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elysianblu.bsky.social
• elys •
@elysianblu.bsky.social
66 followers 19 following 22 posts
❝i am overflowing with apple cider and it tastes like Phoebe Bridgers, like a wish of happiness at 11:11, like loving a precious lie all over again.❞

elys/blu. all forms of art is all i need.
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elysianblu.bsky.social
to descend from the sky
#poetry #freeverse #writesky
i’m feeling like   the bird   that hits    a glass window    thinking    it’s meant to be. i’m feeling like   the butterfly   that lands    on the arm of a five-year-old & leaves minutes later   thinking   it’s never been more loved    & will never be addressed quite   as tenderly. i’m feeling like   the world    is out     to get me. i’m feeling like   unfamiliar, unidentified fragments   of the universe exist   to remain    untainted by human touch— our distance   essential    for survival. i’m feeling like   the missing pieces    of my soul   are in the skyline’s lost-in-found landfill    of unborn light. i’m feeling like   the sun    should alleviate   the awry sensation    my chest drives home. i’m feeling like   i should put the phone down—    the fire out—     the blame on me. i’m feeling like   the downward    vortex. i’m feeling unattainable,   out of reach to the first nine clouds. i’m feeling   i’m feeling    i’m feeling— but i’ll see   which way    the wind blows. oh,   how the sky    falls     down!
November 5, 2025 at 5:22 AM
elysianblu.bsky.social
going 100 mph in our space car!
#writesky #freeverse #prose
you want to leave earth?   travel to mars,    to venus, take a trip   from planet‑to‑planet,   moonwalk, fall in love   with otherworldly beauty? step into tow   with the celestial misfits, star‑drunk   wanderers? me too, darling.   we’re one in the same. the two of us   are three for three. you tell me   how you wake & you daydream. nightdream.   midmorning dream. who cares   what time of day! time is an illusion! i talked to god   & he agreed, so long as   i keep an eye on you. it’s nothing to worry about,   i swear on the sky. who cares who cares   who cares! what banal nonsense   this world is. nobody cares about us   and that used to be the problem, but it’s just not anymore. we’ve changed that.   we’ve made the most of it so far, and will continue   to do so. a planet crosses   in front of you, baby, & you’re a star   in its eyes. brief alignment.   momentary clarity. another three planets   create a pattern    of rhythm. what a dance‑floor! the sun warns us:   “take one more step toward me    & you’re asking to be burned.” we shrug.   we give a sidelong look. give no fucks. who cares   who cares    who cares! we sure as hell don’t.   sure as space,    sure as liminality. you orbit madness   & i duck away. you’re a quack comet,   oh unwise one. albeit, a real dreamer you are,   & i forgive you    in half a heartbeat. i love you   i love you    i love you! but please   never look below you. just breathe,   stay put while i sort this out. i don’t ever want to be immune   to your imagination.
November 5, 2025 at 5:12 AM
elysianblu.bsky.social
time capsule: puppies (dec. 12, 2024)
#poetry #prosepoetry #vss365 #vss #literature #writesky
blanketed (13 years old): every day, ellie rediscovers the joy of living the way a small bird, wing-injured, relearns how to soar across a periwinkle sunset. every day, ellie finds a new reason to live. her list consists, but is not limited to, the following: movie nights during thunderstorms and finding music to listen to while vividly reminiscent or unabashedly sobbing until your throat is raw, aching for hours afterward. ellie’s love for the world is only elevated when one day she comes home from school to two dogs barking in fear at the sound of the side door suddenly opening, their doe-like eyes looking back at her once she walks up the steps. laughter fills the room when the black puppy jumps at her. “that’s dahlia, and the white pup is milo,” g’ma explains. ellie hears the click of a polaroid camera as she drops to one knee — her backpack sliding off her shoulder — and wraps her arms around both dogs. “they’re so precious!” ellie expresses, giggling when dahlia licks her icy-cold cheek, flushed from the outside breeze. “thank you, i love you.”
