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671 · Nov 2013
love cycle
dafne Nov 2013
I thought by now
I'd be fine
But at times
You creep into
the crevices of my mind
Slowly seeping in
and deepening wounds
You once had stitched

I am in a state
Of feeling inferior
And your false promises
Echo in my brain
They whisper
That I'll never be the same

the worst part is
I sit patiently waiting
for someone to stitch me up again
While my conscience
Trys to protect me
639 · Jan 2017
guarded
dafne Jan 2017
after flipping through 10 digit sequences and never finding the right call,
insecurities rose as frequent as the sunrise,
and i created a wall with murals on one side, and brick on the other,
making sure whoever rang me would only hear the voice of a simple cold "hello",
i did not want to pick up the phone and create fires for people who were going to water me down,
expose my murals and let spectators decline and walk away,
i'd rather know they saw nothing and left because they never witnessed the real version of me, only taking in brick walls, hearing dials instead of voices, ears listening to the robotic sound of answering machines and not the melodies from within me, staying awake only to watch the sunset, but be gone before the sunrise.
it was frightening to think some drifted away after eyes peeled from brick, saw murals, took in melodies, read words painted down endless roads of feeling, stayed for the sunrise, and picked up the phone to find me on the other side,
the shaking feeling resonated inside, the wondering that would never end, are pieces of me missing, or were there too many?
telephone series
638 · Nov 2013
blind perspective
dafne Nov 2013
I need a blind friend
Who tells me they are impressed

Because I ask myself
At all hours of the day
"If the world was blind,
who would I impress?"

Maybe they could tell me
How my voice really sounds
and they could create beautiful
Metaphors comparing the sounds
They hear everyday to my voice

And maybe they could piece
Together my words
And form a glorious image
In thier blank mind
And tell me how they can almost see me
When they hear the harmony of my sounds

