Thursday, 20 February 2014

It will take me a few more years to learn flying is not pushing away the ground

Desire:

I need to leave here. I need to travel. 
I need to find someone who cares 
whether my heart breaks or not.
I am craving cities full of anonymity
where I can dance my way in sequined 
dresses into the seediest bars where the lost 
gather with the single connection of lust for
artistic expression. 
I want to sit on the high stools, delicately 
sipping expensive drinks like it’s something i do 
for a living. In a way I suppose it is. 
Dreaming of fishnet stockings, 
seducing poets, a few words in my ear 
to drag me back- from an artist- 
desperate to paint me into his world 
of melancholic oil portraits. Then
gather up his brushes and join me, 
vaulting, as we lean on to the wings 
of the next insignificant adventure.





Also, I feel the most profound need to share this, it's my new absolute favourite poem:


I Sing The Body Electric, Especially When My Power’s Out. - Andrea Gibson





9 comments:

  1. did you write this? it's incredible, such beautiful words.<3

    thisisfrom-matilda.blogspot.co.uk

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  2. We want the very same thing. I want to be a muse and do nothing but sit among the poets. I love how you paired lust with artistic expression. Amazing how those two seem to go hand in hand.

    Em
    Tightrope to the Sun

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  3. i want this too. all of it
    (your words are perfect)
    and so is that poem x

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  5. .. and you will be. you really will be not just pretending for an empty blogpost. I can see you. It’s London again. North London smelling of vinegar and stale beer on the night busses, when we escaped the rich old guys limousines and taxi cabs, giggling, almost falling over in our heels, going nowhere, then, standing in the dusk in front of Harvey knichs like I once did, refuse to leave before the store opens; I want that dress. I need it now. And your raven hair will clash against the window display, jet black like diamonds.
    Helen you should come, calm and Breton striped and French, dressed up in black coffee and occasional cigarettes smoke… we won’t mind neither seasons nor rain, and our hearts will be broken always, as this is their nature.
    And one might call this comment pathetic, but at least I meant it, and I saw this when reading your words.


    xxxxx

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    Replies
    1. Thank you thank you thank you, you really get me, this is the best comment I've ever, ever gotten x

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    2. No, thank YOU!! excuse all the typos, but this was what i saw, when i read your precious words, needed to type it FAST
      <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

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Thank you for your words.