December 12, 2024 at 4:06 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
excerpt: waiting by the front door that never closes (dec. 11, 2024)
#prose #vss365 #writesky #literature #poetry
I am eighteen and yearning for the rebirth of my childhood self when my mother sits me down for the first time in years and says, “Change is not handed to you on a silver platter, my darling — change is what you carve out of stone with narrowed eyes and a stubborn heart. Change is something that begins with an action of your own, a thread to be woven to completion.” I had been on the verge of a breakdown, unable to breathe properly as I paced from the kitchen and into to the living room, back and forth and back and forth. Nearly tripping over a present that jutted out from under the starlit Christmas tree, I’d paused and focused on my breath control, my clenched hands at my sides trembling like the leaf that was earlier crunched under my feet, free falling in the wind and meeting the damp earth. Outside, a storm previously brewed to its fullest now shook the house, lightning striking once but never twice. There was a metaphor hidden within — one that symbolized my resolve, continuously flirting with the edge of falling apart; laying my soul bare in order to expose my innermost being. Following the moment she found me sitting on the love seat, gasping for air, she calmly soothed me into composure. We both were silent, the unsaid words weighing on my shoulders: My lover is lost in June, and there is nothing I am to do, I desired to express. There is nothing anyone could do and there’s nothing that can be done about the past. Only the future is on the horizon. I stand at the crossroads of my journey, the skyline a backdrop to my decisions, whether reckless or careful. If it wasn’t for guilt and any emotion, really, I could stand here forever and watch the cherry blossom leaves drift away from their swaying branches. I could learn to be numb to constancy and learn to be complacent and unaware of any possible danger to my stagnation, no expectations in mind that would deflate my mood. After reciting the excerpt, she explained in a mellow tone that she intended to share something she wrote three years prior, which she had recently seen in a new light — almost as if it were a retrospective piece. Knowing merely her voice would calm me further, she rambled on, happily revealing that she felt she turned enough pages to claim she was in the next chapter of her life. She brainstormed possible titles, coming up with both “Interlude: The Waiting Room of Life” and “The Intermission Music.” Suddenly a thought wracked me: the fact that I had been pondering if she, a decade-long poet, would either ask someone to write my eulogy or carry the burden herself. My lover may be lost in June but I am forever thirteen, eyes perpetually staring at the front door, awaiting my father. Similarly, I am doomed to a life of waiting for change I wished to occur in my younger years. I wait and wait. The knock on the door never sounds throughout the house, even as said door stays ajar, never to be locked. My feet stay firmly planted on the house’s floor, aching with the yearning for change.
December 11, 2024 at 5:20 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
excerpt: wish-candles (dec. 2nd, 2024)
#poetry #prose #childhood #vss365 #writesky
I. “Make a wish!” Claudia hears her G’ma say from beside her, a near-identical smile resting on her lips, but she can only get lost in the way the flame ignites, how it moves freely. She just watches as it flickers and kisses the air, almost extinguished by the breeze that’s quickly spreading through the house because of the open front door. She pauses, taking a moment to look around: her family are sat around the table, all nestled together and basking in the silvery gleam of the moon that infiltrates through the window, enlightening an inky darkness in the room. The starry ceiling projector that Malik bought illuminates exactly as intended, but Claudia is quicker to momentarily notice how it accentuates everyone’s features in a breathtaking way. It feels like a magical moment, as if the spotlight is not only on her, but them, too. (Mama specifically looks beautiful. Lovely. The kind of person that does not simply love. Never, because she devotes. At times it’s more than worth it, and at other moments it’s not for even a second, but Mama doesn’t seem to care — she doesn’t know. All Claudia knows is that love makes her head relentlessly spin like no other; a whirlwind of emotions, and tears, and kisses