E.Rose. 18. Madrid.
Rose lives for inspiration; she writes ideas for worded melodies on scraps of paper and saves them in a glass jar. She treats them as the mappings of her self and the snapshots of her own reality, somewhat different from the world she's been taught to believe in. She dreams in vivid spotlights in order to avoid the shadows.
Everyone seems to think it’s alright
to grow up and leave all our potential miracles
behind you in a box, on a shelf, in an empty room
in the shadows of a previous reality.
But I really don’t think it is.
Some have said this isn’t a poem
because it doesn’t rhyme, and hasn’t metre. But
once they said black wasn’t a colour
and woman wasn’t a voice. So what if I told you
I hear these phrases in my head the way
musicians hear melodies? I thought so.
It makes me question my identity,
ask favours of what creation that makes me; it
causes me to wonder why I ever deemed myself
part of that collective. So then I think
maybe this isn’t poetry and maybe I’m
neither a poet, nor a melodic major.
And thinking these things scares me
because if I’m neither of the two, something
less relevant than these arts I attempt
to be.. what am I?
Or, which is more to the point,
what can I ever be?
@17 hours ago
- Rose Avalanche
He had bruises inside his skull which
restricted his songs to the moonlight; the
broken words and phrases he used
represented the gaps between his
intercostal muscles. He wrote melodies
capable of putting the sunrise to shame.
Watching him, I forgot that
music used to write me letters too,
sealed inside whispered thoughts
and carried in the palms of daydreams
or falling leaves. I forgot, and it scared me.
And when he spoke in notes, when he showed me
his spontaneous melodies, it fascinated me
because I’d forgotten how to do that, too.
I wish never to forget again.
@3 weeks ago
- Rose Avalanche
I saw someone’s post today, which said “laughter is the music of the soul” and I disagree. Music is the music of the soul, no question. Laughter is the smile of the soul; it can be plastic and used only to fill a space, like a full stop. But then there’s real smiles, real laughter; then there’s the music.@4 weeks ago with 1 note