Everyday Illuminations

I'm a Melbournian writer that goes by the pseudonym Elise Addlem. Incidentally, that's also my actual name. I've just finished my first novel and am working on my second. One day I'll make money from it. For now, I'll sit at home drinking coffee, writing, tweeting too much and hopefully writing here a bit too.


Aside: I use the term 'illuminations' loosely.

Request: Watch and Reblog

did-you-kno:

Hi, I request you all to take out few minutes and watch this documentary and share it as much as possible. I made a post about it few hours back and i feel it needs a lot more share than it currently has. 

Link to the post and documentary—-> CLICK HERE

Thanks and Love

Fidel

did you know blog

(via did-you-kno)

Reblog if you love to write.

Whether it be fanfiction, original stories, drabbles, songs, poems, books, or anything that has to do with creative words, then reblog. Let’s gather all the writers of Tumblr together.

I don’t normally reblog, but this is an exception. 

(Source: insaneandproudofit, via fyeahnanowrimo)

Cathedral

My inner walls

tremble;

a cathedral

that feels too small.

You pluck a heartstring

with your index finger.

A broken instrument

whimpers,

resounding

within the

chamber

of my heart.

By me (Elise Addlem) 

When I want to see my reflection

I don’t look to a mirror,

I look to the night sky.

She is more truthful

than any captured essence

of mere flesh.

By me.  

Some days I could hold a

whole ocean of tears

in my two cupped hands. On others

a single drop of the world’s

violations is too much.

 

On these days I think

happiness is something

somebody invented

to make us all feel

worse about ourselves. 

By me. 

How to Laugh

Do you remember how to laugh?

I mean really laugh.

Is it that you’ve forgotten,

or that you are too afraid of the violent

quake it would create

if you were to disrupt the sea within you,

to enter into any different kind of mood

than the one you have been resting

unpeacefully in for years?

Are you afraid that happiness is a mistake,

and when it leaves you will break

into more pieces that you’re already in?

I have watched you grow thin,

and if I could have one wish for you

it would be that you would remember

that there is more than one way to be fed.

 

I want to see you bring

laughter to its knees,

to have its knees bleed

under the weight of what your disease

can do, to even the most whole of things.

Laughter should look up to you like a god,

like you are the sky

under which all of us are

lucky enough to lie.

If laughter must die,

let it be not because you were

too afraid to let it live,

but because you used it all up,

since were too afraid to let it die.

By Elise Addlem.

would it be ok?

Would it be ok if you could mend

the broken thread

that tied together my memories tapestry

from now to the place in my head

when hoping was only waiting

and I could rest for hours between two notes

without even hesitating

because there was always enough time?

 

Can you remind

me that I am blessed

to be able to undress

my thoughts so slowly,

and that it is not a lowly

character flaw that I can’t seem to

push past, push through,

to get to a more human

form that is more suited

to this day and age,

instead of pouring naked words

onto a plank page,

day after day,

in the hope that it will come to something?

A poem by me (Elise Addlem)

Spaces and Non-places

All the spaces in between

the ways things were and are

have grown in to vast canyons from

quakes within my very being.

I think I am more those

spaces, than the places they divide.

 

Time wanders in when it is least expected,

like a unwanted dinner-guest

who turns up drunk and abusive,

seeming to exist only to re-affirm the

notion that a quiet hour

cannot exist.

 

Murderous, harrowing,

Beastly,

the present comes at me, its face

now benevolent, now violent.

 

The moon in the twilight of every mistake will not

snuff out,

When all I asked for was

Blackness

 to curl itself around me

And suffocate the air.

 

But blackness is not a place;

it is the absence of light.

A non-place.

I want to crawl back into the skin of

Who I was,

But that was not a place either.

I was a non-place.

 

Still, it is where I always begin.

I must go through so many doors and tunnels in my mind

before I can come out to greet the day.

A poem by me (Elise Addlem) 

A Reason To Bleed

I’m trying to climb on the backs of

revolutionaries who scream at the sky,

the ground, and practically every book

they read:

Are you the prophet?

Everyone needs a reason to bleed.

To need.

Without it we’ll go blind.

Some already have,

when there’s no plan,

only existence,

only the insistence

that it is enough.

This is what we’ve come to,

after millions of years:

existence- in and of itself-

Is all.

But how can I fall in love

with the sky above

when they say the sky above

doesn’t love me back?

I’m lying on the train tracks

just to hear the whistle blow,

so I can feel my heart grow

into something close to real

and then feel

the wheel of my mind explode

with the anticipation of the divine

that I find

inside me when I feel.

I mean really feel.

Some things are real.

I’ve been rusted in the rain

by the profane

notion that my heart is

just a ticking time bomb

and that to belong

is to cease to feel,

because to feel is to steal

sensations from a time and

place that no longer exist.

Well I’m gonna steal all the moments

I can that exist

out of time.

Coz if there’s on things that’s divine,

It’s the mind

when it’s given a reason

to bleed.

A poem by me (Elise Addlem)

Orchestras

We always said we’d see orchestras.

Well we didn’t do that,

but I did hear the symphony of your heartbeat

as it played its perfect song

only inches above my trembling limbs

in the moment that was the culmination

of all my past selves and

future selves too. The moment when

time met itself at its center

and felt its own heartbeat.

in that moment all the other

orchestras in the world couldn’t matter. 

A poem by me (Elise Addlem)