and gentle touches, and bone-deep cold, and rippling tremors, for God’s sake. Claudia has witnessed Mama in the lowest points of her life, her facial features an undertone to the blotched tears, and sees her the same: the primary person she can go to for anything. A cozy embrace, a gentle kiss on the forehead. Her life, even, if that’s what it took, for she devotes and devotes and still has all the time in the world.) II. For a brief moment, each and every fragment blurs into one and Claudia blows out all eight candles, the vehement blaze of them dwindling into nothing as melted wax evaporates. Her wish goes with it, floating into the air and encircling them. (It is — to never forget love. It is not — something physical, like the dolls or stuffed bears or any of the other variants of toys she already has. It is — to be fueled by hope, to be deeply intertwined with it so much so that the feeling courses through her body.) — ElysianBlu 2024
December 2, 2024 at 2:25 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
excerpt: cloudie days (dec. 1st, 2024)
#poetry #prose #childhood #vss365 #prompt #blue
I. Claudia — or Cloudie, as her friends and family refer to her as — discovers the unfiltered beauty of friendship and leaves her previous doubts about new people behind. The curse of the clock doesn’t affect her in the slightest. If it did, it would only give her another reason to passionately live — to awake to a starless sky and hum songs that reside at the back of her mind at all times, a balm to her heart. She walks into the classroom on the second day of kindergarten, a girl on a mission. At the back of the room, close to the window, she quietly observes her fellow students and admires every freckled-face, every grin that reaches their eyes, and every laugh that echoes into the evening air. II. When lunchtime rolls around, she walks over to a table where a dimple-cheeked boy sat, a half-empty pack of Haribo Goldbear Gummies stuffed into her pocket. He had a giggle that could not possibly be more joyous than it was. She sat down next to him so he didn’t have to be alone and offered him gummies of each existing color, all of them laid out on her palm. He gasped and gladly tucked a blue-colored one into his cheek, saying, “Thank you. I’m Eddie!” Thus, their friendship began swiftly. So much so that later on, ten or so minutes into sleep time, she discreetly revealed the bag to him once more. III. When Eddie looked inside, only blue gummies were left. The blue ones taste like kindness, he says. — ElysianBlu 2024
December 2, 2024 at 4:03 AM
elysianblu.bsky.social
time capsule: train (nov. 28th, 2024)
#poetry #prose #thanksgiving #vss365 #prompt #train
freefall (16 years old): the biting cold lit ellie up with goosebumps, blush-nosed and constantly sniffling as she sat on the front porch step. her hands were pressed against her face as she exhaled into her cupped palms, before rubbing them together in a desperate attempt to regain warmth. abruptly, the oak-hued door to the house swung open, a shadow promptly sprawling out along the cemented walkway as g’ma stepped through the threshold, calmly asking, “what are you out here for?” ellie didn’t have to think about it for long before she had an answer, and didn’t have to look behind her to know g’ma was smiling; it was evident, the melodic lift to her voice as prominent as ever. ellie observes her freckle-mottled face and thinks of them as constellations in the dim-lit sky, each one as unique as the next. she tells her she wanted to come outside for inspiration, for a change of scenery after being in the house for days — outside of the train ride to school, that is — then informs her that she has a gift. inside, the remainder of the family are conversing with one another at the kitchen table while cooking dinner. the christmas-themed calendar on the far wall has every day of the november month crossed off with a sharpie all the way up until the twenty-eighth. after retrieving the written letter from her room, ellie begins to read from it aloud in a soft-spoken cadence. “love is an ever-flowing, running river — much like life is. they are both in constant motion. love doesn’t have to rot and soften, instead it has to be maintained like a garden. i ask for you to water my soul. in fact, we'll do it interchangeably and bloom alongside each other. i will gradually flourish into a red-tinted rose; you, an ultramarine forget-me-not. our petals will gracefully fall onto this blessed earth and every growth stage will repeatedly spell out the following words: i love you."
