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a mouthful of stars
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Until the Lamplighters

U

Until the Lamplighters

plays and subway cars lurch to a standstill we gather our wits up and methodize and fill our hands with the power they say we can’t handle we vandals and Visigoths wielding our candles ‘til the generators should wake from their slumber| as Broadway casts, acrobats all do a number on the streets set to crumble beneath them with all of the weight of their great ancient feeling like blind tightrope walkers who feel their way forward their bravado follows me up through the gutters and I’ll trail them, listless until the lamplighters come by to help us trim the wicks on the lanterns we keep in our pockets in case we should need them (though just now we haven’t provision to feed them) we’ll sit here carousing by the light of their oil their conflict minerals, immortal coils well, I call that progress I’ll drink if I need to I’ll pay you back later I promise, I’ve got you and just for a minute we’re all trapeze artists affixed at the wrists in mid-air—I won’t drop you a line after

hallowed ground

h

hallowed ground

i. Heaven is not a place for wanderers, witch-talkers, women with words between our teeth-- we purveyors of sinister magic, we perpetrators of wicked misdeeds. we who are muck and mire and marrow, stuck hollow to the soil beneath our feet-- we whose blood bubbles thick, arcane, and dark. we with candlewick tongues. we with cauldron hearts. ii. ours are the whispers that seethe in the streets; ours are the fires and the sinkings of stones; ours the desires that brew and that breed; ours the rebellions, ours what we've sown. ours are the murmurs that churn in the dark; ours the disquiet and ours the alarms; ours the awakenings in glyph

cruor

c

cruor

I’m newly sweltering with love for it, that gore so tenacious and hardy with life, so purple and vivid and livid with it. rushing through its conduits syrup-sweet and viscid. a fixed violet strain neither stain nor contagion but the very innermost guts of the thing— the thick, dark, sure roots of it. the bits of it that shoot and sprout. the bits of it I’ve tried to rout. but blood will out. and blood will out. and blood will out and out and out.

onus

o

onus

I woke up today in a mood for salvation to feed my cactus a thin trickle of water like a fastidious or a begrudging lover— to leverage a steady amassing of days into something that could be counted and weighed, impotent augury, a quick, careful ache. I feel like a bundle a railroad ties that are ready and itching to be laid out quite straight.

waxwork

w

waxwork

I used to imagine myself more like the match than like the flame my body a candlewick love a flicker up my spine consumable, not wanting I’ve changed, I think and am not now so unresisting but still it would be something to be consumed and not found wanting

appetite

a

appetite

I know that there’s a full meal here if I could just get my fingers in it— already now I halfway-feel it, sticky with oil, reeking of sweetness. I know that there’s enough to sate me if I could just get my tongue around it— crack it open like a yolk-glutted egg and suck at its shell ‘til it yields me its juices. there’s enough to slake desire in this if I could once get in the thick of it. I know that there’s a full meal here. I’m deathly, sickly sure of it.

forceless

f

forceless

there’s a devilish howl, guttural chant that would rise from my bowels if it could—though it can’t! there’s a wickedness waiting, peculiar curse— I would give fire to hating if I durst, though I shan’t! my tongue for the mettle to spit out bile raw! my kingdom for the wherewithal to carry out my law!

on losing a poem that I had just begun to write

o

on losing a poem that I had just begun to write

the silly thing tottered off when it was not yet fully formed! it must have decided that it liked itself rather better as three quarters of a thought, something that wasn’t quite bound and finished off– something entitled to scamper about in its incompleteness until it grew to a mythological size. that’ll teach you to trust in the loyalty of things! can’t even try to give something breath lest it wander off to spite you with its waywardness!
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Until the Lamplighters

