🗡️ Charlie 🌿
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missilesilo.bsky.social
🗡️ Charlie 🌿
@missilesilo.bsky.social
15 followers 28 following 4 posts
he/him | 30 | lover of Eden, the arts, and the earth
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missilesilo.bsky.social
“he calls you darling” #poem #poetry #freeverse
a poem titled “he calls you darling” written in a dark red font on a paper textured background. it reads as follows: he calls you darling without any warning or reason. he tucks you safely against his own heart. you feel the beating of it hard and strong like the pulsing of some summer sun and rock concert sound equipment, five feet from stage. you're used to love feeling weak. something you had to beg out of bed in the morning. it always said "five more minutes" no matter how sweetly you smiled at it. but, he sees you sitting at the foot of his bed with your eyes glistening, a whine in your throat. he takes your hand in his and says, "darling, you don't have to beg." like somehow he knew that you'd been doing nothing else for years and years. "my darling," he says. and it's music to your ears. you can't get the sound of it out of your head. instead, your mind starts composing symphonies. you didn't know you could do that anymore. you didn't know anyone could awaken this in you ever again. but you are so, so awake— the kick drum of your heart just a-beating in time with his heart and his songs. he says, "i want to write songs for you." he says, "i want to sing for you." you want to tell him that your blood has been singing for him from the start. you've lost half your vocal range but you want to take lessons for him. for him. for hymn. suddenly everything is for him. and he calls you, darling. 04.10.24 | cm howard | missilesilo
February 4, 2025 at 4:32 PM
missilesilo.bsky.social
just a little poem to help heal the hurt i know lots of us are feeling this morning
i will always be my father's daughter. that's how he knew me when we laid him to rest nearly 22 years ago. there is nothing i can do to alter the way our lives entangled. no wishful thinking or "What-if "s will do it. yes, i will always be my father’s daughter— but i am my mother’s son, just the same. i hear my mother's righteous anger call from the other room and i do my best to answer in kind. when i see my reflection, i see their love looking back at me; it is the most treasured gift i own. i am my father’s daughter. i am my mother’s son. i know who i am and no one can rob me of myself. not even when they gather all the material riches of the world into blood-stained hands. "the gift of identity" Charles M. Howard January 21, 2025
January 21, 2025 at 3:34 PM