November 28, 2024 at 6:51 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
one day i will understand, scene i: bodyguard (nov. 26, 2024)
#vss365 #vsspoem #poetry #writesky #prompt #delay
nerissa—heart on her sleeve, emotions bubbling over at once; she paced the cramped living room in the safe house she was forced to relocate to when hostility between her and crazed fans had reached its peak, past letters turning into a premonition for what was to come. elizabeth—guarded, her every emotion delicately confined between her ribs; she sat at the table, as composed as ever, polishing her switchblade with a handkerchief. “i cannot live like this,” nerissa snapped, suddenly halting her movements, turning on her wounded heel and fixing her scorching gaze on elizabeth’s relaxed form. elizabeth didn’t even bother to spare her a glance. “you’ll live,” she muttered under her breath, her reaction delayed. her voice was low and small, embodying the emotionless guise she was taught to adopt as an impressionable young girl. “that’s the point.” nerissa was determined to keep her anger from falling onto elizabeth, but the latter’s apparent lack of concern or even sympathy was making it almost unbearable. nerissa, sighing, threw her hands in the air, wholly exasperated: “you don’t get it, do you? my whole career—” “—won’t matter if you’re dead, rissa!” elizabeth cut in, her voice characteristically sharp, although the blunt statement sliced through the tension, similar to the blade that she had subconsciously gripped tighter. for the first time, she looked up from her task, scarlet eyes meeting nerissa’s at last. her trembling lips were set in a thin line and her crimson lipstick was slightly smudged. but it was the softness in her expression, the vulnerability just beneath the surface, that caught nerissa off guard. for a brief moment, elizabeth’s mask slipped, and they both felt it—that clear shift in the air between them. “i’m keeping you safe, you hear me? no matter what, one way or another, i’m keeping you alive. it’s not just my job, it’s my vow to you.”
November 26, 2024 at 5:02 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
vignette 1: meander (nov. 25, 2024)
#poetry #vignette #vss365 #writesky #prose
along the roadway edge on the underside of the bridge, i meander without any purpose, absently snapping pictures with the vintage family-owned camera hanging from my neck. hair windswept, skin sun-kissed and nearly sunburnt, i glance at the sleek cars zooming by, unknowingly counting each and every silver-colored car until i catch myself. releasing a much needed sigh, i force my gaze elsewhere and instead watch as three geese waddle through the wet grass in the near distance, holding my breath so as to not scare them. i say a solitary prayer in a subdued tone of voice and position my rain-laden camera towards the fleet-footed geese, miraculously capturing a clear, well-defined image. pleased by simplicity, i exhale a delighted laugh and do a brisk spin, my sunflower dress billowing in the feather-light zephyr, its tattered frays dancing with the quiet hum of the wind through the hymnal trees.
November 25, 2024 at 6:55 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
a skerry in the perspective of a seabird
#poetry #vss365 #vsspoem #prompt #skerry

📷: childe hassam, 1911
overhead the skerry’s dark jagged edge, i soar above, no need to wedge; silence, life untouched by things— i store freedom between my wings. the wind hums songs no ears have known, a hymn to cliffs, to waves, to stone; the homage of an ancient chorus; and a tribute to seals, crabs, morus.
November 25, 2024 at 1:47 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
i’m drawn to something, and it feels like love for you
#poetry #vss365 #vsspoem #prompt #horizon #inkMine
i see the moon through my window and i think i might be in love with you. i see the mountains smothered in cascading and crystalline snow and i think it called your name with more intensity than i could. i suspect you lied to me about wanting us to be forever. i sacrificed my own well-being to feel your pain, to sympathize with you. / i desperately need to move on from ashford boulevard. i desperately need your ghosts to cease their haunting, even if they may be guardians on good days. on good days, i go to our spot by the river and skinny dip for the hell of it. you plucked me like a rose and let the petals fall out of your grasp. my heart is disheartened and i’m incredibly fatigued. i cannot come to the phone right now; i cannot seem to leave my bed on spiral days — even if i dream boldly, longing to reach new horizons on my own volition. / when i’m back home in ashby falls, i’ll feel it. i’ll see the lichen on the ochre trees you mentioned and you’ll re-cultivate these feelings in my garden of a heart. i’ll feel the pearlescent moon beaming upon me alongside the stuttering street lamp post and i’ll think i’m in love with you.
