Emotion and Strength

A GLASS HALF FULL

I am a glass half full of
everything
I feel seems to swallow me
instead of I
it
is not a smooth rush
down my open
mouth
the words that hurt me again
in ways I will never
understand
what you say before
you open your lips to
speak
through your eyes like I am
trying to do in my
silence
comes in thin spaces
between what you say and what I
don’t
know why it needs to be so complicated
when all I feel is
emptiness
fills me like a glass half full of
impotency
rides you easier than I ever could.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 13 December, 2017

METAMORPHOSIS

punishment
in the language of hope
scorching its way with splintered paddles
down to the roughs of my hungry feet
and teaching me
equally
of steadfastness and self-love
through the blanketing challenges of escape

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 28 November, 2017

SELF-INFLICTION

I scoop this body from its mind, and
on the cusp of extinction, it wails;
insane, lost, romanticising surrender.
Perhaps, my arm the mast, this tissue the flag,
perhaps at last I will tire of this terrorism
and sign on again
for a new amendment of love.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 October, 2017

FUTILE

I tire of love and terrorism, the
way my broken heart lay claim
to territory unknown before; the
way the softness of these blankets fall
like bombs in your wake; the
way the hunger for calm strikes and
starves and
feeds in rations; the
way this post trauma stands guard
at closed eyes and
changes sentry as I awaken;
the way it loops itself about my mushroom cloud, and
belts its breath on my cheek. I
tire of scratching at hope like
hope is a trivial blush at another chance. I
grow weary of this kamikaze daze,
my eyes the fluorescence of every wound un-bared. I
ignite from within, limp and lost
from so much exploding without.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 July, 2017

WHAT REMAINS

What remains of our more recent differences, those
saturated words fallen from the lacy cuffs of our noble tongues; the
sound-filled garments and raspy lingerie custom fit
for implication and blame – what remains

but the pungency of battered verdicts, the jesters
of white noise and spicy hung detachment, the
midnight winds of halitosis fouling casted spells:
an alphabetic bouquet of gambled persecution,
the weight of which we transport as we fade away…

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 3 July, 2017

AFTER LOSS

There comes a time when
moving forward
is a monumental act
of self-preservation;
walking away,
a feat of rediscovery;
and letting go,
the key to finding true purpose.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 3 July, 2017

WHIP

You are my story
and I escape within these pages
of your unmapped strength
through pauses
and the violence
that collects each letter;
another lash I want
and need
but don’t deserve.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 3 July, 2017

CONFUSING GREY

It is unlikely as you reminisce,
that I,
white as your black is dark,
appear largely unobstructed
in your mind
– stark, as my naked is bare –
a ripening contrast of shadows
raining over my image;
and from where I stand I feel
the wetness
as it pours upon my hair.

Muddied storms rise between us
– a collage of painted quicksand
from my toes to my lungs –
my attention taken from ‘escape’
to ‘survive another night’
for another day;
running at a loss from your black
with my concrete feet
to my canvas of white
from the pain of this confusing grey.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 17 June, 2017

REPOSE

I am glad these butterflies my
silent stomach houses feel more
at home knowing you will
never return than when they
were hoping you might.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 June, 2017

TE WAIRUA FREE (‘The Free Spirit’)

My spirit needs mending but I have
no coloured thread
to darn these fraying burdens

The eye of this needle lay gaping and empty
and I am standing on its edge ready to fall through;
a knot to my ankle and my fast surrender
and I’ll fly deeply in to weave new dreams:
a fresher self with perfect stitching
– an un-perished disaster –
still surviving in spite of her erupted soul

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 19 May, 2017

JUST AS MIGHTY

My voice bleeds
like the Third Amendment does rights
and in its whisper I am caged
but just as mighty

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 25 April, 2017

NOT IMMUNE

i am
tormented
by your need
for distance
but not immune
to this burden
of recapture

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 25 April, 2017

SILENCE LIKE WINE

it is not okay
to spill silence like wine
into my emptied heart
for it is already filling with emotion
and the hungry spaces in between
are not for getting drunk

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 24 April, 2017

VACANCY

i am being crushed
by the weight
of your absence
and if it does not lift
i may never
stand again

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 24 April, 2017

IT’S OVER

It's Over

Let it go
because breathing
is more important
than not;
holding tight
is for arms –
not lungs

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 23 April, 2017

REFLECT

I see a path
so clear now that
these tears only serve to
magnify the sight
when
once they would have
drowned me for
my lack of vision

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 23 April, 2017

AND THEN WE WEREN’T

we were pointless once;
that is to say
we were always in growth
and there was never a time
when what we had would stop
to be what we
‘had’

our map didn’t come with
those flags to pin and say
– this is us –
or
– we are here –
we were the whole map
we were every map
and then we weren’t

now we are no longer pointless;
we are ‘that point’
the marked X
(without the treasure)
the one that simply says
– here –
and my heart is this map
and it is pierced and leaking
and all that it contains
will run like ink
across the world,
our red flag standing on end
and flying alone
to remind me

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 22 April, 2017

SEIZED

I

am at

a complete loss

to understand the workings

of your mind; the cogs that turn

to wind your clock

have seized

and the only hands

that pass time now

are mine

alone

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 22 April, 2017

I NEVER GIVE UP

Why now?
At this peak
the one we climbed
like we were foraging
like the treasure was ours
like we were owed the magic;

the one we promised
like the challenge spoke to our needs
like spooning and completeness
like the familiar sound of Soulmateship;

the one we ate hungrily
like cheesecake and strawberry sauce
like viking sex and the sound of rain
like the walls called for our skin;

the one we privately rode
like thunder and history
like couch kissing at 3am
like the pre-cum that belongs on my lips;

the one our lives changed for
like losing everything to win
like the years mattered more now
like purpose was our new team;

the one we physically yearned
like distance made us realise
like words forgot how to speak
like our eyes smiled through our silence;

the one we mastered
like the Gods of old promised
like synchronicity was our call
like the prophecies had written us;

the one our dreams showed
like we undressed our karma
like it was destiny we could touch
like we had angels for our guides;

the one we paved
like the path was clearer
like the bumps were sensual touches
like the signposts contained our names.

Why now?
At this peak
the one we fall from
like we have forgotten our bond
like our chemistry parries
like our freedoms matter not.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 April, 2017

MOBIUS

He said those words
I can’t
and my heart fell out of its pocket
like there was a hole in my
chest and
that very last stitch
heard him speak
Our mobius strip
lay suddenly flattened
– I on one side and he on the reverse
like destiny and distance
were the same bridge
too destroyed to gap

Now I want life to end
as I lean down to hold
what’s left in my lungs
my final breath leaving as
I fall beyond the edge where
by some miracle
this leap of faith might save me
and I am captured by the arms
that wait beneath
– my fate finally showing its purpose
until the only strip that remains
is the one where
we remove each other’s clothing

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 April, 2017

KALEIDOSCOPE

With you
I spent my years like money
and what is left now are the shells
of every decision afforded;
the skeleton of time
the only backbone we could manage
not to crumble. Our own had weakened.

For many years
tears would leak like suicide
and I became an expert swimmer,
the apostrophe of all my strength
the board on which I’d surf;
later, the oar with which my raft would be paddled.
I cried an ocean
but still couldn’t willingly drown.

Of late
I ceased believing that I lacked worth
and stopped just existing to pay the karmic debt
my reasoning concluded I must owe.
I unshackled and chose to live outside the cage.
Giving up on failure gave me purpose.

Without you,
the tangible clutter we gathered gets dusty
and I can’t decide if I should blow it clean
or leave these fingerprints to remind myself why.
In shedding the weight of commitment
I am no lighter, but my kaleidoscope
now dazzles like a jewel.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 7th April, 2017

BOTTLED MINDS

 

Words I’ve left unsaid
collect like tombs inside my mind,
resting wide awake
without a sound
to pass the time.

Blind beneath the surface
losing purpose, long repressed,
my words now sleep, unspoken,
lacking passion,
unexpressed.

Just outside my reach
my words are hidden, cast from light;
without a voice to feed them
they recoil beyond my sight.

Depleted words
– malnourished –
thin with hunger while they grieve
and when my lips re-open,
they, destroyed, refuse to leave.

Resigned, my words inside
have lost their courage,
weak, deformed;
destined once for freedom,
now detained alone,
they mourn.

These broken words whose author
still retains the will to thrive
return instead to thought form
in an effort to survive.

In fluent tears,
these wordly souls
– admirers from my past –
expire rolling from my eyes
to fare me well at last.

And left with me,
a silence,
for my naked void to dress –
the lingerie of alphabets
strewn high upon my chest.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 14 July, 2016

THE JAILED FREEDOM OF WRITING

 

Sour, my attempt to write –
the flavour lost in every bite.
Undecided words, unheard,
but seeping out, expelled,
disturbed; a self-invaded,
cornered bird, un-winged
and clipped from flight,
while

I rumble with poetic temper,
my bleeding soul,
in part, dismembered;
blank, un-whole, alone
and undefended.
My belly full of passion,
yet, my appetite untended,
and

expression jailed and flawed,
dissolving quicker than it pours;
a vat of garbled, bubbling
troubled thought
that rivals typed impression
sought to pillage mind
and spill from core.

Scored, the days it takes between,
in floor and wall,
to key the lock that binds
this isolation door,
ancient finds arising
in my lust for seeking more
and more;
buried words upended
with surprise, and unintended,
for,

from I, the Jailor,
baseless accusations rise,
lashing, fast, acidic wind
that primes the rhymes I tongue within.
Never one to coat my words
too thin, too dry, too weak,
it seems (by definition) I resist
to drown (at best) or leak,
while anchored here, existing,
in unblinking frozen speech,
but

the accidental draining of my
purpose-tended bed of prose,
is waiting hand on foot
with sweetened
suicidal pensive throes,
as I,
with mocking rows
and rows of written doubt,
release, in lines,
my stomach
churning through and out
demands to hasten
one true last and final shout,
so,

this filtered care
that stains my lungs with ghostly stare
and soaks my throat
as vomitous
as stinging air
that leaves me rendered,
flailed and flared and wounded,
brooding, undeclared –
through THIS
the words escape,
an icing on the freedom cake
all cherry-topped, and cut, and baked:
a timeless meal to share
without the food to waste,
the friend to taste,
the key to exit,
smitten,
from this solitary mind-induced
persisting empty prison space.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 22 August, 2015

POSTERIOR SUFFERANCE

 

This night carries me,
blinded,
in the back pocket
of dirty minds and
shabby dreams where I
flat,
and molded,
press against this folded denim,
warm and splayed with
arms outstretched,
longing,
for another day; but

what if I turn my head
to over-peek the top
of these fraying jeans,
instead,
grasping threads
to keep me still within its seams
– will the exhilaration
of watching where I’ve
just this moment been
allow me inspiration
asleep awake, to boldly look,
clinging to the back end of
these thoughts that write me,
penned in ink,
like a pre-determined book?

Perhaps I should just
– winded –
forward face,
ignoring the sour stench
of this unmoving,
walking,
waking race,
stalking through the darkness
in a covered veil
at quiet pace,
destabilising future steps,
accepting this acquired taste,
processing my obsessive needs
and bathing clean my crumpled face
in chafing tears that fear progression,
awash, alone,
in one more nightly session.

Devoid of light,
here, ye, the theme:
this narrow, stunted, damned depression,
the fabric of a self made bed –
this
bottomless pit of expression
unstitching dreams of fortune
as I swelter, melting hope
again,
apathetic,
white of noise,
inside my broken head.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 17 August, 2015

KARMA

 

sometimes
mistakes are forever
and regret is the undercoat
that primes your life

perhaps foolishly
it might seem calmer
(karma)
on the surface
to forget the original dream
than to colour it over with
shades of new intention
when all you want to do
is bleed the red out of your eyes
until the copper rusts your face
and runs finally clear;
a dried salty ash
the only pock-marked
stain on your bloody canvas

the minimalist collector
your highest bidder

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 15 July, 2015

A CALMING STORM

 

I watch in retort
as you blunder
over causeways
of stammering lies,
hurtling weathered blows
from your
mournfully
tarnished
mouth.

The sound alone
asphyxiates me
and I would rather it hurry
than disable my
regal silence
with the screeching noise
of your
thunderously
garbled
deception.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 20 September, 2014

FOR YOU

 

Something
in my damaged whisper
from within begins to roar
and your secrets
– as I shake –
fly far from where you left them

I watch
vocals shredded
limp and newly sane
as they tumble
– like a silent movie –
into the back pockets
of sweet revenge

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 15 February, 2014

TEAR

 

Please tear me
into a thousand pieces
for your silent destruction
will be the womb
that nurtures
my growth.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 15 February, 2014

SHUTTERS

 

You
can shut me out
all you like
but the windows
to your soul
remain wide open,
and I,
the great visionary,
can see everything
contained within
beyond them.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 10 January, 2014

SUPPORT

 

I,
despite my distance,
refuse to let you drift alone,
morphing,
in my own subtle way,
into the very raft
that keeps you dry.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 10 January, 2014