the eleventh hour.

On March 29, 2019 By blsh1 Comment

When I write love poems it feels like they belong to some wild combination of every lover I’ve ever had and those I’ve yet to meet or even imagine. I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe this has a lot to do with my Venus in Sagittarius in the 11th House with Scorpio on the cusp. The planet Venus of course ruling our love and relationships, sits in Sagittarius in my chart. Sagittarius being the fiery archer who shoots first and asks questions later, led by a higher faith and devotion, sometimes to a fault. Both the student and teacher, Venus in Sagittarius has molded me into a lover of learning, expansion and growth in all forms of relationship. Sagittarius trusts and embodies it’s truth, knowing embarking on a voyage in the basis of that truth will always be a journey worth taking.

It all lives in my 11th House. The 11th House is ruled by Aquarius. The house of the collective, friendship, innovation. It is a house of our highest hopes and biggest dreams. It shelters our wishes before flinging them forward into the world in vibrant anticipation. It’s the house that reminds us of the importance of how we are all interconnected. Mix that with Scorpio in the 11th house and it becomes an intense, transformative desire for deep relationships/friendships, trying to fulfill an emotional depth (but after deep self-reflection I’ve realized this is a depth I can only fill myself).

When I reflect on my poetry and try to pinpoint it to one person, it’s hard to do. I can be inspired by a particular situation, but once the words come out it’s like they weave through the spiralic timeline of my life, reaching out and caressing each soul who has ever touched my life and ever will. I am grateful for this expansive view of love. I am curious as to where it is leading my adventurous heart next.

How closely have you looked at the planets/placements in your chart? In what ways do they act as your muses, informing your creativity?

The next 11 poems/prose range from 2015 to now in no particular order. I didn’t pick that number by the way. It just ended up being that many I chose to share. Love it. (11:11). This is a glimpse into what my heart looks like in evolution. Ever changing. Thank you.

You break my heart always

at the same time of year

the delicate in between

of winter and spring

spring buds and blooms

winter frosts and consumes

it’s a war

that I can no longer bare to watch

I know the warmth is coming

I am tired of having to learn this way

come speak in stars with me

our mouths housing entire constellations

planets dripping from our tongues

where every word echoes

of some distant universe,

pulling us into its gravity

how could I communicate

with you

in any other way

than through the heavens

It’s always a mourning process.

A morning,

process.

Purging you from my bed.

I see no trace of you

on the white linen

But I feel remnants of you

within the threads.

You see
I am trying to forget

every smile,
your lips slightly tugging at the corners of your mouth
every freckle,
I counted when you laid asleep next to me
every brush of fingertips
when we reached for the same thing

When did we stop reaching for the same thing?

You see
I am trying to forget

the lights reflecting off river water
how your hands shook
until they met my waist
the way you pushed your hair back
just slightly out of your face

You see
I am trying to forget

all the ways you said I love you
be it in this alphabet or another

You see
I am trying to remember

how beautiful I am
how the curves of my body never need to meld again to yours
for me to feel love

You see
I am trying to remember

how gentle I am with lovers hearts
and how rough I’ve been with my own
I’m asking for it to forgive me

You see
I am trying to remember

what I deserve
how to center myself
how I am full

I didn’t depend on you,
I just simply wanted
you

I ask,
“When did it stop?”
“Where did it go?”
You tell me you do not know

And I too,
wish I couldn’t recall

In my eyes,
everything is short term.

My existence is less than
a quick glance between forbidden lovers.

But I remember standing by the river,
laughing in between kisses,
bodies slightly shivering
from a midnight summer breeze,
or maybe just nerves.

Meeting you,
standing next to you,
laughing with you,
kissing you,
holding you,

has made me believe in infinity.

Straddling your lap, your hand in my hair, breath hot, your laugh, my smirk, color rising to my cheeks. That is when you tasted sweet. We were ripe for love. Now we sit on opposite ends of the couch, rotting.

Looking back on it, I should’ve squeezed my thighs around your head harder. I never caused you nearly as much pain as I did pleasure. But you paid me back in both.

