The sun shone so loud,
It pressed against my skin like an invitation
I could not refuse.
And my cigarette hunger was born again -
not for the smoke,
but for the pause between inhales,
where nothing belongs to anyone.
I’m a sponge,
my connective tissue says so:
too loose,
too willing to stretch around what arrives.
I bend before touch becomes pressure,
I give before anything asks.
My joints slip easily
out of certainty,
out of ownership.
What is mine when everything enters?
I hold what passes through me
like it might stay.
There is no edge to me,
only gradients.
A slow dissolving
between self
and the air that insists on being felt.
And still…
there is a center
that does not dislocate.
The eye that watches
as everything else slides.
The sun is still loud.
The hunger still flickering.
And the Primrose Empath…
is not weak, not fragile,
but strong.
For being courageous enough,
for being able to bend but not break,
turning toward a light
that loosens what holds too tightly.
Blooming anyway.
Stay sweet,
-Lisa Marie, Honeyrealms
Through my words, I want to invite you to my honeyrealms. Realms beyond what we see, beyond the veil. Realms that feel like home, or awaken a sense of wonder, longing, and belonging.