U

Until the Lamplighters

plays and subway cars lurch to a standstill we gather our wits up and methodize and fill our hands with the power they say we can’t handle we vandals and Visigoths wielding our candles ‘til the generators should wake from their slumber| as Broadway casts, acrobats all do a number on the streets set to crumble beneath them with all of the weight of their great ancient feeling like blind tightrope walkers who feel their way forward their bravado follows me up through the gutters and I’ll trail them, listless until the lamplighters come by to help us trim the wicks on the lanterns we keep in our pockets in case we should need them (though just now we haven’t provision to feed them) we’ll sit here carousing by the light of their oil their conflict minerals, immortal coils well, I call that progress I’ll drink if I need to I’ll pay you back later I promise, I’ve got you and just for a minute we’re all trapeze artists affixed at the wrists in mid-air—I won’t drop you a line after

hallowed ground

h

hallowed ground

i. Heaven is not a place for wanderers, witch-talkers, women with words between our teeth-- we purveyors of sinister magic, we perpetrators of wicked misdeeds. we who are muck and mire and marrow, stuck hollow to the soil beneath our feet-- we whose blood bubbles thick, arcane, and dark. we with candlewick tongues. we with cauldron hearts. ii. ours are the whispers that seethe in the streets; ours are the fires and the sinkings of stones; ours the desires that brew and that breed; ours the rebellions, ours what we've sown. ours are the murmurs that churn in the dark; ours the disquiet and ours the alarms; ours the awakenings in glyph

cruor

c

cruor

I’m newly sweltering with love for it, that gore so tenacious and hardy with life, so purple and vivid and livid with it. rushing through its conduits syrup-sweet and viscid. a fixed violet strain neither stain nor contagion but the very innermost guts of the thing— the thick, dark, sure roots of it. the bits of it that shoot and sprout. the bits of it I’ve tried to rout. but blood will out. and blood will out. and blood will out and out and out.

onus

o

onus

I woke up today in a mood for salvation to feed my cactus a thin trickle of water like a fastidious or a begrudging lover— to leverage a steady amassing of days into something that could be counted and weighed, impotent augury, a quick, careful ache. I feel like a bundle a railroad ties that are ready and itching to be laid out quite straight.

waxwork

w

waxwork

I used to imagine myself more like the match than like the flame my body a candlewick love a flicker up my spine consumable, not wanting I’ve changed, I think and am not now so unresisting but still it would be something to be consumed and not found wanting

appetite

a

appetite

I know that there’s a full meal here if I could just get my fingers in it— already now I halfway-feel it, sticky with oil, reeking of sweetness. I know that there’s enough to sate me if I could just get my tongue around it— crack it open like a yolk-glutted egg and suck at its shell ‘til it yields me its juices. there’s enough to slake desire in this if I could once get in the thick of it. I know that there’s a full meal here. I’m deathly, sickly sure of it.

forceless

f

forceless

there’s a devilish howl, guttural chant that would rise from my bowels if it could—though it can’t! there’s a wickedness waiting, peculiar curse— I would give fire to hating if I durst, though I shan’t! my tongue for the mettle to spit out bile raw! my kingdom for the wherewithal to carry out my law!

on losing a poem that I had just begun to write

o

on losing a poem that I had just begun to write

the silly thing tottered off when it was not yet fully formed! it must have decided that it liked itself rather better as three quarters of a thought, something that wasn’t quite bound and finished off– something entitled to scamper about in its incompleteness until it grew to a mythological size. that’ll teach you to trust in the loyalty of things! can’t even try to give something breath lest it wander off to spite you with its waywardness!

battle rapture

b

battle rapture

lunar sync in rift, and wrung throats adrift in lung broach. a list of hung quotes and fists flung reproachfully. this hunger opening trip-wire undergarments with no hope of stroking. only demure coax of explosive midriff; the goad of skin in risky boast that you'll miss. your ocean missile tips don't hit home. in my alpha waves you won't strike foam.

universal constant

u

universal constant

i. i never make the same mistake, except when i do. ii. i crossed the street with my eyes closed and hoped to hear the siren, not the screeching of tires nor the sighing of my last loved breath being violently reft, nor the screams of the ones i have left. iii. i will write a book on how to dig up a road full of gold with broken fingers, how to uproot an ocean then bury yourself beneath it, how to live with a cross that you nailed. iv. i am better for having known you. i am more aware of my human core. i am seeing that my hands don't weave, they knot. i am worse than i thought. v. i never make the same mistake, except when i do. vi. i fe

hoarder

h

hoarder

a hunk of you still is in me clogged debris in a swollen stomach i grin when we pass each other and i swallow your lovely refuse
1Comments