November 24, 2024 at 6:29 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
the tender ritual of a veiled joy, waiting to emerge
#poetry #vss365 #vsspoem #prompt #hop
ellie 🌻🐝 @winterlessyear how do i let myself give into my childish desires? i deeply want to go unnoticed and run through my mother’s pastel-painted sprinklers in the garden, spontaneously buy vanilla ice cream during heat waves, hop over fences that make a barrier between me and dewy fields, and sing and dance to my favorite songs without feeling sad or embarrassed. like rust eating through metal, it corrodes me from within, the need festering inside my heart. but i can’t. i can’t seem to do it. | | red 🥀 @redacted_elio my honest advice: you just have to do it once, then you’ll have less trouble doing it over and over again, if you wish. each step will feel like rebellion, but you have to remind yourself it’s also freedom. don’t let your thoughts consume you; try to shut off your mind, or think about something that soothes you. the way stars look in the far-away skyline, how they shimmer and dance. at first, do it cautiously, when no one’s looking — walk through the sprinkler, then change out of drenched clothes. buy the ice cream and eat it in the car. hop one fence, even if it’s the lowest one, but be extra careful while doing it. be patient as you let the muscle memory take control. sing quietly, just for you. when alone, hum a melody. lull yourself to sleep, and rise in the morning for your own sake. live again.
November 23, 2024 at 1:55 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
a shadow of familial demands
#poetry #literature #writesky
#prose #windingwords
the hardest part of loving yourself is forgiving lifelong guilt. it has been simmering since i was eight years old, fearful of feelings, susceptible to the immense torment forced upon me through both intentional and unintentional familial pressure. it was all kinds of pressure from school, grades, myself, and especially from the innate, soulful longing as a human to have friends—to have somewhere to belong. “get out there and be a kid,” mama advised me, voice cracking. “i’ll even allow you to be a little reckless if it means you’ll make more of an earnest effort. go live, darling. you know what i mean? dance, sing, express yourself.” i cannot swim in the lake anymore, as it is a portal. i cannot look forward to weekends spent dipping my toes before i trudge further, body waist-deep in water. i cannot look my younger self in the eye without ultimately sobbing. mama says: “somewhere in the world, a young woman like you is thinking the same thing. maybe not the exact same, word-for-word, but the point is shared. you think you cannot do what you did as a child, but that is only a lie you tell yourself to hide the fact that you’re scared. i know, honeypot. i know. i felt the same when i was younger; when your father left me for my best friend, i thought i couldn’t ever go back to the places we often went to. but i was wrong.” she clasped my hand in her own and gently kissed my bruised knuckles: i’d come home after a fight with my girlfriend, cheeks tear-stained as i gasped for air i didn’t deserve. i attempted to borrow the oxygen. steal, even. because i lied. i lied to her about being okay with her wanting to keep us a secret, and i got so angry that my clenched hand shattered the empty glass in my grip. mama continued speaking, voice growing a touch more melancholic and wistful: “it was a friday. i woke up at seven in the morning and drank coffee on the porch with a blanket wrapped around my shivering shoulders. i fed the squirrels, then the neighborhood cat you adore so much, and listened to the birdsong start only when i sat back down, completely still. i loved the simplicity of it all, the unspoken promise of music in everything around me—the cars, the birds, the chatter—as i always have, but i craved something more. i craved a simple but meaningful change. so. . .” “so?” i prompted her, letting the question linger between us as mama’s hand moved slowly through my hair in smooth strokes, wrapping the room in a gentle, soothing rhythm. mama smiles, proud of me for listening. she’s always proud of me, even for the most trivial things. it makes my chest feel tight with both happiness and sadness. it makes me feel like a responsible and capable person, but also like a little child who searches for approval in every simple action. she says, “so, i went to the coffee shop on prairie road and acted as though it was a new experience, like i’d never been there before. instead of thinking about it as a date spot or a meeting place, it was an area reserved for me. after i walked in, the bell above the door ringing its familiar tone, i found a new spot by the windows and quietly people-watched. i relearned the route that led me there and back home. i went through roads and saw houses i never had before. i met people i had brief conversations with just that once, and i met our family friend, iris. i loved it even more, in a way i hadn’t thought possible.” i am usually my father’s shadow, but over time, this learned behavior has naturally shifted, and i now unconsciously mimic my mother. i do not have my own voice, but i respond anyway: “scared is the only [feeling] [or] [emotion] i [can] [muster] [up] when [i’m] [faced] with the [past]. [i’m] [sorry]. i have always tried my best. my best [does] [not] [suffice]; it happens to also [be] my [worst].” the hardest part of loving myself is realizing that i have to unlearn the words that were never mine to begin with.
