The Tashtoo Parlour

Author of Pushcart Prize nominated collection "Nothing Left to Lose"and "Pulse" available everywhere. Poetry,Music,Art

(Source: pqp-tiago, via everykeith)

#poemadaychallenge #postitpoetry #padchallenge #poetry #tashtoo #acrostic #formpoetry #thankyou
tashtoo:

She never asked for anything, went without
Foolishly believing
Her pain was visible
That though she was in desperate need
She was denied
As she was unworthy.

The fault first lies 
In her faith
That all hearts were like her own
Able to recognize the pain
That comes with mere existence
Within a world 
Prone to greed & aspirations
Enough to make the gods tremble

Kindred spirits seldom come together
As the world is threatened by their hope
She felt hers waning
A full moon lost
Behind chem trails & excess

Numb was never the answer
And sometimes
The cure hurts more
Than the disease

Shutting down kept her breathing
Yet you could never mistake it for life.

Natasha Head #poetry

tashtoo:

She never asked for anything, went without
Foolishly believing
Her pain was visible
That though she was in desperate need
She was denied
As she was unworthy.

The fault first lies
In her faith
That all hearts were like her own
Able to recognize the pain
That comes with mere existence
Within a world
Prone to greed & aspirations
Enough to make the gods tremble

Kindred spirits seldom come together
As the world is threatened by their hope
She felt hers waning
A full moon lost
Behind chem trails & excess

Numb was never the answer
And sometimes
The cure hurts more
Than the disease

Shutting down kept her breathing
Yet you could never mistake it for life.

Natasha Head #poetry

(via tashtoo)

tashtoo:

Remember Annapolis
How the capes of Blomidon
Received us?

The view never questioned our intentions
We never questioned each others

Remember how we ventured
Years later
How the cliffs remained unchanged

As though we were the only victims of erosion
As life beat us down
Ate away at all we were so sure of

5000 miles away
We tossed pieces of ourselves to the sea
Then ran as fast as we could

Praying they’d never catch up
And we swallowed the promise
Of tomorrow

Natasha Head
Tashtoo.com #poetry

tashtoo:

Remember Annapolis
How the capes of Blomidon
Received us?

The view never questioned our intentions
We never questioned each others

Remember how we ventured
Years later
How the cliffs remained unchanged

As though we were the only victims of erosion
As life beat us down
Ate away at all we were so sure of

5000 miles away
We tossed pieces of ourselves to the sea
Then ran as fast as we could

Praying they’d never catch up
And we swallowed the promise
Of tomorrow

Natasha Head
Tashtoo.com #poetry

(via tashtoo)

christinamakes:

The Pollinator’s Lament.
11x14 in. Ballpoint and watercolor on paper. 2014.
Collaboration drawing between Caitlin Hackett and myself.
www.caitlinhackett.com
www.christinamrozik.com

christinamakes:

The Pollinator’s Lament.

11x14 in. Ballpoint and watercolor on paper. 2014.

Collaboration drawing between Caitlin Hackett and myself.

www.caitlinhackett.com

www.christinamrozik.com

(via brokencircadian)

#poetry
tashtoo:

I’ve a confession to make. I fear I’ve not been honest with you. I’ve been prettying up my pain with prose, stealing from the poets, decorating my walls with a mirage of openness and letting you believe you know me.

In spite of my grandest desire, I am not a poem. I am a mess, an amateur  graphic novel at best. Unlike the perceptions we like to paint, my failings are far from a song. 

They are loveless and dark. They are selfish and harsh. They are a result of life. Alas…love has never broken me, nor has death stood upon my door step to await the arrival of my soul.

I am living, I am surviving, I am blessed. It’s a shame we thrive on the poetry of the heartbroken. There’s fantastic works to be discovered in the simplest side of life. The breath of a new day. The courage to live it. 

The only person I’ve ever had to battle has been myself. The inner dialogue shameful & cruel. The only one to blame for this brokenness…is me. Imagine how boring the poetry!

My only claim to fame is perhaps the best poem ever.
I’m still here.

#NatashaHead
#prose #poetry

tashtoo:

I’ve a confession to make. I fear I’ve not been honest with you. I’ve been prettying up my pain with prose, stealing from the poets, decorating my walls with a mirage of openness and letting you believe you know me.

In spite of my grandest desire, I am not a poem. I am a mess, an amateur graphic novel at best. Unlike the perceptions we like to paint, my failings are far from a song.

They are loveless and dark. They are selfish and harsh. They are a result of life. Alas…love has never broken me, nor has death stood upon my door step to await the arrival of my soul.

I am living, I am surviving, I am blessed. It’s a shame we thrive on the poetry of the heartbroken. There’s fantastic works to be discovered in the simplest side of life. The breath of a new day. The courage to live it.

The only person I’ve ever had to battle has been myself. The inner dialogue shameful & cruel. The only one to blame for this brokenness…is me. Imagine how boring the poetry!

My only claim to fame is perhaps the best poem ever.
I’m still here.

#NatashaHead
#prose #poetry

tashtoo:

Broken is the new beautiful.
Bruised and beaten
We wave our bleeding hearts like flags
Our sky the darkest solitude
We lie to ourselves
Believe in the romantic fantasy
Of a crazed lunatic
Who could only make love to a pen

Denying ourselves our small victories
We cry to unsympathetic shoulders
Hungry mouths who claim to eat our pain
Only to savour it on their tongues
Never swallowing
Spitting it back in our faces
Once they are sure they are more worthy
Of false sympathy 
And second helpings.

But whole is a bowl I want to eat from
I’m tired of these salty tears
Of seeing joy through the liquid reflection
Of a head turned away.
I wear my scars as trophies.
Proof of my existence.
Validations of my worth.
They are my art
My story
They are love
They are joy
They are a life
Worthy of celebration.

Broken is the new beautiful
I am more than skin deep.

#NatashaHead
#poetry

tashtoo:

Broken is the new beautiful.
Bruised and beaten
We wave our bleeding hearts like flags
Our sky the darkest solitude
We lie to ourselves
Believe in the romantic fantasy
Of a crazed lunatic
Who could only make love to a pen

Denying ourselves our small victories
We cry to unsympathetic shoulders
Hungry mouths who claim to eat our pain
Only to savour it on their tongues
Never swallowing
Spitting it back in our faces
Once they are sure they are more worthy
Of false sympathy
And second helpings.

But whole is a bowl I want to eat from
I’m tired of these salty tears
Of seeing joy through the liquid reflection
Of a head turned away.
I wear my scars as trophies.
Proof of my existence.
Validations of my worth.
They are my art
My story
They are love
They are joy
They are a life
Worthy of celebration.

Broken is the new beautiful
I am more than skin deep.

#NatashaHead
#poetry

tashtoo:

There is no better place
To bury your secrets
Than beneath the pines
On a snowy January morn

There they can rest
While you carry on with survival
And the hope that come spring
You’ll have found the courage

To plant them as the seeds
That will blossom to new beginnings
Or perhaps the earth will be soft enough
To accept the dying dreams

And you will never have to tell
How close you really came.

#NatashaHead
#Tashtoo
#poetry

tashtoo:

There is no better place
To bury your secrets
Than beneath the pines
On a snowy January morn

There they can rest
While you carry on with survival
And the hope that come spring
You’ll have found the courage

To plant them as the seeds
That will blossom to new beginnings
Or perhaps the earth will be soft enough
To accept the dying dreams

And you will never have to tell
How close you really came.

#NatashaHead
#Tashtoo
#poetry

Lies I’ve Told My 3 Year Old Recently

Trees talk to each other at night.
All fish are named either Lorna or Jack.
Before your eyeballs fall out from watching too much TV, they get very loose.
Tiny bears live in drain pipes.
If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.
The moon and the sun had a fight a long time ago.
Everyone knows at least one secret language.
When nobody is looking, I can fly.
We are all held together by invisible threads.
Books get lonely too.
Sadness can be eaten.
I will always be there.”

—   Raul Gutierrez, “Lies I’ve Told My 3 Year Old Recently”  (via coolhomo)

(Source: words-in-lines, via theworldsawayatnight)