Phoenix feathers and stardust

The inner thoughts of a closet firecracker.

Poetry I have written is unapologetically NSFW. And protected by copyright.

Images have been found on the Internet and are not mine, contact me if they are yours and you wish them removed.

Contact me at phenix [dot] noire1 at gmail [dot] com

Our hummingbird hearts
found new forests to sing to,
and the years pulled us away
like dandelions finding
somewhere else to grow.
I know we’re not
supposed to tell each other
these things anymore,
but for what it’s worth,
I still listen for your voice.

For what it’s worth,
it still turns me into spring.

—Y.Z, the truth after all this time (via rustyvoices)

I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.

—Warsan Shire (via larmoyante)

(via rustyvoices)

touchmeslowly:

Someone give me a back rub

For a long time.

Please.

I’ll make you dessert. Lot’s of them

So much yes. My lower back needs attention. I’ll even make a fancy dessert like cremé brûlée or panna cotta.

For women who are tied to the moon, love alone is not enough. We insist each day wrap it’s knuckles through our heart strings and pull. The lows. The joy. The poetry. We dance at the edge of a cliff, you have fallen off. So it goes. You will climb up again.

You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. Like a shawl to keep you warm at night. Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse. Even if it has slipped from your hands, it will stay in your body.

You loved a man who treated you like absinthe, half poison and half god. He tried to sweeten you, to water you down. So you left. And now you have your heart all to yourself again. A heart like a stone cottage. Heart like a lover’s diary. Hope like an ocean.