Author: Freegrandmaa

“I don’t write logically.. I write viscerally.”

Love, Lust & Lazuli
Poetry by Freegrandmaa

Hardcover and paperback are available now via Lulu.
🕯️ Signed / special editions are available directly through me.
Amazon availability is coming soon.

👉 Read more or get your copy here:
https://freegrandmaa.com/love-lust-lazuli-2/
Blessings to everyone holding my work with care.

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On Valentine’s Day, a book was born.
Not a fairytale.
Not a love manual.
Not a tidy story with a happy ending.
But something far more honest.
Love, Lust & Lazuli is a poetic triptych — three panels of the same soul moving through devotion, desire, grief, hunger, memory, and rebirth. It is the record of loving deeply enough to be changed by it.
What began years ago as survival writing has become something closer to scripture — not sacred because it is pure, but sacred because it tells the truth.
This book is for:
• the ones who love intensely
• the ones who lose and keep loving anyway
• the ones who have outgrown old selves and old stories
• the ones who feel too much and refuse to numb it
• the lovers the holiday forgot
Inside these pages, tenderness and ferocity live side by side. Desire is not sanitized. Grief is not rushed. Healing is not simplified.
Each section can stand alone like a gallery piece, yet together they form a single portrait — a body, a psyche, a heart in motion.
Language becomes spellwork.
The page becomes altar.
Memory becomes material for transformation.
This is not a book you skim.
It is a book you sit with.
Return to.
Carry.
Argue with.
Underline.
Close because it hit too close.

A safe space
that gives you no choice
but to surrender
Slowly
Surly
Full of futile resistance
I’m nothing
but weak bones
and fevered wantings

In her fantasy she’s no longer comfortable,
she can’t be here.

They don’t hold space for her.

Oh iridescent flesh,
what do you reveal of me.

This one he
He was my strong lover
He made my body do
what he wanted it to do
and I let him

Leave the door open
I’m sweet, tender, soft spoken
I dance in bits and rows
You’re closer than home
When I’m alone
The wall became our pitter patter phone
You’re next door
Strong so
I’m free to rome

Self-devotion
my loving swollen ticker
what remains after desire fades?

Love, for me, is not an emotion.
It’s a way of being.
A state of mind.
A practice.

Lust teaches me to indulge my darkness.
To play.
To have fun inside it.

Lazuli feels like forehead kisses from the Gods,
a warm star in the void.

The pattern I trust now
is coming back to myself
again and again.

This last cycle taught me the difference between wanting anything
and wanting what is truly meant for me.
Quality over quantity.
Depth over distraction.
No more reaching just to feel alive,
or staying just to avoid the ache of leaving.
Solitude became necessary
the only doorway back into the real me,
the depths most people are terrified to meet.
In the quiet, I heard my own voice again:
the outsider, the freethinker,
the woman who never needed permission to know her truth.
My heart speaks for me now.
My mind and spirit too.
I’m finally listening.
Walking away from distraction returned everything I had leaked:
my attention, my sovereignty,
my erotic self-trust,
my freedom,
my wholeness.
My energy feels different
strong, rooted, unmistakable.
I feel known, even if not fully seen.
I trust myself deeply.
I know who and what I am.
A new version of me is resurfacing
the elder in my spirit,
the one who has died and resurrected enough times
to know her own magic.
The woman who chooses herself first,
without guilt, without trembling.
Silence has been my healer.
The silence between thoughts,
the silence in my home,
the silence inside my body,
the silence in the craters of my heart as they scab.
Silence protects.
Silence reorganizes.
Silence brings me back to life.
And now, I’m guarding my heart differently.
Every lover has taught me how to hold her better
her eagerness, her warmth, her fragility.
I’m protecting her from hardening too quickly,
from reopening old wounds just to see if the sun still rises.
I refuse to go cold.
I refuse to let fear kill my softness.
I refuse to let the past shrink my ability to be touched,
kissed, held, adored, or loved.
Devoted to myself and love.
Fully.
Holy.

I realized,
you can’t reach my soul if you’ve never touched your own. I’ve stopped craving to be understood last year
I’m a “mystery”, because most people are strangers to themselves.
I realized,
only those who’ve met their own depths can meet mine.
I realized,
I’ve been my own muse the whole time.
Silly me.