Poetry – Letters For My Lovers

Becoming You

sometimes I wish
I could paint my feelings
like Picasso painted his portraits
inaccurate renditions of
something so beyond our reach
that mortal eyes falter
intricacies unbeknownst

to say “I love you”
would be an affront to the universe
for love, as a disarray of synapses
pales in the face of
the void of my feelings

a pull deeper than the tides,
a light, brighter than a harvest moon
a delicacy sweeter than honey;
reality infused with
more magic than witchcraft

days merge and blend
swirling into a steady lifetime
of morning smiles
and afternoon delights
your love, like a community garden
overflows with abundance
a cornucopia of simple being
upon which I gratefully feast

Ring With No Master

Gather ’round all,
Come with me to the menagerie.
No, not a ménage à trois,
But bel et bien a collection of curiosities.
A harpy, a siren, a strongman
Why, you might even find a bearded lady.

Oyez, oyez!
Come closer, take a look
At the caged beauty
Who’s forgotten herself;
She’s the magician’s monstrosity.

You will be awed, you will be repulsed,
No! Don’t stand too close.
Alluring as she may be,
She’s waiting in bleak silence
‘Till you get close enough
For her talons to sink into your soul.
Some fall in love,
She falls in angst.

Come one, come all!
If you’re ready and willing
To pay a pretty penny
For a glimpse inside
The realm of my nightmares.

Where is Lilith?

It’s been 15 months since I published On Writing – A Word From Lilith, a piece in which I describe my overall anxiety with having to “perform” and participate in this online identity, and how writing and keeping up with this site had become a burden of sorts, rather than a pleasure.

In many ways, that post holds just as true today as it did then. Maintaining this presence and populating a website so that you don’t become totally and utterly obsolete in a world where each digital second gives birth to thousands of influencers and mounds of meaningless content is totally and utterly exhausting. And that’s why I haven’t been doing it.

In the past year, I have published maybe 12 poems and posts to this site. I still write a ridiculous amount in my free time, but I just don’t care enough about maintaining something that is basically as substance-less as the nutrients in McDonald’s fries to put myself through the hassle of posting them here.

You see, I work a day job that already involves being constantly in the digital realm. I write content all day, I think about the best ways to market things so we can drive higher conversion rates, I select keywords based on traffic and efficiency. And I cannot help but transpose that knowledge and work into Letters for My Lovers. So instead of feeling overjoyed when I want to post something, it feels like play has become work for me.

I log time into checking stats on this site and seeing what keywords I can place myself better on, and then using SEO and SEM to enhance those results so people can find this blog organically. But I am really sick of it.

What you don’t know about me is that I am first and foremost a lover and an artist, with a strong drive to uplift my loved ones and focus much of my time on self-care and betterment. I have done lots of therapy, I do yoga every day, I eat a balanced diet and get a decent amount of exercise. I thrive on being compassionate towards others and asserting clear boundaries even if they make other people uncomfortable.

I live for social justice, and I think it is up to each and every one of us to care about what is happening to other human beings close to home and around the world. Black Lives Matter, poverty is real, many countries are ravaged by famine and war, and I have personally spent time and money to contribute in however ways were possible to furthering equality and justice for all. I wish more people would do the same.

And I say all this not because I believe that my words will have any impact on you, but because I need, in this moment, for you to know who I really am. Who the person behind Lilith Ember is.

I am a driven young woman, who is sex positive, into kink and BDSM, and sexy poetry, and all that stuff. I am a lifestyler who discovered kink in her late 20s, including all the fucked up people who don’t respect boundaries and the men who think that because they are in positions of power or mentorship can manipulate and use younger women. I have also met incredible queer, kinky artists along the way. I have had intimate beautiful relationships with riggers, and have discovered so much about myself that it makes me feel like I am a blossoming flower whose petals catch the rays of the sun and bring joy to those around her.

I am a writer, both professionally and personally, and I am currently working on a memoir about my life and inter-generational trauma (yep, lots of that in my bones). My love for poetry knows no bounds and I feel an insatiable urge to try and put into words feelings that only the wildest imaginations can observe. I love love. I have two long-term partners who both bring me equal amounts of joy and strength, and willingness to help me heal and push my own personal boundaries.

Alongside all this, however, I am also a burnt out professional who, for the first time in her adult life, is choosing to take a leave of absence from work so she can focus on her wellbeing and making sure she’s ok.

I am going to dedicate part of this time to revamping this website and including more artistic content, as well as some paid content for those who would be interested in subscribing to my OnlyFans, or a Patreon. Creating content takes time, and even if it’s just contributing $10 a month to allowing me to continue creating what I love, it’s incredibly appreciated.

I am open to suggestions and collaborative ideas with other artists, sex-workers, Pro-Doms, poets, writers, you name it. If you love what I do and want to let me know, feel free to message me at lilithformylovers@gmail.com.

Hope everyone is well in these crazy times.

Xo,

Lilith

Patience

I am no longer a volcano.
I am a seething rage of cool existence;
a deep burn, one that ignites the soul.

A liberating flurry of flames,
destroying all to better begin anew.
Two steps ahead of the phoenix,
I’ve already planted the seeds
to help my inner-world flourish.

I am no longer at your mercy,
but gently pressing
against the walls of my own being.
Reappropriation is like laughter:
it bounces off walls,
and its imperceptible power
fills your heart with joy;
a glitter bomb
exploding in your soul.

A Universe unto myself
my expansion is continuous.
I’ve set my mind free
and let the cage of my past
dissolve like ashes in the wind.

I can taste the colours again,
soak up the love in their eyes,
savour the silence…
dance ’till I drop,
scream at the top of my lungs,
fall into passionate embrace,
let my heavy eyes rest,
and do it all over tomorrow.

I can feel the lead of a pencil
sigh as I press down onto paper,
feel the temperature of colours
when they meet, swirl and mix;
and the words trickle like dewdrops,
as they roll off the pages of my mind.

I now remember
the untarnished power
of finding beauty in the now,
the stars, the sun, the wind;
and the radiant smiles
of those who populate my world.

Strange Times

Dear readers,

No matter where you may be in the world, chances are, we can currently relate to each other’s feelings.

Let’s be blunt: this shit is scary. I can personally admit that having a global pandemic, with the rampant fear-mongering and misinformation that has accompanied it, is, for many many reasons, as close to my living nightmare as any situation could get.

The world is grinding to a halt, and hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people will die worldwide. Millions of people will lose their jobs, and world economies as we know them may very well collapse. The list goes on… Many things are going to change, and the truth is that we don’t really know what the post-pandemic world is going to look like; many people have predictions, some more realistic than others, but right now we’re helplessly floating around in the giant sea of the unknown, and I know many of us feel totally and utterly lost.

I can’t speak for what will change in the upcoming months and years, but I can surmise that one very real thing won’t change: Us. Humans, living, breathing members of the Homo sapiens sapiens species. The inherent elements that bind us together as a species and have kept our societies running since the dawn of our era: love, compassion, understanding, passion, curiosity, solidarity, and all them incredible things that make us so unique.

We will continue loving one another, appreciating the little things in life, like the ring of someone’s laughter in our ears, the warmth that we feel in another’s smile, the burning desire when we hold our lover close. We will continue inspiring one another to keep on keeping on, to continue creating and appreciating art, music, creativity in whatever form it takes on for you. We will continue being present for those who matter the most in our lives, because that’s what life is really about, love and friendship, and partnership, and appreciation, and sharing all of those incredible things we so often struggle to put into words.

I, for one, will keep on creating and sharing my poetry and stories with the world because it’s my way of staying sane and keeping my life moving forward without giving into the total and utter panic that washes over me in waves.

You are not alone, we are not alone. We can weather this storm together, as societies, and as a species, and come out wiser on the other side. So let’s all take a moment to appreciate the little things and share some love (within reasonable social distancing measures, of course 😉).

