“Basket Of Flowers,” Watercolor On Paper, 2025
“Basket of Flowers,” watercolor on paper, 2025
Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints
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Love
Touch me.
Caress me.
Shiver the dust from my bones
And patch the rusted holes of my organs.
Quell the drought of my valleys,
Ushering in the wildflowers and honeybees.
Breathe life back into this old clay
And make me whole again.
“Eclipse,” acrylic & oil on stretched canvas, 2024
Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints
Reblogging my art with folk songs I feel are fitting part 3
18 (warning: suicidal thoughts)
Blow out the candles, darling.
You might make it to 18.
After all the nights crying
Through gritted teeth.
After the day you thought
That if you killed yourself
Their lives would be more pleasing.
Congratulations, darling.
You’re almost 18.
Hallway (warning: horror, death, blood, gore, violence)
The PA system boomed
“They’ve made it into the school.
Lock and barricade your current room.”
I was in the hallway.
A stampede of bodies arose,
Living turning to dead to decompose.
Frightened and running through pools,
Slipping on blood in the hallway.
Beings crammed behind doors,
Quasi train cars as hopeful shields from doom.
Fearful faces cowered from windows,
Hiding from monsters in the hallway.
The growls approached.
The claws made their presence known.
Limbs and organs covered the floor.
The monsters were hungry for more than those in the hallway.
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I Spy Shadow Box, art camp 2024
Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints
I’m painting my nails to Queen and thinking about queer history (warning: hate crimes, violence, homophobia, transphobia)
I’m painting my nails to Queen
And thinking about queer history,
Bloodied,
Beautiful,
Weather-worn.
The artists that allow
My type in men to sparkle,
Gorgeous,
Pretty,
Free.
Don’t talk,
Save me.
Fights over love renewing
With people’s being
Free perceived
Threatening.
I want to break free.
Reblogging my art with folk songs I feel are fitting part 2
after “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller (warning: violence)
Heliotropic soul who smells of spring.
Sunshine hair with gold-leafed summer irises,
Bright, shining from alabaster flesh.
Chiseled hands over carved wood,
Sinew-plucked strings.
They would never draw blood.
Winter is a minimalist,
Warmed by our roseate love,
Thawed anew.
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