a prayer for ariel-24.08.11

*artwork-“unlocking nine locks” by laura simms via touchdrawing.com

<a style="color: #666666; text-decoration: none;" onclick="window.open('http://touchdrawing.com/conferenceprints-order/','Conference Fine Art Prints','scrollbars=yes,resizable=yes,width=850,height=650,left=100,top='+(screen.availHeight/2-325)+'');return false;" href="http://touchdrawing.com/conferenceprints-order/">UNLOCKING NINE LOCKS Transforming Trauma through Story - Laura Simms 
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frozen hand of mercy
squeezes my throat mercilessly
every time he is near.
——-
i failed
he is down
so i am screaming soundlessly
so he won’t hear
so he falls
slowly-er
so he falls
on the soft ground
on the green grass
on someone else’s hands

35 years old child
he did cry twice
when i hugged him close
and he let me touch,
then for the briefest moment,
he showed
and i’ve panicked
and now he is
a tiny shadow of the man he used to be
when he was 20.

i pray for ariel to be back

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for my own good-6.01.10

*artwork- view of the exhibition “Powerless Structures” at Tel Aviv Museum of Art

elmgreen_et_dragset_view-of-the-exhibition-powerless-structures-at-tel-aviv-museum-of-art-tel-aviv-israel-2016_11117_1_w800_195235

what was i
when was i
one of these …imprisoned on
white islands of metal solitude
on each – imperfect youth
so early broken, nearly left
in it together
so painfully alone.

perverted arc,
“it’s for your own good”,
they said
and others – silent,
impotent
was i
tied and shaved,
and waiting…

 

prison-1.01.10

*artwork- “anguish” by darren johnson via saatchiart.com

1115442-7

 

between third cup of coffee and unimaginary anguish
i try to escape from my own prison
words echoing in my room
said and unsaid
as i walk around, lost in my own fortress
not recognizing this space,
i am a stranger
to my own thoughts, so familiar, so

i pushed out and away,
and now, left in my beloved solitude
i am full of hatred
that can not find its way to

me or you,
all itchy
i wish to scratch you out
or
to leave this incapable pale skin
and find a new place
to contain my rusty world of

————————————-
scared baby with a head shaved
and legs tied to a bed that is everything
scared baby, that waits for a savior to come
in sterile room, with windows ever closed
and smell of lost hope
where every minute is an eternity
and every touch is love deprived

————————————-

love deprived whore on a days of hecate-15.12.09

*artwork-“don’t take my sunshine away” via tumblr

alone-black-and-white-butt-cool-favim-com-935965

sometimes i wake up in the mornings and i just know that it is going to be a bad day.

empty.

unfilled.

or, filled with dismay and anxiety.

and then everything gets slow.

arthur says these are the days of Hecate. so that i am sensitive during. and, in general, sensitive.

gera calls it “love deprived whore, with her heart locked”. that is also a way to put it.

it’s been a year since i am attending  to myself.

listening.

sometimes it seems that i do hear something.

is this how breaking through feels?

today i am restless again. i am not barren, but i can not give birth. there is something inside, yet it is unable to come out.

i am not letting it go.