Easter

E

Easter

Remember what you love, you with sand in your teeth and the feral burn of hunger in your eyes. God sends his regrets. He made you grasping and slow, in a late hour when the wine washed low. Remember what you love. Fall to your knees in the toss and the swell, quell the appetite of the cold black sea. Beg blessings for your home and the salt-sick trees. Reach what lies near: the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb; tether the tantrum, trickle the blood. Offer psalms to what is holy, whisper the name of what you love as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
117Comments

Busted!

B

Busted!

All the body bleaks the moment: Dear now, I was with you once, but eternities change and it shouldn't matter except the grass at green is grooming new confusions. Dear bodies, bleak with knowing where you go, you must flatter certain folds of perceiving with feeling's foam; it is the only way to hold us forward, toward this dented sky. All these soggy sounds that boast of dear death, that dime you purchased with a start. I was with you once, but eternities will change and still fold us forward, toward their awful skies.

perry street

p

perry street

i can remember the name but not the number of a big modern house where i spent boundless afternoons with her dolls and her corn chips and her bony child’s body and her silky child’s hair. i can remember the name but not the number of this ancient sunlit dusty happiness and that alone is a gap in me so wide so painfully wide and yawning

Prey

P

Prey

Yesterday, you sent me an email implicating godliness in my opinion of myself. So I sat among the upturned candles    —Wax like scattering serpents        or tree roots convoluted— of your altar and I chuckled at the irony of it all.
Artist // Student // Literature
  • Nov 1
  • United States
  • Deviant for 10 years
  • She / Her
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my first poetry book is available for purchase!

my first poetry book is available for purchase!

here! : http://www.lulu.com/shop/najia-khaled/wanderers-witch-talkers/paperback/product-22613857.html it's called wanderers, witch-talkers, and it explores themes of European and Moroccan witchcraft, folklore, superstition, and mythology through poems about love, loss, culture, mental illness, disability, and race. it contains a whole bunch of new, never-before-seen poems, plus old ones that have been reworked, expanded, pared down, rewritten, or otherwise improved. this book has changed covers, titles, and probably its entire rotation of poems at least twice during the years I've been sitting on it, but I really do feel that it represents

an update

an update

I got my sixth (!!!!!!) DD on bloodlines:  thank you to TheMaidenInBlack (https://www.deviantart.com/themaideninblack) and also to everyone who's commented and favourited and watched and otherwise supported me, I really appreciate it! (this pushed me over 500 watchers :wow:)I'm about to enter my junior year of college and I'm on track to graduate with a degree in linguistics!I'm single again after having gotten out of an emotionally abusive relationship (if you couldn't tell from my angsty poems) and I'm feeling good about itI'm a lesbian (I used to think that I was bisexual but lmao no) and I'm also feeling good about thatmy poetry book is done except for about half of the titular

I still exist, I promise

I still exist, I promise

and now that I'm done with my first year of college (!!!) I'll have time to be around more. I haven't been uploading much because I'm hoarding all of the best poems I've been writing for publication like a greedy dragon! but I'll get around to looking through my inbox within the next week or so, I promise. (also, in other updates about my life-- I have a new partner of the romantic type, ahhh! we'll be spending much of the summer together so I am excite!)

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ithaswhatitisntHobbyist Writer
happy birthday, najia!! :tighthug: :heart: i hope you have a lovely day! :iconrainbowcakeplz:
toxic-nebulaeStudent Writer
thank you!!
tonepainterHobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday! :D
toxic-nebulaeStudent Writer
thanks!
Plugin848yHobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the  My Daily Deviation Highlights fave, your work is ace!
toxic-nebulaeStudent Writer
:heart:
LokiDaltonHobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the favorite!~ :iconkirbyspinplz: