adela_fm

my name is Adela and this year I am 18
today started off pretty well, pretty goddamn well, one of the best days so far if I may say
and now I don't know why I don't know what's happening or what started it off
I was supposed to write today or rather, I planned to
and I don't know what's happening right now, at this moment
I don't know I don't know what set me off
I can't find something which is pretty darn important to me
and right now I don't know why I am so damn fixated on finding this
I don't know why my pulse seems to be racing a little faster
I don't know why my breaths seem quick but haggard at the same time
today was supposed to be a good day
my name is Adela and this year I am 18
today was supposed to be a good day
but I don't know what happened
I can't find my stuff
and things are really not working out anymore
I couldn't sit down and write what I wanted to write anymore
because I couldn't stop thinking about what I had lost
and how I must find it back again
white paper
finding white paper beneath white paper
my name is Adela and this year I am 18
I am trying to remind myself how to breathe how to breathe
someone stamped a butterfly on my right hand this morning
today we discussed about the 'little things that matter'
it was supposed to be inspirational and it was
but now I can't stop thinking about how
it is also the little things that set us off

I am sorry if I have been withdrawn/distant recently
I will not try to defend myself
but please know I am sick and tired of trying to make conversation
and I really would like to be left alone
or at least
spending time with people that make it
worthwhile

fuck school I want to stay home all day and do ma thing y'all

Unfortunately the fastest way
For me to release these emotions which pulse
like the drum beats of the marching band
through the very fibers which create my being
is to shatter glass like fine crystal
against the ivory pale of my limbs
to let the essence of my feelings
transcribe and translate themselves
to form alphabets and words
as they soak and stain
the translucent skin of sheet paper

Van Gogh craved the love of other humans
He swallowed
Daffodils and egg yolks
Reeking of paint oils and lead chemicals
Because he thought the only way to reach happiness within
Was to drink in sunshine
And florescent gold

Look Einstein straight in both eyes
And tell me
What exactly do you see
There must be some reason why
The most intelligent man on this earth
Once said in an intimate interview
Happiness in intelligent people
Is the rarest thing I know

Perhaps this is why
We identify with the tortured artist
The mad scientist with a thousand creases
Around his eyes

Do you know how it feels like
To have your soul locked in
Encapsulated
Trapped with no way out
Just like how someone had fastened
Cartier’s love bracelet
Around the stem of your neck
Pinning down your throat

We are houses burning down
In a myriad of colors
Pink and purple flames
scorch burnt wood
And dried bones

So what if these bonfires of ourselves
Flaming torches
Seem to promise so much hope?

Put yourself in my place
Just for a day
And watch all the colors in your spectrum
Fade to grey

inspired by- the story so far: swords and pens + various images

Last night her husband kissed her goodnight
The neighbor downstairs tucked her twin daughters
The grandma next door called her grandchildren
And told them over the phone
Good luck
Don’t fret
Just run into my arms
At the end

Brad and Steve woke up together
Entwined around each other
Like vines and creepers on
Plumbing pipes and staircases
Lacing their shoes
For the charity run

This morning the single father
Flipped pancakes
For the first time
Because ‘champions deserve the best’
And he thought nothing less
Could be given
To his kids

Today I woke up a mother
But tonight I lie in bed
Unable to find a term
To describe myself, a parent
Whose child is dead

There is no specific word
For the grieving fathers and mothers
Who have lost their children today
In a series of bomb blasts
It was always assumed
These blooming daises
Baby’s breath
Would always outlive us
And flourish from the ashes
Of our remains

There is no specific word
To describe the full extent of anguish
Of the lovers who have had their other halves
Ripped from them
The men and women
Who now walk the streets of Boston
With eyes filled with images of torn limbs
Bloodied streets
Even hours after disaster
The compulsion still remains
To search to locate
To recognize perhaps the bloody imprint of a hand
Which could perhaps belong to
His sweet Brad

