Returning home

Badlands, salt flats, moors, hill shelves, crags…
The earth exotic

Lava beds cooled like the moon
The earth alien

Woods and jungles that pull me in with leafy mouths that swallow light.
The earth encompassing

I want to find my place in the soil once again, so I may grow deep roots.
earth arrival.

Lover come Home

Cum on my stomach
squeeze my ankles and drown my thirsty mouth in kisses
Love, overflow.

Wrap me in your arms and squeeeezzzeeee
Tighter, 
we breath in each other,
Tighter,
No fear of smothering because between lies universes of possibility.

Know this as I snake my legs around you and pull you close.
Bite your bottom lip and hold your hair fast.

We could never begin to understand, how even when we run away, we are racing towards one another.

Let me smell your skin and play with the sweat running down your back.

Lover come home.
Find your place in my heart.

Guest Post by Jasbina Misir – How To Be A Good Ally To Sexual Assault Survivors

This is a blog post I wrote on bellejar.ca about my experiences as a historical and recent sexual violence survivor.

Trigger Warnings for sexual violence, sexual assault, rape, childhood sexual violence, and victim blaming.

The Belle Jar

by Jasbina Misir

TW: sexual assault, childhood sexual abuse, victim-blaming

I wanted to share something truly disgusting and awful that happened to me this past Monday.

At 1 AM I was sexually assaulted during a concert. On the dance floor when the crowd rushed the stage. These are all the details I want to and am going to share. I have filed a report with the police and an investigation to catch the assailant is ongoing.

Why am I sharing this? I am sharing this because for me and for many survivors, talking about what happened is a key part of surviving, healing, responding to erasure and silencing. Talking about an assault can be a way for people to get some kind of accountability for what happened, even if that accountability only ever comes in the form of speaking their truth.

I’ve heard people say that talking about sexual violence experience is…

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Affirming the exquisite sensitivity

To my dreamy rain lovers, thunder chasers, lightning jumpers.
To my watery mer folx.
To the dreamers and air dancers twisting in the wind.
As we cry rivers and fill oceans, fly in the night on sighs, and dream dream dream in gossamer
Your love is real.
Your tears.
Your tender beating heart aching for so much felt.
Real.
Valid.
Your truth.
You are not irrational.
You are a celebration of feeling.
You are so so much.
Thank you.

The depth of my love, loneliness, and humanity

As i wander through this city thinking, thinking, thinking, I realize a few things in part.

I run to this ideal of beauty that I feel my body betrays because I am so lonely and starving for intimacy.
Like all of us I want to be held, affirmed, loved by someone I feel connection to.

I realize though as I disocciate and fall out of panic…I am me.
Everything I often want to burn out of my brain are some of my greatest gifts.

I am lonely and human. I am a writer even if I struggle daily to write…
I am a bleeding heart sewn roughly to a sleeve of a shirt I want to tear off.

This bleeding heart is my humanity and my ability to love.

On Being Water

I am an ocean.
I am rivers, estuaries, and seas.
I am moving living water.

I flow, dive, soar up towards the sky and exist with a kind of freedom beyond words that demands so much if you watch.

Rain I am rain.
I am relentless, pounding, and shimmering.

Water that cycles and lives.
Moves and loves.

That is me.

Watah Calls

It rains.
I pray to the ancestors.
I pray for my mother.
The blood I shall spill and the wrath of the mighty.
In the night I hear my destiny rush between drops.
Rain, she calls.
A river spills over my body from above.
May the world drown and the ocean swallow us whole.
May we tremble as our breath is pulled away.
Oceans.
Oceans, call to me.
Fathoms, reaching from fathoms.
Yemaya calls to me.

Mouth Like Mine

Mouths like mine, glistening through pen and ink on paper.
Illustrated fullness and so much inferred gloss.
Eyes furried with lashes.
Glamour heavy,
A gaze soo sultry that it drips sooty kohl.
Exaggerations
Additions
A body divided.
A beauty fashioned together.
The mathematics of artificial aesthetic.
And yet through the all the noise
Of features I do not have.
Within a geometry I cannot posses.
I see a mouth like my own.

Relearning to submerge

I gave up the possibility of marriage and a house.
A fat pug, a chubby baby, safety in arms that held me and a framed degree.

Can I dive into the water instead?
Water deep and dark?

Can I relearn to love the feeling of being submerged?

 

I remember at 10, after diving off the diving board.

The electricity as I approached, dizzying.

Hitting the water and then …. silence.

 

Can I live there in the water just before resurfacing again?
I really loved that swimming silence.
Before becoming afraid.

 

What is good is not drowning, when I am endlessly choking on my own fear?

No shores, I will allow islands but no shores of safety.
No pool edges to cling to.
No false safe shores at least.
No, not for me.
For as soon as I take steps, my skin burns and I shrivel.

Please, can I swim again?
I think some drowning is needed.

No alms required

My pussy isn’t a begging bowl.

I do no offer it open and pleading
trying to capture any affection you should choose to fill it with.

Do you imagine that later I sift through the contents while lying on the cold tiled bathroom floor?
Fingers deep in my cunt searching for something resembling love as your reckless indecision pours out white and sticky onto my thighs?

My mouth isn’t trying to hold your tongue between my teeth.
Why would I silence a voice I have pleaded to hear so many times? Do you know how much of my own blood I swallow each time I bite down on the words your actions make me fearful to say?

I do not tie your hands together with my pink rope. Neither do I shackle your feet to one place with gold bands, red silk, nor the weight of so much guilt.

I only offered water, asked for stories, and gave you the warmth of my bed to rest from your days of running.
All the while seeing the expanse of your dreams and hoping you would not cower at the sheer magnitude of my own.