Tag Archives: relationships

// come away with me //

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I don’t need to touch you, flesh and bone too often hide the voice I would die for if you would just speak. The world is a crumbling crystal mountain range falling into midnight, the sharp plunge of a deep-sea grave, but the life we scream for at birth is infinite. There will be cold footsteps under the glow of a harvest moon, glimpses of freedom in a purple dawn, wrought iron staircases into heavy clouds as they weep, raspberry lipstick mouths and the way you prick hot wax on the beg of my pale skin.

We are the strange and magical ones who sense the coming storms by the taste of static wind on our tongues. I am alone as you turn to leave, they have told you that the only way to see me is to close your eyes. I want to reach through you to the other side, take my ribs and spread you wider than planets that orbit the sky until you become thin as the healing breath on the lonely limbs of those neglected, a shelter for the abandoned, a hand written letter inside glass bottles that contain clippings of the salt of the ocean.

All you ever asked for was a taste but I know you seek the flood, for every word you catch in your palms as it drips from the silken lips of my aching desire becomes your blood. There is no other way. This is the love of the beating hearts of every creature who ever walked the earth, man, woman, child, beast, criminal, angel, thief, opening you like a gaping cavern hollow enough to receive. Tell me how to build a room grand enough. I need not keep you, lover, to call you mine, nor hold you to sweep your amber beauty across my alien evening mind. This is a love that has outrun time.

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// the trouble with heaven //

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I’m too much of a dreamer, so the story goes, but the truth is that what they call reality often turns my stomach in ways that are hard to describe. People want straight lines and I want the way pink stained glass bends images into cigarette smoke curling foreign tongues down your throat. As everyone else joins hands and I fall farther and farther away from the circle, I tuck myself inside a faith in the broken shards, the holes in the floors, all the crooked sides of my comical cosmic existence, and attempt to pour forth a drench of words that flood the earth until we all worship at the single altar of mad love instead of sadistic runaway greed.

What is the harm? What is this fear no one can seem to define, yet lives within all of us roaming freely, assembling crucifixions like clues on a board game. Is it blindness or hope that gathers us together, vulgarizes us, vilifies us, heals us, gently carries us toward a distant red sun that delivers us to the promised land of how brief we are, how inconvenient, how troubled, how beautiful.

Will they release or neglect me, these graphic phantom fantasies I press my head against in the quiet of night? Perhaps too many times already, the vacant songs of the things I’ve loved and lost could have remained my veins, my daily ritual black, but somehow I’m the dream coming true in spite of itself. Magic is a fragile flower welcoming the sweet assault of the rain. My obedience arouses you, something in your disarming movement touches me with invisible hands, holds my fickle attention. I want only for you to descend with me and escape, love is the danger of infinite folds, a sapphire ribbon of milk skin; resurrection is your hunger for my sacrificial bones.

Bodies on the pavement, serpents in the sky, and I am undone by the slightest trigger in your eyes. Grace is stillness swallowing hurricanes as an exotic universe creates and destroys itself just to please you. Your teeth against my pulsing wrist startles a flock tiny ancient birds: thin flutters thrusting violent wings in my chest, a dead world ecstatically disturbed. Your mouth on my breast is baptism, the way you collect me breaks us down by fire, fingertips for flames, the gravity between us absorbs the cries of a helpless world, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Sometimes, angel, pain is freedom and the prophets reach for heaven in reverse.

You tip my chin up to the sky, bend me just too far before letting go, I am aware my limits are merely physical. A matchstick glides backwards across the splintered catches in my mind. And as the clouds eclipse the windowless room we inhabit underground, deep beneath the time the gods play roulette with and wider than the desperate gaps between our staggered breathing, our union may be distorted but it is certain. Let the hoards of humanity speak, lifetimes of faces become one face and I’ve lost my lust for listening.

Lovers on the edge have the unfortunate habit of spilling dark secrets when their backs are naked against the wall, but I hold on to mine: silence is my only vision, a castle built upon the rugged journey of your voice as it calls me home, even after all this wasted time.

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// blood of the innocent //

chandy gb

The steel bars of the past are only shadows now, still I close my eyes, press myself against them and romanticize the sting. When I’m alone inside a mind that too often slips out of her black leather cuffs and escapes me, I fantasize about the way you were the first to bite my lips. How every bone in my new body loosened from its hinges and fell away, how I watched from screened in porches by the light of glass jars filled with fireflies and marveled at the ravenous creatures we were becoming. Awakening together an iron taste for worship of a similar strangeness. Pain forever threaded with pleasure, licks of orgasmic death cradled inside a private nebulous universe just ripening.

The world burns itself for entertainment but blessed are we the holy ones who are bred without lungs and breathe steady underwater until eternity collapses. Bodies marching to the sound of distant trains running off their wooden tracks offer themselves up in sacrifice that we may be born to wander an alien earth. I’m tired, beloved, tied to a tree and your stomach in knots over watching me, so close in dreams you become aroused as the ropes and my wrists struggle to break free. Lace nightgowns, black ink roses on fevered skin, instruments of blind release and trading your safe place for a stab at the ghost of the way we used to be.

You were a fetish I couldn’t put down until every bedtime story began folding us into the pages of eternal dust. You and I, we were born thirsty.

