It’s Getting Colder And I Miss Watching The Condensation Of Your Breath Form And Disappear In The Air.

hi :) my name is moona. I write (and paint!) and this is my poetry/prose blog. feel free to direct message me!! I am constantly in awe of love and how it has sweetened my life, which is why you’ll find a LOT of that shit here. I write about other things too, things that are personal to me and things I’m still learning to be okay with. I truly hope you find solace/healing/joy in my writing and if not, I just hope you can relate to some of it. I’ve found that words have the inimitable power to make us feel less lonely.

enjoy! <3

To be loved is to be eaten, ripped to the bone, skin tender and pink. A blush so bloody, my sweet killer, collaborators in each other’s demise.

To love is to attend hundreds of funerals of the person they used to be. How many did I create? How many did I kill? Have you done the same to me, my love?

To be loved is to die and to be reborn in their kiss over and over and over again, the resurrection painful as my bones rearrange to fit the mould of your body.

To love is to kill, heart in your hands and safety in your mouth. I am the funeral pyre and you are the onlooker, crying tears of grief but warmed by the flames. I burn to keep you safe, lover.

To be loved is to consume, gag, swallow everything whole, the sugar too sickly sweet, body unused to softness like this.

To love is to scream, is to lose in this battle for two, is to be vulnerable and hopeful and innocent and lost and found. A paradigm of desperate emotions.

To be loved is to kiss and suffocate but not pull away, no, never pull away.

I don’t believe that the love between eva and I is coincidence. in this big, big universe, we happened to be in the same classroom. she was the first person to teach me that I did not need to change in order to be loved and is quite literally the definition of a boundless, unconditional love. I’m very lucky. I think some sort of divine power sent her to me. how her smile still calms me, a year later. how beautiful and brimming with life she is. thank you evka. I’m not sure you’ll ever read this but you have my heart.

Let it Snow (2019)

classycreeps

Lovers,Woodstock,1969.

Peggy Porschen

So you’re damaged goods, my ex boyfriend laughed after I told him about my abuse. 

I laugh with him as I feel the silence catch in my throat.

He confirmed my fears: 

That this body is worth nothing now.

It would never be desirable ever again. 

Never told anyone how I locked myself out of my own body, 

how I’d never be able to go back now.

Even if I did, what would be left? 

How does the burnt forest learn to trust the sun again?

He was probably right,

All the nights I spent tearing at my skin, 

Trying to reach something new,

Something that had yet to be touched by him, 

Something pure.

“you’re like an angel, nothing touches you.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov