Ariel Poets on Twitter

Ariel Poets is a Twitter Poetry and writing account that was created by Alexandra Meehan and myself. We run the account and help writers and poets around the world by inspiring them with our tweets. Twitter has sone phenomenal poets and writers. We have writing prompts that we are featuring on a monthly basis. Use the hashtag #arielpoets and write a poem about betrayal. For the month of January, betrayal is the theme. Follow us on Twitter @ArielPoets to read our daily inspirational writing tweets. Our inspirations are Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton.

This tweet on Ariel Poets is our most popular one yet. Take a look https

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You can also find Ariel Poets on Instagram.

Take a look at what we are doing there too.

Thank you,

Unleash the Soul in me

In the morning you were sleeping in the dark

you know that type of morning dark shade

that is so opposite from night,

and all my reasons to wake you

left me with cold feet on the hardwood floor.

I bought time once

and it left me broke.

Ancient people talk to me about how

we held hands and made choices

in the new land. A black and white shot

of all the dead people sitting on a quilt

up in the Greek village where

I saw the sky for the first time.

If my soul was on a leash

it would be easy to control

but I never worked out my life

like musical notes.

It would be ideal to see how

the last act plays

but the fortune teller told me

I would live long,

sign my name

over and over again

until I was tired of Christina

and change it to Chrissy

or Krissy with a K

or Chris, or Tina or Christine

and all the ways everyone

changes the spelling of my name,

but

it starts with an X

and not many people know the truth

of how I unleash

the soul in me

from time to time to breathe

and take deep sighs

then tie it back up

to write a book

or drink one bottle of Jack

in three hours.

Beware of a writer’s reach

and length of a book or poem

it means that nothing ever ends

and it all starts over

until all the smokes

and all the bottles are emptied out.

 

Sixteen

There was a time in the 80’s when I was sixteen

and Michael was my everything

while I was his nothing. And even years

later every time I’d see him he pretended

i was nothing. from nothing to something.

from something to nothing. i call him an asshole

now. even my daughter knows his name. it’s not

a fucking secret how i loved him. you probably never

get over a love. and when i left or you left or whatever

happened because it’s all a blur, for the second or third

or fourth time and i ran into you on the street and you told

me to stop my car. you always wanted me back

every time I ran you ran faster. you married me

we had kids

i had red roses and an Alfred Sung gown.

Once I met a man, it was brief, maybe twenty minutes

or so, once he told me how my beauty

marked him. another time a man wrote

a book for me, he wanted my blood

as his pen. sucked me dry out of my silence.

created some Greek fucking muse of abuse

and left me with ashes on my cheeks.

It’s true that you never forget a love.

It’s true that you love your wife.

It’s morality to want it all and smoke in the hall.

i’ve lived it. you have no idea how I live.

I’m an artist and he supports my locked up frustrations.

my midnight madness

even if he isn’t one, he loves my crazy.

But you, you get all of me

in a brown package

delivered straight to your heart

and soul.

and you open me up gently.

just be sure

to not mix me up

with your other soul mates

and i will do the same.

my eyes and hair haven’t changed much

everyone says i look the same. IMG_7644

every love

is you.

breaking into a thousand pieces

it’s not what you did it’s that you did it at all

how you dissected me into beautiful fragments

of my soul.

no one else could do it like that

you took the best parts of me

and showed them to myself.

all my self-doubt drowned

at least for a bit

until they resurface

when i’m naked in the bath.

you clutched all of me

with your tight grasp

and morning mantras.

how is it possible

to love like this?

to hate like this?

you will go one day

like everyone before you,

but for now

you can complete

the parts of me

that drowned.

I will be fine

Today’s state of mind

is not as poetic or earth-shattering

or as wise as yesterday’s.

Perhaps it is softer, subtler

in tune with the crystals

in public bathrooms. I see

everything and that is a bloody

curse. I know. A twenty-four hour

sleep cures nothing. In fact,

it awakens more dread

and sweeps the dark

under the light. I will be

fine, as you always

appear to be. In this

home, at this stop sign,

under the half-moon,

trembling at all these

diseases that eat up

my daily blessings.

I will throw words

around, too fucking bad.

Read me or not.

Love me or not.

I will not die

but it has changed me

and my hands,

they are the ones

that suffer

the turmoil

of my soul.

You go on

and build your

beautiful home,

discreet love,

Past transgressions

and future bomb attacks.

