Thank goodness it's Friday at last. This week has been such an exhausting one for me - there's been so much going on, especially since finals are coming up in a month and next week is cut short due to Thanksgiving break. All my teachers are trying to cram as much work as possible in the little days we have left, I think!
So because of all of that, this week's Friday Poetry was only written today, although I usually write it a few days in advance. This one was inspired by an incredible blog I found a couple of weeks ago called Survivors Blog Here. My friend Daniel, who writes as Randstein, first showed it to me, and I'll let him introduce it, since he spoke so beautifully in his email:
"The website features mostly women that have survived all forms of abuse and find relief from their trauma by writing and blogging. I am a bit different in that my memories of military service and the horrors of war was not abuse but it changed my outlook on life and what is important ...I try to show how our struggles are necessary for us to learn about and appreciate what we have in life no matter how fleeting. My writing examines the dark emotions but intertwines joy, love, and hope as a means to cope and to realize our true path. I believe awareness is the first step to change so I hope to bring awareness along with my fellow writers at Survivors Blog Here."
The story in this poem is from a much different angle than any of the bloggers at Survivors Blog Here, but nevertheless I do believe the emotions are the same. Please don't forget to check out their lovely blog - and as always, I would love to hear what you think about Midnight Letters. Happy Friday, everyone! x
witching hour. one-lane highway. stale cigarette smoke curls through my veins. I can hear what the night is thinking. it’s thinking of me. it’s thinking of the sound of heartbreak and stars shot down from inky skies. it’s counting down silent seconds, wondering when the sun will arrive to burn it away. the night is afraid. so am I.
but it smells like warmth, like faded leather and broken guitar strings. it smells like everything I shouldn’t want and everything I do anyway. the world is asleep, but out here, the emptiness breathing deep inside my bones is replaced by something else. magic. or maybe something more, something untouched by human hands. the night yawns high above me, and I think perhaps it is friends with this thing that breathes deep deep down where no one else goes.
not a soul in this world knows how to love me, but birds are singing in my throat. I think I know what freedom is: empty road, star song, love and fear and everything in between. I’ve tried time and time again to dig my own grave, but something always snatches the shovel from my hands before I can finish. my heart is ensnared in an animal trap. but my mind is wild. my eyes are dancing. it’s the witching hour and there are monsters lurking in dark shadows. I am one of them.
the night is bruised, stars like blood leaking across its sleek silken surface. I am bruised too. I am broken. shades of grey and black blur into each other, but here, teetering on the brink between dusk and day, is the only place I can see in perfect colour.
there is a thing breathing deep inside my bones: magic, or perhaps stardust. infinity hums in every inch of my skin, and the night is calling my name. I think perhaps it’s time to go and meet it.