My Sanctuary (CJ Avory-Lafyette, LA)

In between the world and my sanctuary I get stuck in traffic. Just want to hear you call me baby. Just want to know you still exist and that nothing has come between you and me in the last couple of hours…
but space and time. Nothing else can separate us. I don’t like to make things too simple. I don’t tend to ignore the more symbolic emotions. Nothing is taken lightly. You are more to me than a lover.
I want a full heart from you…a full mind filled with ideas and poetry and art and arguments and understanding. With you. In between the world and my sanctuary I get lonely. Mostly because I forget that I’m not alone. I listen and sing along with my poets on disk. Sit there and remember where I was and recognize where I am. What I had and what I have. And I have to smile. Even with tears in my eyes. In between the world and my sanctuary I am compelled to make myself available and open for people who have no sanctuary of their own. It complicates life, but gives me a purpose. I’m not just floating along for my own sake, but I am significant beyond myself. When someone needs a smile in the middle of a hectic and stressful situation, I don’t want to be the bitch that provides the frown. I want righteous thought with righteous action. Maybe that will get me closer to you… more sooner than later. Technically I am an artist with an artist’s mind. I don’t want to deal with the world. I don’t think I should have to pay bills. I don’t think I should have to sit at a desk.　 I want my sanctuary where I can create, and be my real self. Eat good food. Listen to good music. Make the best love – over and over. Sleep long. Be and feel safe. With you. in fact, it’s nothing if you’re not there. It doesn’t exist without you. soft and warm and strong and loyal and sweet and beautiful and passionate. Nice hands, beautiful eyes, sexy back,　the smile and the voice I want to see and hear. Needing me as much as I’m needing you.
Being the breast where you rest your head if you be the arm I where I can lean and cry. In between the world and my sanctuary, I lay in bed hearing your voice…in the dark. I close my eyes and transport myself where I think you are. I don’t think I should have to be anywhere else.

Comments

Louisiana Words Remembers Jorge Arturo

There’s nothing that hurts more than when we lose someone from our Louisiana Words family. But, the beauty of our writing movement is that the words of our loved ones live on with us. On June 20th, 2023, Louisiana Words Allstar, Jorge Arturo, moved on from this world leaving our hearts broken. He was a charismatic and talented human being. Jorge resided in New Orleans, LA and had been active on Louisiana Words for over a year. To honor Jorge’s life and work, we will be sharing his writing and live performances all Summer 2023. Please help keep his spirit alive by sharing his work. We know that Jorge’s words will connect with our readers and we hope to keep his spirit alive. Jorge’s first submission: “The Dog Show” debuted on February 6th, 2022 and is his most successful piece to date. In 2022, Jorge spent 10 weeks in the top with “The Dog Show,” “Weavers,” “They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did,” and “If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport.” His last piece was “Fairy Tale

The Man Under the Water (TK Craft - New Orleans, LA)

Sitting at the edge of the small motorboat, Jordan willed himself to take deep slow breaths. Every time he opened his eyes and looked out at the endless water; panic began to overcome him. Against the vastness of the ocean his small frame felt like almost nothing, this sense only made his fear grow worse. All he could do was stare out at the still surface for what felt like hours trying to gather the strength to jump into the depths. When he was fifteen, Jordan almost drowned in the ocean. He hadn’t been particularly frightened of the water till that day. In fact, he had no real emotional connection to it at all. He’d taken swimming lessons every summer so when the riptide carried him further out to sea he didn’t panic. He just reoriented himself to the shore and dove down to begin a swim towards land. That’s when he saw him glistening in the depths. Jordan was proud of himself for sitting on the edge of the boat as long as he did. He spent the

Ash Wednesday (Brian Falcon - New Orleans, LA)

It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far more i

Search This Blog