I have to keep up

with these appointments

cure myself

see you

in my Reiki sessions,

I whither with some kind

of grace.

As long as I have my memory

and the rest

could eat me up inside.

It’s all crystal clear

needs polishing

to claim

the prize.

Bring your magic.

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=of+monsters+and+men+crystal

Freedom

I wrote it on the beach

while staring at the ocean

but forgot to send it

deleted it somehow

and poetry faded into

the sand under my feet.

I hear what you say

but I’m nodding at the sky

it’s talking to me

so be silent.

listen. i told you to

stare and you did,

listening to the wind

and how the earth moved

with the clouds.

You breathe deeply.

she was the one

who never got

away from your thoughts

and she was the one

that reminded you

of me. no spells

required. it was

word play. tricks

that poets perform

on cue. i trust no one

but my lover

who knows every

mole on my skin.

every beach is different

yet the same,

and every man is you

and every woman

is me.

That freedom of

saying you’re mine

or I’m yours

or other lovely phrases

that confuse the horizon

are Purolator express

packages of signed poems

I sent to Pakistan, London,

Lebanon, and other exotic

places that poets meet.

Remember how we ruled

the scene with teased hair

and duMaurier cigs

no line ups, no hash tags,

no texts, no pictures?

You just wanted to

get next to me.

That was all

that mattered.

Now everything matters.

My shoes, my hair,

my fake promises.

Yet you see nothing

but what you

have always seen

and that is one

of the myriad ways

that I love you

in every song.

In the mood for some Anne

Hey guys and gals, this is one of the poems I read over and over because every time I read it

it changes like this bloody Montreal weather forecast, like my moods. Enjoy the poem and try

not to analyze too much. Let it flow.

Love to you all and thanks for reading. In five days will see the ocean and be on vacay so I wish everyone a great rest of the summer and will be on and off/ inconsistent / but always here.

Cheers

Chrissy x

Us by Anne Sexton

I was wrapped in black
fur and white fur and
you undid me and then
you placed me in gold light
and then you crowned me,
while snow fell outside
the door in diagonal darts.
While a ten-inch snow
came down like stars
in small calcium fragments,
we were in our own bodies
(that room that will bury us)
and you were in my body
(that room that will outlive us)
and at first I rubbed your 
feet dry with a towel
because I was your slave
and then you called me princess.
Princess!

Oh then
I stood up in my gold skin
and I beat down the psalms
and I beat down the clothes
and you undid the bridle
and you undid the reins
and I undid the buttons,
the bones, the confusions,
the New England postcards,
the January ten o'clock night,
and we rose up like wheat,
acre after acre of gold,
and we harvested,
we harvested.

untitled

if you could just dare

to fuck the art in me.

the kind of sex

that would put

us both on fire.

the part where you

never leave in

the morning. i

disappoint you

all the time,

with my past,

my present,

my unstable future.

if you could just dare

to love me,

none of it would even matter.

 

(this will be in my poetry book in a section with no titles)

 

 

Four

It was painful, but what hurt the most

was not the physical pain.  the scraping

of my uterus

reminds me of candles

not blown on a birthday cake.

of unknown names and faces

that haunt me.

that time, I wanted it to be taken,

convinced,

university mattered more than life.

the second time, it was dead

before I looked down

to watch my tummy

grow.

the third time

it was a boy. and my dad

was alive to hold him.

the fourth time

it was a girl. at the

ultrasound I cried.

i held my breath

praying i would have

a daughter.

to replace being

a daughter. but that

is eternal too.

pinched with love

and Greek sayings.

So when the nurse asked me how many children do you have? I paused.

I really wanted to say four

but my husband

would not understand

how I think about

the other two

all the fucking time.

Two, I replied, a little breathless. a little jaded.

June second

the lights are red, but i want to go up

into the sky. drive right through

the pink and purple all night long.

this is my porn. you text me

your naughty, i’ll dream

in the fucking clouds. it’s june

second, two thousand and fifteen,

remember the 80’s? i relive them.

another full moon? do you

really care all that much? stop

howling. i feel it in every cell.

you’re fucked up.

I think my imagination

is so wild

even you

would run away.

but, you stay, you

make me believe

that the sunset

was a masterpiece

and the darkness

its palette.

the moon controls us

like love, we’re

helpless

to its pulling effect.

catch me tonight at

nine pm…its’ my son’s

award ceremony,

but i’ll still be falling

from the sky.

don’t forget to look up

and extend your arms,

even if you don’t see me.