Look at me, my pages are written in gold thread
and bound by the ancient skin of my past.
My library wails in whispers of conspiracy and truths –
of desire so outcast it finds itself homeless;
carrying life upon its shelled back
turtling its way between crowds of ears
too muff’d to care or to listen.
Look at me, my story is the grand facade
of my penniless home.
My memories spill like curtains
from the sills of these eyes
into lobeless tunnels where I chase for tails;
that I will to capture for a moment’s audience –
a re-telling no soul might ever stay its ground to hear;
my name on this leathered spine
not enticement enough to be considered.
Look at me, my tounge-pen dribbles with needled letters.
My lips foreplay with top-stitched finery,
archiving yesterdays in self-distress like ageing wine;
and all its silence
slipping beneath the presser foot where it cannot be remembered;
where the archives it declines to embroider
fondle themselves alone in knots
to ravish to the last my unheard
and anonymous remains.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 2 February 2023
I am a glass half full of
I feel seems to swallow me
instead of I
is not a smooth rush
down my open
the words that hurt me again
in ways you will never
what you say before
you open your lips to
through your eyes like I am
trying to do in my
comes in thin spaces
between what you say and what I
know why it needs to be so complicated
when all I feel is
fills me like a glass half full of
rides you easier than I ever could.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 13 December, 2017
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
And I am left speechless enough to know that words cannot fill a void like silence.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 8 March, 2017
jailed my vision
splicing diamond-cut thoughts with this
cross-bred and violently bleeding doubt that
feeds from the stomach and shreds the sanest of minds
It is here this rampant indecision
squawks in wordless tongue, lashing
its disposable fancies
at my shaking core
alongside any creative thoughts of semblance
Now all that is left to bear witness: a sweaty palm or two
– and silence –
as the webbing of my fingers um and ah
hovering like midnight fireflies
over the speech-impeded womb
of my QWERTY keys
And, inside, I hear laughter
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 13 June, 2016
the mouth of silence
while the drowning poet
writes to starve the
mind of words
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 22 November, 2015
bedded by the flow of interpretation
a transhuman storm of sound
– rivulets of fancy and frolics –
washing clean the silence
with a bird call
of hidden meaning.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 28 February, 2015
These long silences
used to haunt me –
now every ghost
of every memory
comforts me wisely
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 3 March, 2014
I can be silent
if you only had eyes
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 18 February, 2014
Every word you dare not speak
is simply one more
I would wait a lifetime
– in silence –
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 4 July, 2014
Words color the noise of silence, painted in rainbows by the brush stroke of sound.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 18 January, 2013
Drawn from silence, does the sound of complete stillness dance.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 9 January, 2012
The silence of passion is orchestral.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 18 July, 2011
Long pauses only bury those who fear silence.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 3 October, 2010