Rankest Heresy 

i don’t go to church on sundays, but i do spread the poetry books across the coffee table, the ones

full of fruit and kisses and other sweet things

i want to share. i watch you place your palm 

upon the covers

and it feels like a benediction.

some people speak of bodies and blood,

of bread and wine and something larger

and more powerful than themselves.

we speak of creation. works by our own hands.

you aren’t much for religious symbolism

but on sunday afternoons, with the miracle

of your secret smile, my easy laugh?

i call it the sacrament of you and me.

let us be damned

so long as we are damned together. 

RANKEST HERESY, by jones howell

Dores 

I can’t stop thinking about you, my little baby, about how my stomach would block my toes and I would hold you in my arms in a week or two… I can’t stop thinking if you’d get his dimples and nose, would you have his temperament or mine, or a lovely mix? My little baby boy, I hope you give my daddy a kiss for me, a hug for me, ask him to do the same to you for me, to hold you tight and breath in your little baby scent of purity and loss.. 

Aiiii my bebe, queria tanto te conhecer, te amar… Cuidar de você.. Queria tanto ouvir teus choros, e teus risos ainda mais… 

And you, my bubby, where have you gone from me? Far far away, my lies pushed you far far away, but see how I planned it to be that way? I broke your heart so you could forget me but now I wish I hadn’t lied, I take it back, no no… The truth hurts but sometimes the pain takes us home, lifts us up out of our grievances and onto a path that only the truth knows.. Oh bubby, I want to kiss your face and imagine my baby’s, I want to hug you and feel my son in my arms. I want to hug you and feel a fathers arms around me, my sons father and mine too, in the tight circle of your arms I used to call home..

La Verdad 

Você acha possível ter um peso no coração e não sentir-lo? 

I am in some ways very happy, feeling optimistic and independent. Feeling like some things I was afraid of not being able to handle I can handle. 

I’m feeling wonderfully like I’m moving more towards myself and less from this split in half version I’ve been living. 

It is invigorating.

BooHoo

He looked at me, and having just met me, labeled me wounded. He said I held myself as if ready for a blow, that I spoke like an injured animal snarling in pain. He said boohoo you’ve been hurt. So what.

I am nothing without … What? Or who?

I am so many people for so many people that I can’t recognize the soul donning these disguises. 

I waved goodbye at the whistling tree, but I didn’t walk away for many months. I pressed dirt over the piece of my heart buried in the ground and spat at the one who gave me the knife to maim it. I said goodbye to him every single day until one day I grew so tired I couldn’t lift my hand to wave, and that’s when I finally limped away. 

I will never forgive you for showing me that I have a soul, and I wish I could take back every word that spilled onto the ground before us, the flowers growing there are weeping ugly things. 

I regret many things, and you are one of them. Pain was not worth pain. You gave me no pleasure in exchange. Now I give nothing as well.

Less Of A Woman

I am too weak to stand feeling what it is that I feel.
I would like to lie down, and for once
Feel nothing at all.

Maybe I am less of a woman, to some, for acknowledging that I am a woman – and as such feel things only women may experience.
Maybe I am less of a women, to many, for refusing to pour myself into a mold, fit only for creating mothers, and virgins, and whores.
For I am none and all of these.

I am less of a woman, but no less of a human, for a self admittance of the ignorance and of the irresponsibility of forsaking a divine task – set by women for woman and carried on by women.

I am not strong enough to carry the weight of a grief so profound in my chest, however, I will carry it with pride as long as I can do so.

I will wave a flag of surrender, I will lay down my arms, I will forsake those I should never have forsaken.

Please numb me, I am not strong enough for the life I have been fated.

Oh to be simple, and dumb, but happy.
Oh to be unaware but also unimportant.

I would like to lie down, and for once, feel nothing.
Nothing at all.

Stones And Glass

If there were stones that shone pretty, specific hues as your mind makes decisions, I would invest time into searching for and acquiring it. If it blinks red as you wander into dangerous mental territory, or pink as it encourages a crush, or yellow when it finds your decisions will make you happy, wouldn’t we all think twice about certain things?
I wish such a stone existed, and that it rested in the palm of my hand.
I am making a very big decision.
I’ve been told by quite a few people – wisdom lies in the council of many – to turn away and give it up. That it spells disaster for my future. But my heart is weak and so is my will, and when I am pushed I do indeed fall.
If only there was a clear little piece of glass, that would open itself to your eyes as you made decisions, and show you the major consequences of them.
If you decide to go to school, it shows your future job, car, and house. Or maybe your many vacations and lovers, a secluded beach much away.
And if you were to move away from home, not too far, only an hour.
And be close to your significant other. What would it show?
Going to school, coming home to him. Getting a new job, celebrating with him.
Forgetting certain aspects of your life,
Forgetting Him. With him.

What will this glass show to me?
How will this stone appear for me?

Patrol From Where I Am

Watch myself, check myself, hate myself, love myself.

I’m the one to hurt myself and to soothe myself, I can play myself, work myself, change myself.

I’m on patrol, don’t know where, from here, here, here.
Patrol from where I am.

Gotta keep an eye out, while my right hand is arranging flowers my left is ready to pull a trigger.

Pull the trigger on myself, this is for me and only for me

Tell myself to shut the fuck up,
I’m sleeping on me.