Nia Calloway

Poetry. Performance. Purpose.

Filtering by Tag: tarot

Lately

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Lately, I been seeing more suns setting than suns rising. Hearing more cardinals chirping, than canaries singing. I have been catching the sunsets like you catch the last five minutes of a favorite TV show. Catching the sunsets to make the day still count. Sometimes, it just helps me tell time. Most times, I learn from her. 

Like, if she can cry in sour pinks, audacious yellows, and dancing lavender, and call it “remembering who the fuck she is,” so can I. If she can scream at the top of her lungs for twenty minutes every night and soothe herself into a blissful slumber, so can I. If she can get over the day by eating it alive, just so I have an excuse to melt into the armpit of a blanket, then I can surely call what I feel as anger and exhaustion real. 

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See, I’m beginning to see my dreams more vividly like I carried my latent screams into the deep night with me. I’m convinced my dreams are real, where the pancakes always flip right. Where an ex gives me the apology I needed, not the one they wanted. Everything feels mended in my dreams where all my spiritual bandaids live and die. Because here comes the sun … and today, it’s still not alright. Here comes the sun because, alas, I am too tired to face its gloat. It survived the nighttime better than I did. It is eager to do its damage of uncovering more painful truths yet again. What is in the cards today? Because these days, I see the Death card more than I see The Fool. Just like I see cardinals perched in the shape of my ancestors more than I see canaries dancing with the winds of tomorrow. They both trying to tell me the future, if only I’d listen. 

The day grins a little too eagerly for me and I must honor the story written in my stoic face. The day bleeds a little too much and the nighttime makes up for it in more bandaids. Bandaids everywhere. The sunset and I both scream our unsung colors into our white pillows. A screaming journey until we reach the land of silence. ...A moment... After the fire has cleared from our concaved breath, we can finally kiss our mamas goodnight.