And if you would like me to write a poem about a specific topic, or have a fun writing exercise you’d like to try with me, please shoot me an email at info@lilithember.com, and I will be happy to oblige. I will be writing from the comfort of my Love Nest, featured as the image of this article.

In love, lust, and solidarity,

Lilith. 🖤

Apate

I somehow, know you better
Than I could ever know myself.
A lifetime of mundane wonder,
Lit up like a macabre circus.

The dramatic nature of your curves
Brought me close to the precipice
An ant inextricably drawn
To the sickly honey between your thighs.

Your lips were my heroin,
Your breasts my belladonna.
Your eyes, a mirror to my soul,
Your essence my nourishment.

I somehow knew you better
Than I could ever know myself.
A sweet agony of hidden meaning,
Forever about to crash ashore.

One hand clasped on your throat,
Another between your thighs,
A succubus in her element,
Ready to drag you into my abyss.

So you want Sexy Poems?

For you, my reader,
I spread the pages of my soul,
I dip the tip of my tongue
In the forbidden ink of divine intervention.
A lost soul longing for a set of lips,
To kiss, lick, suckle to my heart’s content.

A tickle of a button
So soft it could make a feather tremble,
A breath caught between two sheets;
One second, two, three?
A gasp!
Air rushing through inflamed lungs,
Tiny beads of sweat dangling
On skin as soft as lips
Caressing freshly painted nails.

For you, my reader,
I explore long lost caves
Forsaken by the gods;
Heathen sanctuaries
Of nymphs, sprites, and fairies
I penetrate sacred grounds,
Document my stories
With tale after tale,
Stroke after stroke
Of my pen on shaking parchment.

A trusting hand,
Curling inside forbidden fruit;
A pressure so pure
It parts the sky with its lust.
The surrender…
Sweet delight, like hydromel;
Nectar of the gods.
Even they are unworthy
Of the delicacy, that is you.

Seule – for C

loneliness is like a bubble

sometimes all we need
is for it to pop, Pop, PoP!
like a kernel in the microwave

at first, inert,

it doesn’t look like much
then, from somewhere deep within
a heated force of overwhelming power
shines through and breaks the shell.

Bring Me Back

The perfect drizzle
defines the line between today and tomorrow
A morose specimen,
far too endearing to share with our peers
peers out of its receptacle;
a chill destroys its resolve
“if only pigs could fly,
then I’d get myself out of this darned mess.”
It thinks, unwillingly.

The home of a collector
is not to be taken lightly
on days where the sun’s power dwindles
and the comings of months of death
appear on the horizon.

One step at a time,
it creeps, occasionally lurching
towards a white cover of bliss.
Brought back to the silence
of a city’s breath drawn again
when a cloak of winter descends
leaving everything amiss.

At times, when the sea of stars seems
to lose itself in the vastness of the night
I’ve often longed to hear crisp footsteps,
ones I’ve dreamt of ad-nauseam;
despite the harsh and cruel winter,
they echo the sound of my love’s path
finally finding its way back
into the warmth of my tender embrace.

Fabricated Sorrow

What is it, about being a woman
that drives us, to feel lust
nay, neediness, longing, expectations
of the opposite sex
to WANT, to need, to succumb
to loving us?

It’s like taking the first hit;
wanting every moment
to inevitably feel like the next.
A drug of the heart, a survivalist’s wet dream,
suddenly the nightmare of the other.

I loathe the void I’ve created
within the absence you’ve brought;
the coward who parades around
as a hearty lion, navy suit astounding
the driver of slumber long deceased
brought back to life in a dusty dream.

Nothing is everything,
it all resonates like bass hitting a temple
wishing for change, but unwilling to understand;
the dance slowly dies
as the reality of one love lost
bites the dust, of poetic abstinence.

Heed a lonely cry, in the distance
a single ring on a finger
symbolism of something so untrue
it might as well be dead.

I’ll die too young
to see the fruition of your honesty.

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