I like boys who taste like winter.
his fingertips venture across my exposed skin.
with each touch, I feel a chill, a spark,
a bite.
he makes the tip of my nose pink and the color rise in my cheeks.
he whispers, you are not delicate.
I wonder how he knows, but I do not need to wonder long.
because winter is harsh, unyielding,
callous.
yet here I am, waiting.
the next avalanche will come.
it will not bury me.
he’s right, I am not delicate; I have conjured storms too.
there are worlds within ourselves that the other must never touch,
but we do so anyway.
enveloping each other in brumal wrath,
bare skinned,
bare boned.
I fear we may shatter when we touch.
and then,
like an early spring melts the soiled snow,
his lips soften when they mold to mine.
and I
feel
warm.

holding you is like the fluttering of tired eyelids

light

and heavy, all at once

an irresistible surrender I can’t help giving into

together, we dream

together, we create

entire worlds neither of us could’ve imagined alone

when I wake I fear I will not remember,

so half asleep I reach for you,

instinctively you pull me closer

I can hear you

humming in your sleep,

whispering my name

over & over & over & over

I think to myself,

“no, no,

I could never forget this”

10.

I love the way you lure the laughter out of my mouth.

a symphonic composition,

you tell me, “this is a soundtrack we could build a life to.”

with the slightest movement of your hand you conduct the desire through me.

I follow you, in time, matching heartbeat to heartbeat.

how long until it stops?

“shhh,” you whisper as if you’ve read my mind.

you probably have.

“stay, here in it, with me.”

I nod, I smile,

here comes that laughter again.

my entire being shouting,

encore,

encore.

11.

I’m not sure what Heaven is like

but I imagine

it’s reminiscent of the way you’d quietly open my bedroom door,

shedding all your winter layers

in the effervescent glow of my television.

slipping under the sheets,

curving your body around mine.

your longing for me

pouring out of your skin.

a sacred transference.

an eternal unity.

a primordial inner calling,

much older than us, taking over.

unable to sense any separation,

we’d ascend as a soulful ensemble

in a loving, all-knowing safety.

I imagine Heaven

is something like that.

lucky

On March 18, 2018 By blshLeave a comment

I was thinking about how I’ve never felt lucky. Ever since I can remember, it’s always seemed like life has forced me to take the long way around. It’s true, I’ve had a lot of wonderful things happen to me. I’ve actually, quite literally, experienced what it’s like to have a dream come true. But it has always—always—come at the expense of something else. And when that’s how life has dealt with you, when a good thing

comes, you are always waiting for the rug to be pulled out from underneath you. Where’s the loophole? Where’s the mistake? How did I misread it all this time? This way of thinking is completely unproductive. It fosters an environment of anxiety, self-doubt, low self-esteem. And to be honest, it’s an environment I don’t belong in. We don’t belong in. You see, I’ve never felt lucky, and maybe you haven’t either, but the truth is when good things happen to us, accept them. Celebrate them! We deserve them. We deserve good things. We put up with enough shit. When the good things happen—bask in them.

Luck was on my mind all day today (being that it is St. Patrick’s Day). I decided to pull a tarot card. Feeling unlucky, confused and worn, guess what I pulled? Strength. Strength is the eleventh card in the major arcana in the deck I used (in some it is number 8). If you’ve read my last post you know 11 has very much so made its presence known in my life lately. But besides that, the message I pulled overall from the Strength card is patience. Strength isn’t brute force. It isn’t barreling through obstacles, destroying carelessly whoever and whatever is in your path. Strength is accepting who you are. It’s accepting where you are at, and having the patience and determination to get to where you want to be. Strength is setting goals and accepting that when you are setback it is not the end of the world, it’s a process. Strength is knowing when to keep the door open, and when to close it. Strength is knowing luck plays a very minimal factor in where you end up, and acknowledging that your personal choices play a major one.

Sure, we’re lucky in many ways. But what are you choosing to do with what you’ve been given? What are you letting hold you back simply because you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it? Let me tell you, you are. Strength calls for leadership. Don’t fall into the background of your own life. This is your story, your dream.

I also challenge you to make a more difficult assessment of your own life. Are you surrounding yourself with people who make you feel strong? Do they build you up? Do they remind you of what you have to offer? Do they tell you they’re proud of you when you’ve accomplished something? Do they emphasize to you what you’re worth? If they don’t, perhaps it’s time to seek out those who are more uplifting, those who see what you see in them. Of course there are times when we need to be strong for others where they cannot for nothing in return. And unfortunately, people are not always able to tell us they need us to be strong for them. They don’t want to be seen as weak, vulnerable or dependent. Our ability to still support them without agenda comes from our own strength and unconditional love (for both ourselves and them).

The bottom line—I am lucky. You are lucky. If we have even one person who sticks by us in our lowest hour—at our weakest—to be our strength, how could we not be blessed? And sometimes, that person is ourselves. We shake the dust and keep going. We accept the unexpected, the unfair, the unrequited and the uncalled for.

We smile.

We laugh.

And we make our own goddamn luck.

b.l.s.h

Tag: 11

the eleventh hour.

lucky