Tell me what is your message
What is your aim
What is your motivation
In exchange for this gift of shrapnel
And mass destruction
For the lives of the innocent
People who have done absolutely no harm
Why did you do this to them

Inspired by-how upset I was over the Boston Marathon today

p.s probably going to expound more on this topic+I'll mostly be starting up a disaster series in addition to continuing with the ballet series too

xx please pray for Boston

I think about the distance between the sofa where I sleep and the bathroom with my father's razor. I think of how close the proximity I am towards a seemingly harmless object of absolute destruction. I think of how easy it would be to wake up in the dark of the night, while my eyes still cannot really adjust to the black formless shapes of furniture and objects ahead and beside me as I creep tip toe tip toe (because we do not want anyone to find out) to the bathroom and fumble, reach forward, curl my fingers around the familiar grooves of black rubber and finger its long stem gently, twirl it with my fingers like a harmless pencil, like a big fat elegant cigar. And then I retreat, I retreat to the fortress of my own bedroom where my privacy is contained and sealed like a airmailed package within four walls and a door and as I flip the switch, light floods in, in a tsunami of beams and I am shocked, surprised, as my eyelids flutter furiously against the curvature if my lens even though I knew I, myself, was going to carry out this action. I think of roses, big red velvety petals covered in dew as I look out my window. Why not think of beautiful things when perhaps these could be my last thoughts? I sink close to the floor, the anchor of my heart weighing down into my being, and I think drowning is the most beautiful thing in the world because people always look as if they are simply falling asleep in blankets of water and liquid. I always liked traveling, I always wanted to see the world. To view the terrains of our natural landscape, the voracity of sand flying straight at our faces, scarring, hurting, tearing, breaking, contrasted with the numbing breath of winter as she sighs, letting snowflakes pour like manna from the heavens, a promise of something better to happen. And as I am thinking of our boundless earth, Gaia and all her abundance, I am inspired to draw and paint the atlas of our seven seas and four continents. This is my tribute to you. This is my tribute to nature. From dust to dust, ashes to ashes. I draw in long stokes and sharp swift ones. The currents seem to have lives of their own and I can see the roar of the waves slowly dripping like wax on candlesticks, blending into the edges of South America. I draw Africa higher above the rest, as I remember my Sunday School teacher once said the Garden of Eden belonged somewhere there. Just as I am drawing the angel God put, to protect that Garden from the grubby hands of humanity, I realize the Red Sea is spilling beneath me, sticky drops of crimson and burgundy. My vision starts to blur and I am so utterly exhausted. I think this must have been how Michaelangelo felt as he tried to complete the painting of the Madonna and her Child. My head begins to sink as the crane of my spine lowers itself mechanically forward. The paint is still wet as my fingers loosen their grip on my steel paintbrush and the pale of my canvas begins to throb a shade of sakura pink.


They say depression can be mended if we try to make something beautiful from our damned minds hell bent on destruction.

But I have no time left, to finish the painting.

Inspired by- I was just thinking about life tbh

I am on my own
immersed in solitude
at the coffee shop
when suddenly I heard
the rising voices of a
man and woman
like the violent bubbling of water
as it boils even more vigorously
due to the increase in
temperature

They speak in a foreign tongue
a language I cannot
comprehend

His rage is a whiplash
a sudden surprise attack
across her defenseless face

And I see her shame;
embarrassment
emblazoned all over the
planes of her face

Just like the catacombs in Rome
Ancient burial sites
turned to
cheap tourist attractions

A thousand bones
and
dry skulls
displayed before
the publics' eyes
the same shame
the dead must feel
covering them just like
the fine dust of time

There is no dignity in death
worn bones tell no tales
of the stories behind each
fracture, each
hairline crack

But yet everyone sees them
the penetrating glare of
the global eye
staring at the remains of
human beings
such that even death
promises them no peace

