Tuesday, July 14, 2015

// les mots //

hello, this is abby. 
evelyn and i are doing something a little bit special; we have given each other lists of words with the instructions to write what these words mean to us. i hope you enjoy what these words mean to me, for they have torn passion out of my mind and stretched it across this blank page.

every time i remember that night, it is like pouring citrus into the cracks of a half-healed wound. the sting travels; the sting traverses every seam. the green, electric pain rushes across the inside of my head, and into my veins, and to the tips of my fingers. i feel it in the wounds and in the papercuts. i know what i have done, and the guilt stings in my scars.

the boy exhaled in two ragged coughs and he inhaled in two ragged gasps. the oxygen scratched across the flesh of his lungs; there was an ache deep in his ribs. his palms slid back, heaving him from the red canvas. the boy’s eyes flashed with fire; he was hungry to win. the boy was a fighter, born and bred. he slid his glove across his face and it came back bloody. he blinked. he smiled. he brought his fists up to his jaw. he had done this one thousand times. he had died one thousand times, only to live another day. oxygen is never kind to a fighter, and the boy had learned this one thousand times.

you will never win if it is yourself that you are fighting.

his voice scratches, softens, deepens, lightens, thunders, cries, laughs and rushes and falls all over me. his voice resonates in the back of my head, and it sinks down to my shoulder blades. his voices falls slowly past my heart, and i can feel its warmth. his voice strikes chords. his voice tears me apart and inside out. his voice drags me from the dark; his voice lets in the stars. his voice brings me home.

my voice whispers, hovers, ventures, returns, creaks and sighs, it sways slow and steady. my voice is soft and scared and i’m standing on the edge, but just standing. and my voice wavers inside uncertainty, and my voice is afraid.

she repeated “no” to herself so many times that she could no longer understand the meaning of the word. it was too hard to believe. her body screamed in denial, her mind churned and roared in an ocean of denial, and her hands shook. it was too hard to believe.

heartmindsoul is the triumvirate governing your feelings, your thoughts, your being. your mind is the wall, the army, the gate. you are the gatekeeper. do not let anything slip past that could set this noble homeland to ruin.

he was my morning star;
he rose with the silver light

he was my evening star;
he sang me to sleep

he is my venus;
he is my mourning scar

quivering, shivering, inaudible wings -
the black and silver dust; the charcoal beings.

shuddering, fluttering, i can never escape them -
they, the mass of tiny bodies; the mass of ghosts.

chaos above, below. i huddle in darkness -
i’m shrouded in whispers; the whispers of flight.

chaos below, above. i see constellations -
they correlate the sky; they’ve taken my ceiling.

faith is hard, my friend. you are not always going to feel these magical christian feelings. you are not always going to feel like you can connect with God. you are not always going to think that your beliefs are logical or even real. i don’t, anyway. but you have to hold on, cling, cleave, whatever. that’s faith. you have been called to step out on a bridge that you cannot see, and that is faith. sometimes you will fall from the bridge; you will have to reach out and hold onto the edge with all of your strength and that is faith. and then, He helps you climb over the side. you will lie on your face, gasping for air, and that is faith. he doesn’t bring in a helicopter to to carry you over this chasm; you have to walk it yourself. i don’t even know where i’m going with this metaphor, but i guess my point is: if you feel like you’re losing your faith, you must hold on to it anyway. yes, it is hard. but that would be christianity:

hard. worth it.


my love, there is something left for you, and it is tonight. it’s tonight. you must seize it; you must grasp it with two hands and with every fiber of strength left in your heart. i know that you’re weary, but threads of possibility still stream from the stars, if you can find them. there is something left for you, and it is called tonight.

|| abby ||
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*evelyn's post is here*
your life. love it. from the hurt to the wonder. from the bone to the flower.
love it. with everything you've got. its yours.
nayyirah waheed // via


  1. WHAT. Abby. You incredible human being. How do you write so good??? Just wow. I'm speechless so now I'm going off to read Evelyn's post, goodbye.

  2. abby, your words are spun from threads of ragged beauty and the northern edge of a boreal forest and how on earth do you word?

  3. stop stop stop stop stop hOW. HOw this is perfect i dont even know you are perfect


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