My love does not lay in a bed of roses
nor does my love like to follow a trail of dying petals.
My love does not have poise’s woven into her hair,
My love is not conventional.
It is potent
Dash away the repetitive symbols,
For my love do not require these objects.
For my love will always cherish the moments.
The memory of the first hand holding,
The first held breath,
The first gentle and truth in a kiss.
My love is not in the past,
but ever present in the now.
Fia Naturie
I have finally made the time to go down the welcome to Word press trail. I have meant to do that for a while, and I have gotten caught up with life.
I have read some very interesting introductions, and I hope that the ones who started on here for therapeutic purposes find some semblance of peace.
When I started on WordPress many years ago, my motive was to get people to read my work. I figured I don’t have to publish a book if people took the time and just read what I wrote this way.
I started putting out my stories here and now I have a blend of stories and poetry. It is funny what happens in life. I have published a book. Working on publishing another one. I own a literary site, a magazine and, now a bookstore.
The bookstore is in its infancy, but it will grow. All this to say is that we never know what may happen when we go down our own rabbit hole.
Still, when it is time to hop to it, I must at least. I have been spending a lot of time on Stars Rite. A writing community. If you are curious, come and see what it is like and say hello.
I’m Fia, and I always say hello back.
Unjust jealousy
has taken over me
I cannot believe
that you cannot see
that he is for me
I will channel this rage
as my pen flies across the page
There is no smoke or sage
That will bless what is coming in spades
You need to understand
When this woman claims that man
He is taken in hand
No judge or jury can command
So, since an education is required
Pull up a seat as this transpires
You see those lips
those hands
that Chest
I can say more, but I will say less
It’s funny how men think we will not fight
Allow them to go to this one or that one during the night
But what is mine will never be out of my sight
Either tied or chained sounds delicious, right
You can’t handle what is right next to me
You’re too young, too inexperienced, too full of Glee
You see, when the lights are dim or even red and sinewy
You couldn’t even do what he requires of me
There’s something that comes with age and time
You would have to be taught, but not by what’s mine
The young green grape hangs loosely on the vine
Is not much of a delicacy until it’s turned into wine
Now go away, little mouse, and eat someone else’s cheese
They may like what you have, and you wouldn’t be on your knees
Oh, that was harsh. Forgive me please
I think you understand now, you finally see
I have been questioned if I don’t see
What is going on before me
It’s been said that people are afraid to write
because the stars are not sitting quite right
They want to remove or put it in a box,
Specific themes should be behind locks
I am silent more than I write
because I have so many things to do at night
Why I will not shut the door
restrain others from saying anything more
freedom of speech and of words
Freedom that is being fought for but is not heard
I tend not to write about politics and religion, you see
A lot of my views will confuse and not sit right with thee
I see the pain of those who write
They wait for comments, but they refuse to comment on others’ writes
Again, popularity is not the theme
All we want is to be read and be seen
I was told, “I don’t want them to say a word.”
Afraid they will not understand their words
I was told you’re being a prude
Let me express what I want
Now my words are misconstrued
So here it goes, I am going to say what I have to say
Because my mind is going this way
Write
Write about pain
Write about love
Write about feeling you’re going insane
Write about god or gods above
Write about what you see
Write about how things should be
Write about sex
Write about what comes next
Write about your fear of death
Write about the medication withdrawl
Write about you no longer walk but you still crawl
There is no lock on this door
No chains are bolting you to the floor
You think I do not see
You think I do not read
I am one out of many here to say
Your words have power
Do you understand what I say
If you reach one
Why must it be
That 1
Should be three
Fia is in more places and faces than you know
If you need me, I will do my best to show
(Hello, my fire starters. I hope you are well. I have been busy working on Stars Rite. Its funny how you can never please everyone, yet I still try)
where the fuck did the Gs go?
gone
just like that
no warnin
no explanation
like they woke up one mornin
and decided
fuck it…we’re out
they were here
and now
it’s just chaos
a bloody fuckin mess
of half words and broken thoughts
like a riot in the goddamn dictionary
I don’t even know how it happened
they just bailed
no goodbye
no last fuckin look
just a ghost in the machine
sneakin out the back door
while I was busy tryin to write
what am I supposed to do with this?