November 23, 2024 at 12:36 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
december 25, 1997
#poetry #vsspoem #vss365 #prompt #rain #raindrops
DECEMBER 25, 1997 WILLOW CLINIC i. life wrings me dry, every last drop of water inside me swishes around as though it is in a tall glass. my stomach churns. my washing-machine heart beats to the rhythm of the raindrops that soar overhead and pour onto the dewy surface of this damned earth. i am both mentally and physically sick; time is constantly mocking me with the tick of the clock and the luck of the draw. i have been dealt cards i wish to be oblivious about. i do not believe in God in the sense that he (or she) is a higher power, but that they are an everyday human that has to take a deep breath every now and then before they talk in front of a crowd — in front of Angels, or Devils. i believe in Fate and i sincerely wish a thousands times over that i wholeheartedly believed in Love. ii. i'm on my deathbed. every mirage imaginable invades my mind: roses in the thicket of vines curl around the beg legs, rising up towards the sheets, their petals bleeding into the fabric. each breath feels forced and my body is seemingly restrained by something that defies understanding, a feeling that escapes the boundary of language. God, a smiling young woman with nude lipstick and yellow nail polish, sits at the edge of the bed, the roses hugging her body and leaving her streaked in what looks like red paint. she pays no mind to what is going on around us. she looks at me, innocent-eyed and solemn-burdened. do you want to kiss the heavenly skies with lips as soft as clouds? she whispers. it's an extremely sugary way of asking if i think i'll go to Heaven and i briefly think 'could this actually be an Angel instead?' but i stop myself. both God's and all Angel-made sacrifices are wholly worth the unwavering kindness humans hold in their fragile hearts — their personal balloons — even though it often deflates and needs to be filled with fresh air again. to be honest, i respond slowly to God/the Angel/the wonderful Human, i would rather exist in the space between than be forced to choose among two possibilities: the Angel or the Devil within me.
November 22, 2024 at 2:38 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
the troll that resides on my shoulder & other illusions
#vss365 #vsspoem #poetry #prompt #troll #writesky
love’s teeth latched onto me / in the dawn of my career / in the midst of a spiral day / on a sunny morning / i couldn’t bask in the light, nor / glimmer the darkness that / rivaled the moon’s silver glow. my muse no longer worked anymore / when i ran out of power / when my battery ran out / i shut down / and the cord was twisting in on itself / breaking through its covering to reveal / what lay beneath / and the outlet power protector / went forever missing / and yet — it doesn’t matter, you see / i have been living on low battery for years / i have been driving with one tire / putting a pinch of effort into the meal / i serve to myself until i realize / the meat was undercooked, the plate / was never mine. oh, i beg you / leave me to my lonesome / even if i cry out / even if i plead / for i need time to bleed out, to spill / my sorrow onto the vast, unbroken / snow blanketing the earth / in an isolated place / in some remote area / by a park bench / where the park has vanished / without a trace / because i wish to do the same. i’ll die near the abandoned garden / whilst i imagine dried lavender blossoms breathing life back into my heart / i’ll replace the wilted crimson roses / with blooming ocean breeze orchids / and budding marigolds mixed with / a yellow-orange tinge. the troll that rests on my shoulder / the once-beautiful flowers that restrict my / steady breathing / the endless well, dark and hollow / where my thoughts echo back at me / the heavy fog that blinds my vision / and limits me to solely see the dimness / will have a day’s rest / at last / at long, long last / with you awaking by my side.
