Two Stories, One Illustration ~ Part Two ~With Kiluminvti & A.J.Tawil

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    If you haven't already read Part One (click here to read) you might ask, "What does this title mean?"  Well let me explain, this post is apart of a collaboration with the artist Kiluminvti, and writer A.J.Tawil.  In this two part series two stories are told.  The first is featured in a previous post and is written by A.J.Tawil. The second story is shared below and told by myself.  Each story is unique and separate from the other, only linked by the fact that they are both inspired by what our imaginations saw when we viewed the following illustration done by Kiluminvti. 

     Without further ado, I present my story: 

     Slowly her fingers curled around the ribbon.  

     Her head caught in a cloud of ribbon, her shoulders brushed with it.  Her hands couldn't help but let it wind through them.  When had it appeared?  Who knew. Some said it had always been with her.  Some whispered that it had appeared out of the blue.  But no matter how people imagined it came into being... the fact was that it was.  Had she ever tried to rid herself of it? No! For she clung to it, as it was her uniqueness. None could claim, nor even remember, someone who had such a beautiful highlight of color.  Especially one that floated around, and about, and with them at all times. 

     Often people traveled to see this lady with the flowing ribbon.  It fascinated them.  The young men spoke of how it highlighted her graceful shape.  The mothers clucked and worried about their own daughters who were "not so naturally gifted." This lady never thought to tell of how sometimes it got in the way.  Of how she might be trying to help with chores, and instead she would catch in the ribbon.  As time went on, she didn't even think much of how it tore her away from work.  What was work anyway, when she had something that drew people towards her?  

     Now though, she sat.  Slowly her fingers curled around the ribbon.  In days past she had often thought outside of the ribbon.  Outside of letting it fascinate her.  But now, it no longer just drew her away from work.  It drew her away from reading.  Sometimes away from friends.  Once she had cared, now she let herself get caught in looking at the shimmering red of it, whenever she wanted.  Lately, as long as she wanted.  

     In fact, she couldn't stop looking.  Because really, wasn't all that she was?  It was beauty, it was special, people found her to see it.  So wasn't that what she should focus on?  Slowly her fingers curled around the ribbon.  Not knowing her own thoughts and the questions brewing.  Her fingers curled around the ribbon.  She just knew it felt like everything.  Her fingers curled around the ribbon. 

     Slowly. Curled. Around. Like the drowning of a mind. 

     Loosing herself in what everyone else could see. 

     Forgetting to be

~~~

   Thank you for reading! 

If you would like to see more of Kiluminvti's art some of A.J. Tawil's writing simply click on the name of either artist (anywhere in this post) and it will take you to more of their work. 

Want to read Part One of this collaboration? Click here

Masks

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I look in the mirror
What do I see?
Myself as I am?
Me as I appear?
The outer shell, 
That contains nothing?
The inner core, 
Shining out?

I look into your eyes. 
What is there?
Muscle, tissue, 
Chemical reactions?
The soul staring out
Through tinted panes?
Beauty pooling through
Yet, still contained?

Maybe it is but a farce
Faces may be just masks
Hiding our souls, 
From us, 
From them, 
And those we love. 

What would people think 
If our souls lay unmasked
Or perhaps I should ask
What would we be?

Poem 59 ~ 12/14/2012

What it is to be...

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Sinking in misery

I curl around her

Arm around waist

Holding hands

Feet warming the other's 

We eat the silence

Embracing essence.

Crying in silence

Loving her 

Wishing for better

For less heartbreak

Greater kindness

For her. 

Breathing in hair

The hair

Smelling like mine

Our colors blending

The eyes matching

Noses just alike. 

Hearts different

Yet seeing

Just knowing 

I don't wish 

Her heart

To understand

The pain of mine.

She and I 

Trusting. 

Her so sweet

Already begging 

To understand

Pain.

Pain shouldn't be 

I don't want tears

For they shatter

They speak of things

She is to beautiful 

To see

To feel

To crack from 

To mend up.

Chin on shoulder

Knees tangled

Listening to breath

Feeling her breath

We inhale together

And I know 

What it is 

To be "sister"

Poem 224 ~ 4/5/2015

Heart in Hand

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Talking with a friend, we found ourselves discussing the state of his relationship with his girlfriend.  As we spoke he stated, "I just feel like I just keep giving my heart, but it isn't being accepted. Obviously it is, since she and I are dating... But it's like I am giving my everything, and they aren't appreciating it."  The response I gave him was one that I have found all too often to be true.  With friends and people I truly trust I have encountered the following.

    You extend your hands, offering up your heart, and the other person looks at it.  They see it, and they say they like "that part" and "this part."  You offer them the whole of your heart, and they simply like or love parts.  So, they accept the whole thing.  But they are truly only accepting certain parts and pieces of you.  It hurts because you want them to take it... but really you want them to look at your offering and for them to look up into your eyes and say "I love it. I love all of it. Thank you!"

    At the time I wasn't dating anyone, so I felt this conversation was more for my friend’s benefit.  However, as I thought more about it I realized... I am both the offerer and the person who says, "I like this part."  I offer my heart to myself, and my whole life I have never looked into my eyes.  I have looked at the heart and told myself that I only like pieces.  I like when I produce a good poem.  I love when I manage to make someone smile.  But, I have never looked over my whole heart, looked into myself, and said, "I realize your humanity, and that you are weak like all others are at times. Yet, I love you.  I will love the whole of you."

    I am my own hurt.  Everyday I cannot help but have my heart in sight of my own judgment.  And every day I judge.  I don't think I am the worst of people, but I sometimes say things to myself that I would never tell anyone else.  Why?  I can look at others and give them the benefit of the doubt.  But I know myself, and thus I don't give myself that benefit.

    Maybe the key, however, is to look at the whole of my heart and realize, I am trying.  My hands offer up.  I wish to accept.  I want to love myself.  For to love is to respect, trust, and be comfortable with.  To feel at peace is a part of loving yourself.

     I offer myself my heart.  In my hands it has lain for years.  The faults and the strengths wishing to be equally understood and seen.  And I see them.  I see it, and I love it.  I love all of it.  I wish to help myself to become stronger.  But, I will lead kindly and I will learn to love more fully.  For peace in my own head and skin... that is the beginning of all I want.