Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

If you were ever my friend…

You shouldn’t feel honored, but you should know just how important that one word is.

You see “friend” is a term that reminds me of self-decomposition.

Friendship for so long was the same as control and manipulation and

“if you don’t conform you are worthless”

“Friend” has been that rolling duffel bag version of baggage that I construct and reconstruct almost as much as I do the term family.

I learned that I can choose my family and cut off the toxic bits that were poisoning me and contributing to my timely demise.

I learned friend was a choice, something precious that not everyone gets to hold, no matter how much they demand it.

“Friend,” I say it again “Friend”.

I have deemed you worthy.

I do not consider you a person to wear one of my countless faces around.

No pretty painted mask.

If I consider you my friend, and that is the distinction.

You witness my dark, my grim as I dance around in a pretty white lace dress and canvas shoes, the epitome of decay covered innocence, with my afro puffs standing tall against the users and abusers, bubbles in hand.

Bubble kisses so sweet cause I took down a brick so we pass notes back and forth.

I called you my friend and meant it.

 

 

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Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

Death and Creativity

When you want to die you can be so creative because you don’t give a fuck.
You don’t care enough to let people force you to hold back the truth because that’s what we as humans do.

We call it courtesy, but really when you ignore everything about our current socio-political climate, it’s murder and oppression.

An artist doesn’t hold back the truth because we say:

“Hello! I love the fantasy!

I live it!”

I say:

” I love the fantasy because I live in that fantasy. Pretending every day that I don’t want to put that pretty hypnotizing dagger to my wrist because the reality is the reality. I am still here because, in that darkness, I can still see tiny glimpses of the good in the world and what could be if we face the cold hard stuff.

Face that shit that is sticky and heavy with the weight of an imploding world and learn to really love each other.

Love each other because we see each other. We are not (color)blind. We do not ignore. We see and we still love.

Because that is humanity. That is what makes us human.

That is what the artist brings. That is what we create, spin with our words and colors.

This is the web I weave because when I go out it will be with a creative bang of …

fuck being so wrapped up in my ignorance.

I will “love” you, my way, not your way.

If you can’t accept it, then you don’t deserve it.

It is fierce, it’s passion, it’s the blood that flows through our veins.

It’s something beyond words.

It’s powerful and overwhelming. 

It can crush you or bring you to life.

My “love” is an untamable flame; once sparked it only grows.

Unless you try to stifle it and contain it. 

Shape it into what you want, and in turn, starve it.

So ask yourself:

Do you want vital and listless passion?

2014 ~ Zephyr

Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

Assaulted

I deny your autonomy.
I want my pleasure.
I deny your right to safety.
I need my release.
You are an object.

I deny your rights as a human being because I don’t have respect.
Because I crave power I don’t deserve.
Because I am weak.
Because I’ve been manipulated to believe that someone else belongs to me.

2015 ~ Zephyr