The relentless plunge of your expert fingers is just another hypnotic link in these chains that pull me back to who I was before cruelty ever touched me the way you never did. Who are you that owns the body in my mind? Where have you been leading me in darkness all this time?

As I walk through the days after, every empty street slides up and away under my bare feet. Beneath a concrete urban moon I hold still before you as ten thousand broken cups shatter against the wind. I sip like an abandoned animal the tears from the lines in your hands.

I remember the way we grew up seeking fire and it illuminates the ancient codes carved deep within my cells: skinning our naked knees, crossing my heart and hoping to fly, running, running, running through fields of falling stars across an endless sky.

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~ Allison Marie Conway ~

My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

The Realest Way to Keep Sh*t Real In Art & Life (Really for Real)

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Allison Marie for glorybegin.com

Incredibly, there’s still a lot of noise on the interwebs about being “authentic” and “keeping shit real” in our lives, in our work, in our relationships, in our swim suits, in our Instagram galleries.

(By the way, whomever started #nofilter, I’m starting #damnrightitsfiltered. If I wanted everything to look like it does on any given pimple-faced Wednesday I’d still be wearing jelly bracelets stacked to my elbows and using those trashable wind-up cameras from the 90’s while getting way over excited that they take pictures underwater now! Stop it. Everything should look like a classic black and white Humphrey Bogart film.)

Of course, some of the noise about keeping shit real comes from yours truly, mind you, so the irony that I’m calling us out on it is not lost on me.  Smug-Allison-Marie is even a little proud of that noise because it’s important noise to be making (she believes).

But somewhere amidst the chaotic weirdness of $5 selfie-sticks and $zilliondollar celebrity, we seem to have confused “being real” with being loud, obnoxious, rude, disrespectful, ignorant, and in an obscene number of cases . . . NOT REAL.

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How to Stop Being Jealous & Rock Your Own Life

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Allison Marie for glorybegin.com

So two things right off the top: #1 I’m not talking about jealousy in this post (WTF?) and #2 I’m fully aware that exactly no one wants to talk about shit like this (hence the trickery, but let me explain).

Shit like what, you may well demand to know since I’ve just confessed to the old bait-and-switch title of a blog post which may or may not land me on the wrong side of the tracks with WordPress / Google / Nick Jonas.

It turns out that although we most often think of ourselves as struggling with jealousy (where did you even come from, Nick Jonas?) what we actually struggle with, technically, is envy.

“In this country, we use the words “jealousy” and “envy” as synonyms but they are not.
Envy is the feeling of wanting what someone else has. The linguistic root is from the Latin invidia which is connected to the modern word ‘invidious.’
Jealousy is the feeling of wanting to protect what is yours. The linguistic root is from the Latin zelos which is connected to the modern word ‘zealous’.”

But the thing is, no one Googles envy for the same reason no one Googles sloth. (If you do though? The “medium-sized mammal” comes first with adorable photos; the “deadly sin” comes in second. Go figure.)

Lazy sounds like a thing we should probably work on but also feels like fuzzy socks. Sloth sounds like one of both of us should be roaming ancient Jerusalem sacrificing our livestock when shit hits the proverbial fan.

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{Podcast} How to Forgive Yourself

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Allison Marie for Glory Begin

People often ask me why I study and practice the metaphysical teachings of A Course In Miracles and the answer is quite undramatically, unimpressively, unassumingly simple:  It works.

By that I mean: it gets me to the peace.

I truly believe that this is the single most important measure of a working spiritual practice. Is it getting you to a place of deep internal peace. Everyone’s path and practice will be rich and different and special, but as long as it gets one to the peace, all is solid with the Universe.

But if your spiritual path doesn’t lead you to peace?  It’s not working.

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{Video} How to Quickly Calm a Stressful Situation

I don’t tell everyone about this because I do it secretly . . . but it has never once failed me.

This simple tool immediately brings calm to any situation that threatens to shred my nerves.

Waaaait. A. Minute.  Allison lose her cool?!  I hear you exclaim. :)

Yes, babes.  Oh, hell yes.

It happens, right. No matter how ‘spiritual’ you think you are or how hardcore your practice or how eloquently you can rattle off the Rumi quotes – you will be tested.  We are all tested.

That’s why learning this powerful tool – one that can be done silently, imperceptibly, and in less than 5 seconds – is absolutely life-transforming.

Listen in and let me know if this hits home for you:

 

Never, ever would I share a tool or practice with you that I have not already tried and accepted into my own life.  This one is huge.

I can’t even begin to tell you guys how many arguments didn’t happen, how many misunderstandings didn’t happen, how many cruel words were not said because I took hold of the moment and became fully mindful of my intention to become the peace.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.  And if this has served you well, I invite you to share this post with a friend or loved one who may find it useful.

The more of us practicing peace the better, right. :)

Sending so much peace and light to you, beautiful, beautiful souls.

With biggest love, always,

Allison Marie Xx

P.S. Do you enjoy the spiritual stuff like I do? I post a LOT of inspirational goodness on Instagram (at least once a day – sometimes three times a day if I’m on a roll). All photography and posts are my own. Check it out @glorybegin and let me know what you think!