November 21, 2024 at 2:27 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
sightseeing through the lens of simplicity
#vss365 #vsspoem #poetry #prompt #sightseeing
୧ ‧₊˚ 🖤 ⋅ i promised myself nightly sightseeing i promised myself quiet solitude but i’m always fearful and fast-fleeting ill-fated design — i’m selfish and rude i’m dying to be someone else but me the mirage leaves me breathless and longing my silver lining; the moment i’m free free from cloudy skies, the sunrise fawning the sheer weight of the earth burdens me still i’d live on the sun for the constant warmth but i’d miss the sunlight as dusk brings chill depression traps me, spiraling henceforth to myself, i vow, i’ll promise once more when ready, i’ll walk through that open door ୧ ‧₊˚ 🖤 ⋅
November 20, 2024 at 5:08 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
the highest form of self-acceptance
#poetry #writesky #prompt #suitcase #vss365
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ i bottle up my feelings in a jar labeled ‘to recycle’ and bury it at the bottom of my suitcase i’ve had since i was seventeen, yearning for my first love to unclench my fists, dry my tears, and kiss the salt from my lips. i smother the jar with hand-me-down clothes and the most-cherished antique jewelry from my grandmother—things i can’t ever find myself disposing or being away from for long. emotions, despite often shaping me and my intent in negative ways, remain close to my heart; thus, i suppose my last resort is to at long last rise above them. i can only postpone confronting my emotions so many times before i inevitably break down in the middle of sunday’s church service, shards of broken glass piercing my flesh as water pools around me, seeping from the shattered vessel. i am not holy. i am not a saint. i am desolate and hauntingly stunning. i do not ask for pity, except from god. forgiveness, i reserve for the mirror and the reflection that stares back at me with intensity. to forgive yourself is the highest form of self-acceptance. i whisper into the darkness of the universe: i forgive my present self for clinging onto words that are decades long. i forgive you and i’m sorry. i thank you. i love you. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
November 19, 2024 at 4:31 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
the simplicity of remembrance / 'life is a journey that requires living right'
#vss365 #writesky #prompt #journey #prose #freeverse
beau, the son of a farmer with beloved cattle, smelt the overturned milk upon the floor of his new house and thought of home. océane, the single mother of a young boy who yearned to be a professional swimmer, saw a group of children running through the sprinkler with the remnants of spilt cranberry juice on their fingers and thought about a promise. one that claimed the ceasing of summer sadness, the ceasing of the gut-wrenching cherry stem that long ago settled at the bottom of her stomach. this is to say that a memory is just a memory without the meaning and overflowing emotion behind it. an object is just an object without the connotation of sentimental value. life is a journey that requires living right; with the tranquility of calm waters, flow gently, kiss the shore in bated breath, goodnight, star so bright-goodnight, goodnight. quiet your mind and invite in peace. she's knocking at the door while the porch light continues flickering on and off. will you please not let the memories overwhelm you? i'm here, i'm right here. i'm here to be your support, physically and mentally. lean your weary head on my shoulder as our mutual friend drives through the dim-lit country roads. let your nonsensical, half-asleep rambles drift into a soft murmur until only gentle mumbles remain. i love you, my dear. i forgave the world when i met you.