ING without a G?
mess of letters
all scattered like pieces of a puzzle
I never asked to solve
the Gs just said
fuck it
and now the whole damn thing’s upside down
it’s pure unfiltered anarchy
like some cosmic joke played out
in typewriter ink
world’s lost its fuckin mind
and so have the letters
the Gs ain’t in line anymore
they’re free
wild
runnin with fuckin scissors
cuttin every word in half
leavin me in this mess
oh well…
I don’t give a fuck
let it burn
the chaos reign
Gs are gone
people are mad
b/c they gotta self edit
but the sentence doesn’t need to be pretty
doesn’t need to make sense
fuckin Gs just decided to dip
and now I’m here
watchin the clusterfuck unfold
I’m not cleanin it up tho
I’m not even sorry
the Gs are gone
and I’m better for it
(I want to thank Ambjr for allowing me to post his work on my platform.)
Would someone cry a lifetime of tears?
If you no longer exist?
This pain needed a catalyst.
And it was you….
Pain caused by the thing
in your chest you call a heart
that claims to beat
but refuses to sleep
refuses to soften
refuses to shut the fuck up
and keep reachin
for some kinda touch
you say it’s lust
but you flinch
when they kiss you
say it’s love
but you bite down
every time they get close
say it’s damnation
but you’re the one
holdin the match
smilin while it all burns
You want to take me to your hell
You want me to feel what?
Pity
Another day, another lifetime maybe
I guess you will have to wait for those tears.
I stifled myself in front of your eyes
I pulled back so much so I can get your “Hi’s”
Sitting in this corner and watching you all be you
I would love to be the true me too
But I have given my word and I will only give 15%, as I sigh
15% is not much in this whole big pie
Like a Vine that crawls and creeps on walls and in the dark
I have found other places where I can light the inner spark
So, I will give you what sensibilities will allow
And when I need the darkness, I will go away just for now
I walk in the rain so my tears can blend
But these tears don’t blend
They scream pain with every red drop
I walk in the rain to cool off my skin
You can see the steam rise as every drop hits
And still it cools off nothing
I walk in the rain hoping to forget
The smell of you as you lean in
The feel of your hands wrapped around mine
I walk in the rain in Hope
That the end is never really the end
That your goodbye was from a whim
I walk in the rain to hear The Thunder Rolls
And matches my internal conflict
Should lightning strike and put me out?
I walk in the rain…… a lot
I am the collector
I collect shiny things,
beautiful things,
broken things,
things that can never be repaired
I am the collector
I am your savior
I hold you when you need to be held
Then, when we are done
I will place you on my shelf
I am the collector
You are exquisitely beautiful
How broken and damaged are you?
Then, when you are whole
You will shine even brighter
I am the collector.
There is something that no one sees
There’s a scar
How did you get this scar?
So beautiful and delicate on hard skin
I am the collector
I used to keep puppies, kittens, and a lynx
Pets need their freedom. So I let them go
To go about their days and nights
If they should wander home
I would collect them into my arms and give them solace.
I am the ultimate collector, only if you knew
I sit here in silence as I watch my mother go through the ceremonial lighting of the candle. This is not something bad; it is the norm for our family. Once a year, we all, the female patriarchy of the family, would gather around and remember those who had passed.
I watch everyone perform their ceremonial prayers, and some just sit silently with their eyes closed and a tear dropping down their face. I feel like I should say or do more, but the problem is I can’t.
I am remembering someone who should not have been taken away so early. This is someone who made plans with me to grow up and go to the same schools and get married at the same time. This someone could have been considered a family member by the way we were stuck to each other’s hips since we met.
She’s gone now, and with her my voice left too. Maybe it would have been different if I had not discovered it. Or the fact that I knew who caused my loss? In my silence, I replay every second that led up to….
“Lily, honey you should have something to eat. We are almost done with the ceremony, and you can go and rest.” That came from my aunt Thelma. My mother called her the minute she found me kneeling beside…. beside Jess.
I was holding and rocking back and forth, not realizing that I was screaming so loud and for so long that I could be heard all the way down the block.
It is one year to the day that Jess has been taken away from me. From that moment on I had not spoken one word. I have been seeing several specialists, and they all said that it’s trauma from the shock of what I witnessed and that my voice can come back at any time.
I could talk, the sounds started to return but I find it hard to convey the right words. In my silence, I realized that people talk too much to cover up what they really feel and what they think. If we were just silent and just listened closely. Unravel what is truly being said when it’s hidden behind a smile or a giggle.
