always wished you would forget. you made me feel so lovely. i wanted to hide from you. you know how i take my coffee. i dont know your favourite colour. you met my parents. i wish they would stop asking about you. your eyes always shined at me. i hate eye contact. you got me my favourite necklace. i wear it every day. you talked about our wedding. i wanted to go home. you held my hand like it was fragile. i wanted to break yours. you told me i was beautiful. the words sounded like metal scraping in my skull. you were all i ever wanted. i didn’t deserve you. you didnt deserve me. you glowed like the sun. we always joked that i was vampire. you texted me all the time. i pretended you didn’t exist. you wanted to go on dates. i was claustrophobic. you gave me everything you could. it was more than i could bear.
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there is a pen in my hand
its ink runs through my veins
as blood
dark and spilling
on this pristine paper page
i am lightheaded
there is a pen in my hand
it is cold to my skin
and i hate it
this frost in my fingerprints
and ice under my nails
it melts as i write
there is a pen in my hand
i hear it whisper to me as i think
it knows what to say
(i do not)
but it cannot speak on its own
its voice is stronger than mine
but i can barely hear it
lost in the air between us
trapped somewhere in my forearm
and all i hear is our blood rush
there is a pen in my hand
it is my best friend
there is a universe in its chamber
and its ink is the colour of my mind
the stars stain my frostbitten skin
there is a pen in my hand
it is not as tired as i am
its universe is an endless reservoir of energy
and it supports me when my words run out
it will build me a home when my
hand grows weary
brick by brick by brick
i bought it for a dollar fifty
i bought my soul for a dollar fifty
my soul is plastic, scratched, and worn
i hold my dollar fifty soul between my fingers
there is a pen in my hand
it writes words i do not know
words i do not understand
familiar words
like a dream i had once upon a time
where i was not a mystery of a human
and my voice was a hurricane instead of a breeze
and there were fireworks in my chest
among the stars
where the music in my ears is heard
by others, and it is beautiful
instead of the screeching of an untuned violin
and i did not need The Pen
it was just a dream
there is a pen in my hand
it hears what i do not say aloud
all i hear is my heartbeat
it rests behind my eyes
where my thoughts once made a home
i feel it in my fingertips
The Pen feels it too
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i left my heart buried in the ground, in the shadow of a tree house
you stepped on it when you got off the ladder, and you didn’t see me wince
the grass was green and wet with dew
you left shoe prints down the sidewalk when you walked away
(you were wearing white chucks; the tracks dried and faded in the sun)
i tried to dig it up when you were gone
but when my nails were covered in dirt and a i had a hole six feet deep
i couldn’t find it
i think you took it with you
and you didn’t even notice
i watched the stars from the treehouse window that night
over the treetops i could only
see half the sky
and i waited
waited
waited
for a shooting star
so i could wish for my heart back
i thought i saw one
but i think it was an airplane
i never went back to the treehouse
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i have photos of us when we were kids taped on all my walls. i haven’t heard your voice in years. i wrapped a christmas gift for you, and had to make sure i spelled your name right. the taste of mint leaves makes me think of your backyard. i dont know how tall you are. i remember inside jokes from when we were ten. our moms talk more often than we do. i remember eating mac and cheese with you every time i was in your kitchen. i think you might be vegan now. i remember your dogs names and the way your driveway gravel felt on my knees. i don’t know your favourite color. we played together practically every day. i don’t know what your major is. i remember sitting on your floor and eating blueberries while we talked and talked and talked. i barely saw you for the rest of that visit. i keep a bracelet i’ve never worn because because it makes me think of you. i don’t think you still have yours. they matched. sometimes i want to draw you but i don’t have any recent pictures of you. i also don’t know if it’d be weird. we look at the same sky at night. you see so many more stars than i do. i miss them. i haven’t seen your face in years. i still think about you every day. i hope you’re okay. i want to dance in your kitchen one last time before we grow up.
where are you in life? can i join you?
do you still call me your best friend?
do you still call me your friend?
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