November 18, 2024 at 4:29 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
a lost postcard epistle in a sand grave
#vss365 #poetry #writesky #postcard #prompt
♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ today i laid down, cried under the sun papa watched me from his chair, all undone and pondered when my purpose would surface while my hands shook ⁠– i'm weary and nervous i wondered if my life had now begun to live is either to stand or to run this is the question of the restless soul ⁠–⁠ what will you be remembered for, what role? over coffee, mama told me to dream she wished upon a dandelion, 'beam' called me darling, called me soft-glowed starlight 'you are endowed with wings, will you take flight?' warm-hearted, i promise to find my way i will never stop searching, night and day ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧
November 17, 2024 at 7:45 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
opal, imagine this yellow-painted ball is your guiding star
#vss365 #vsspoem #prompt #travel #poetry #freeverse #writesky
opal, honey, imagine this yellow-painted ball i clasp in my useless, human hands is a star. i know no person would ever be lucky enough to do such a thing, but imagine. close your eyes, if you must, but please don't forget to open them. now, glance at the slate blue sky, softening as the night falls, and the billions of stars that still guide the way home. imagine you are perpetually floating in that sky, above the horizon, just a whisper away from that same starry veil. let this yellow ball that beams light brighter in the reflection of your eyes be your shooting star, my love. chase it all the way to your divine heaven, where i'll ultimately reunite with you. i swear to you, i'll travel the distance. i'll come home.
November 16, 2024 at 3:06 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
the circle of life: 'image captured from [redacted]'
#poetry #vss365 #prompt #raise #literature #freeverse #prose
i look at what used to be mama’s house, the place where i grew up. it says 'image captured july 2008.' mama is still alive, and judging by the car parked in the driveway and the rising sun, she’s awoken early and is organizing the household pills and re-filling the dog bowls with fresh tap water—everything she can do before the children wake up. i can tell from the sidewalk that the light in the kitchen is on, only dimly illuminating the area. she swore she never noticed the difference, but i remember being a few years younger and the light blinding me like looking directly at the sun, childlike but wandering through life incrementally. at this time, i understand nothing about death or grief. for as much as i know, mama lives forever and i am raised to be everlasting. i don’t have to hope for her to be reborn in this life as a blue monarch butterfly streaked in a black shade, visiting me from time-to-time when i’m sobbing on the porch, my heart cracking open as feelings spill over. . . . . . . it says 'image captured january 2024'. her existence in the house lives on primarily through memory and decades of photos taken. her presence is in the baby blue shade of the walls she painted and the billowy white clouds passionately illustrated along it. the windows are halfway open, revealing a blank tv screen in the living room that was never there and a shaggy orange cat that’s sprawled out on the top of the recliner, wide eyes watching me with a curious, unblinking stare. i can almost imagine her kneeling in the garden, except that the garden in question has been replaced with a seating area with a rocking chair. children visibly live here; there’s a miniature umbrella propped against the brick wall, decorated with ultraviolet raindrops, and also a swingset shrouded by the vibrantly blooming flowers, the swing slow-moving in the wind. everywhere you look is evident of life. i have not been okay since i realized this and the time across my screen blinks 3:07 a.m., a form of mental torture. mama’s old room might be a nursery now, or a little boy or girl’s room with either a race car bed or a princess bed. these kids will play tag in the same backyard we laughed in. they’ll swim in the pool and think of the days as endless. maybe they can be, somehow. maybe they always have been.
November 15, 2024 at 2:00 PM
elysianblu.bsky.social
the pinnacle of my downfall
#vss365 #poetry #freeverse #prompt #pinnacle
the pinnacle of my downfall —ceases. sugar-coated chaos wrapped in velvet nights played behind my eyes like a film reel, a television tuned to a dead channel. i kissed the morning, briefly tasted goodbye, and metaphorically awoke to clear afternoon skies. the pinnacle of my downfall —in actuality is trapped in yesterday. in the evening, you sit on the windowsill and read me your poetry you swore you’d never share with a soul. but here we are, bonding over trauma. binded together through grief. you taste of hope and stability. the pinnacle of my downfall —was persistent but the night is still young. sometimes, to grow and blossom under a gorgeous skyline, you need to understand the beauty of sadness firsthand. my tears are silver streams of light, but my heart is still beating, wildly synchronized with yours. i am still breathing. the night is still young, and i am full of youthful spirit.
November 14, 2024 at 5:09 PM