Once the ceremony was done, I went up to my room and looked outside the window. Right across from my house is where it happened. I remember when Jess tried to tell me something was happening but she never just said it. It was always hidden behind her smiles, and she would make up these fantastical stories. I had to admit I was jealous that she can make up these things off the top of her head.
I think the officer said that she even wrote down some fairy tale stories and they were good. Well, when the psychologists read it and the tears started flowing, we knew that Jess was trying to tell us what was going on in her own way.
As I look out of the window, I remember the last story that she told me. She had come over for a sleepover and we were bored scrolling social media and there was nothing new to watch in the movies, so she decided to tell me a story. That was typical Jess wanting to fill the silence. I never understood why she didn’t like the silence.
“OK, Lily, this story is called the butterfly with the artificial wing.” She said it so matter-of-factly that I could not help but laugh. Could you imagine a butterfly with an artificial wing?
“Remember you have to keep your eyes closed while I tell you the story, ” she said. I guess that was our ritual, which we made up a long time ago. She would tell the stories, and I had to keep my eyes closed.
It wasn’t always a take without a given. Usually, after stories, I sing a song to soothe her to sleep.
“Once upon a time, there was a newly hatched butterfly. Now, when all the butterflies are hatching, there is a beautiful celebration upon their arrival. You see, if a butterfly has a specific color and pattern, it would be deemed the next queen for the summer.
Now this butterfly hatched with one full wing and the other halved. All of the other butterflies were in shock at what they’d seen. Surely this had to be an abomination because this butterfly will die without being able to fly to save itself.
As the other butterflies continued to mumble and stare at the newly hatched butterfly, a professor stepped forward. This professor butterfly had created a new invention for just this situation. The problem is that the newly hatched butterfly would have to come to his home to have a perfect fit.
All the other butterflies were clapping and cheering for the professor, offering his expertise. The newly hatched butterfly thought they knew better and went along with the professor to his home. But once inside, the newly hatched butterfly did not feel so reassured of her decision.
The professor, with all his knowledge knew exactly what to do to put her at ease and in a state of complete calmness. He did not lie to the other butterflies about what he created but he omitted the fact of how it would have to be attached.
The newly hatched butterfly left the professor’s house with an artificial wing and the look on her face was not of a new butterfly anymore. Everyone praised the professor and everyone gave the new butterfly hugs and compliments.
The professor announced that the new butterfly would have to see him for maintenance and everyone accepted what he said. The new butterfly wanted to tell someone of the experience but no one would accept anything but praise about the professor.
On the third trip to the professor’s home, the butterfly was not new anymore and decided to tell the professor that she would no longer need the wing. Instead, she decided that going on with this artificial wing to cover up its deformity was not what she would do anymore.”
I lay there with my eyes closed, waiting for the rest of the story, but Jess never gave it. This was the first story that didn’t have an ending, and I had to admit I was confused. Why would the butterfly not want the wing to fly?
Jess lay down and turned her back to me. I opened my eyes to look at her, but it looked like she didn’t want to tell any more of the story. I decided to sing a song to her very softly so she could go to sleep.
Fast forward a week, and the memory played out.
Jessica would go next door to be tutored in the violin. The problem with that is Jessica was tone deaf, and her parents did not want to hear that. They hired the tutor who used to live next door to us to train her. After school, I had my own musical lessons with Miss Eloise.
I don’t know if it was the butterfly’s story or if I just had a funny feeling that I needed to see Jess that day instead of having my music lessons. But I went to the tutor’s house and knocked on the door. I’ve waited a while for someone to answer, but no one did. I did find it odd that I didn’t even hear a violin being played.
I walked inside, looking around to see where Jess and the tutor were. What I found was the tutor face down and not moving. I ran over to Jess because she was not that far away from him, and that’s when I saw it. The deep self-inflicted wound. I grabbed hold, hoping to save her life, and I tried to start screaming, but she whispered something. I leaned over to hear her.
“Now I can go with my deformity, and the professor will never put the artificial wing on someone else.”
Realizing that she was ending the butterfly story, I cried and screamed like I never screamed before.
My peace was taken away from me, and so has my voice. I cannot sing for joy, and I cannot talk about happiness when my heart is still broken. Jessica’s family moved away, and mine chose to remember her once a year.
This is just my first year without her. I can talk, but now I choose to listen more.
(Hi fire starters this is a deep one. I normally do not know where my stories lead me until I am halfway through them. Hopefully I did this tastefully so that you will be able to handle it) Fia xoxo
You must be logged in to post a comment.