Inspired by catacombs+this real live couple I saw fighting today hahaha

giselle my dear you were a pledge
stained with pure unadulterated betrayal
your father swore to your mother
they’d go before the cross
and he’d bind himself to her
in silver
but instead he thrust a baby
between her legs
and in her first breath
the uncurling of her starfish fist
he was gone
let loose
slipped out of the woods
like a fish

giselle your heart never could take the pressure
with a history like yours how could your mother not fear
for your future
she taught you to dance 
pink satin criss-crossed ribbons
to run away from the boys
she feared would fool her daughter
she taught you a point  a single step towards the wrong direction
towards the sly eyes and sneaky smiles
a forbidden touch
and that’s it
you were ruined

giselle you were seventeen
when you saw the ocean
and all you heard
were the gentle waves of his breath
he removed his wings
and hung them on the branches of the gnarled old tree
he said forever
and you believed

giselle you were an allegiance
that left a bitter taste
a broken promise
an unspoken song
now you’re dressed in heartache
sitting prettily under the branches
perched on your own tombstone

so what if you’ve saved Albrecht
you still remember his touch
with crystal clarity at that
what’s the point of being dead
when no one’s held a funeral
for your emotions
yet.

Do you remember the last time
when we spelt our names across
titanium metal and
fastened the lock on barbed wire
tossing the keys, sinking forever
into the Seine River

Do you remember last New Year's Eve
we were toasting each other
as the ball dropped down
the way the moon lowers itself
gently behind the branches of trees
in Times Square
as you knocked back a cocktail of
Abraxane mingled with VP-16

Do you remember last Valentine's Day
when we were so young
we ran to confession
and went down on our knees
begging the priest
to marry us
there and then

They say marriage is an institution
an education worth the wait
and on the same day your
doctor called, handing us
your report score
a perfect 4
the final stage
of cancer

And then it was June
people were doing away with spring
and welcoming the summer
I tended to the deep dark violets
and swirled blue tulips
which had blossomed on your arms
because of the needle's pressure

I was an illegitimate student
and you gave me tuition on the sly
I quickly advanced from reading graphs to
measuring blood
and I never hesitated to raise my arm and
sound the bell alarm
whenever your heart began to race

And January came and January went
the doctors presented me with your
death certificate
our lessons were over
that priest came again
he conducted the last rites
while the nurses cleared out our classroom,
replacing the sheets with ones that were
fresh and new

I only gave you my heart
when we tossed those keys
into the Seine River
but now you're in my veins
and I can't get you out
your absence, an iron shroud
around my padlocked heart
pulling me down the way an anchor
sinks into the sea

Inspired by-this picture of a thousand padlocks I saw on the net

There was an angel
in the graveyard
her wings had fallen
and were brushing
delicately against
the ground

Both arms outstretched
the tips of her fingers
kissed the lid of marble
she craned her neck
arched her back
and when we got closer
we saw that she was crying
cement tears solidified
the sorrow on her face
never to be erased

That's when I realized
we cannot save people
we could only
love them

And with that I walked
over to my favorite spot
tracing my fingers on
the recently put up
six-inch cross
someone had placed
a wreath of
baby's breath
resting quietly upon
the smooth cold stone

Delicate white petals
bathed in a stream of clear moonlight
reminding me of our baby
whose final breath
laid him here to rest
amongst the grief filled
cradles of stone

Inspired by-this beautiful picture on tumblr

Some nights I reason with
myself
And I justify my actions
in the day
For not kissing you goodbye
for not cleaning the coffee pot
for not saying 'I love you, stay safe'
and most recently,
for not saying goodnight

If my words were liquid
designed to fill the
vessel of your heart
surely my efforts
would have gone
to waste
because of the hole, the
leak,
in one of the ventricular
walls

No matter how many
times I pour
I spill, decant
the pace of the
trickle,
the runaway drops
seep between tissue,
and never hold still

I could mend that
hole
with needle and
crimson thread
a surgeon's deftness
a job well done .

But what's the use,
these stitches
prick more holes
and ultimately
this muscle
will never again
emerge
whole

Inspired by- overthinking
I'll probably clean this up again on friday