and then they could tell me
I am beautiful
and I could really believe it
because they are
viewing me in a new perspective
as if imagining me from the inside out
heart and brain exposed.
634 · Sep 2014
numbers
dafne Sep 2014
coffee breath, lead stained hands, fingers numbly typing in numbers that have more value than my test scores,
numbers stab like axes cutting down trees that cry in silent screeches in the forest.
numbers like ninety seven, ninety, and eighty two.
numbers that will never define who i am on a college transcript
and these numbers are worth more than who i am in this world, since we are defined by numbers today
even though we made the same mistake in 1939, turning people into numbers by stabbing pigments into their forearms, creating a lesser value for them.
a forty eight is stupid and a fifteen percent is like a hollow head.
i am defined by numbers like fifteen and forty eight and i am told that i should be embarrassed of who i am, or for the number that i am.
and if an equation can't be solved," i'm sorry m'am you cant move on", because your capacity is again,
defined by a number.
i am not a number
i am not the forty eight or the fifteen that scratches the back of my eyeballs like nails filing down a chalkboard.
i am not the one forty five i sleep at when ripping my hair out trying to solve equations of irrational numbers when i should be solving the equations of my irrational thoughts
and everything is turning round and round and round like the infinite possibilities of solutions to equations,  
and i go to sleep, and lay my head down as early as possible, but my mind is running in circles with numbers taunting me and defining me and interrupting my sleep.
it is morning now, my mother comes and checks on me to see how i am in this "new wonderful day"
the tiredness seeps through my purple eye bags that i try to cover with tan makeup, and i think about how i really feel in the morning. i stare in the mirror and numbers stare back, i weep as i sit on the floor with the numbers streaming down my eyes, evacuating them from my system, because numbers have made me mentally insane.
there is no hope of numbers leaving because they carry through, even after algebra two,
weight and credit scores, and the amount of money you owe in debt, your mortgage payment, and the amount your retirement fund has swallowed up for your uncertain future,
i am not a number
i am not a number
and i will fight numbers off like the moon controls the tide,
the tide will never control the moon,
and numbers will never control me.
633 · Feb 2015
zero
dafne Feb 2015
it was 7:42 in new york city, and we shared the same time zones, yet it was 31 degrees.
i knew new york would wait because places didn't change their mind about you and run away or fall in love with you. places became sedentary, the sunset came almost everyday at almost the same hour. the only difference was the people who admired it and the colors, ranging from your 5th birthday cake pink, to your old friends eye color blue, or your old soccer jersey orange. feeling infatuated with a place i didn't even know completely was familiar to me because i became infatuated with people distant from me. i don't know if it was a defense mechanism so i wouldn't get hurt by the ones closest to me, or if it was because i was allowed to make up a false identity of them in my head. the unknown was the only thing i craved for. but the unknown can become the known and the question floats above my head, will i still love the unknown once it becomes known? is everything an illusion and a figment of imaginations, turning into whirlwinds of crazy infatuations? i need to find the truth, but new york is so far, and everyone unknown shook me, made me wonder, tremble, spin round and round into confusions and questions. there was an unknown that was near, from a saturday night, from 6:30 pm, January, that i was sure about. the curiosity leads to an array of questions i can only answer if i approach the unknown.
590 · Oct 2014
cocoon brain
dafne Oct 2014
you are no longer the one plus one i dreamed of or the cure-all to my pains and you are no longer motivation in my veins
i have steered clear because you are a caterpillar with a cocoon brain (underdeveloped, unraveled, closed up and shriveled)
you are not the glorified person i thought you would be, i put you on a pedestal of faux gold that qucikly rotted and tarnished with the truth
you are not the knight in shining armor and you are not the boy that will change my life and go to the forest with me.
your freckles have turned into specks on the windshield that annoy you when you cant see and your eyes have turned into piercing lasers that are the only temptation left in you
maybe i have changed my vision from far sighted to near sighted and now i only see you up close and personal , clear as daylight.
you need to check yourself, reevaluate yourself, validate yourself, so you can decimate all these condescending thoughts of who you are and who you are pretending to be.
the butterflies you swat around from side to side and up and down are not toys and have very delicate wings as well as fragile hearts.
these butterflies are not choices, don't act like you don't know they're swarming around you because of who they think you are and your sweet nectarine temptation
you cannot pick and choose and play with wings until they break and then feel sorry after.
my preconceived notions of who you were and what we could be were as wrong as 1492, when the world was perceived flat
now i see the three dimensional you
589 · Nov 2014
light bulbs
dafne Nov 2014
two hundred and eighty seven hours
i have two hundred and eighty seven hours and one minute
to convince myself to open my mouth and mind
because i was not going to let myself lose an opportunity  
which is what i do as often as the sun sets

the only thing i can think of is how the first time i saw you
i remember thinking that maybe the cliche stories of love at first sight (that were as believable as a man claiming he has never sinned) were actually true.
the smoke rises and the lights come out and the vibrations in the room raise and all i want is for you to hold me like the girl that is in your hands right now
and all i get from you is a step on my jazz shoe and a look on your face that speaks "i'm sorry" and then a smile of 100 watt light bulbs

and i think about how light bulbs come in different shapes in sizes, and we are both the curly q bulbs with twists and turns and heads of curls
but we never were too daring with using too much energy and didn't make much noise

i needed to know you like the man needed to reach the moon
like the woman needed to find a perfect shoe
(unnecessary in reality, but extremely important in their mind)

now there's two hundred and eight six hours and forty three minutes
until the wattage dies and the sun will set
things change so quickly
the wattage died
and the interest did too
588 · Dec 2013
battle scars
dafne Dec 2013
You're always
At battle
Against me

Maybe you would've been better
Without me since day one
Because you felt invisble
And all the attention was on me

I'm sorry
I truly am
I know how it feels

Please stop battling against me
its been far too long
So long that now I am
At battle with myself
And there's never
A resolution
Or treaty
Or peace
Within me
There is no end
564 · Jul 2014
july 2014-william
dafne Jul 2014
when you think that there's no one else left for you in the world,
do not dare to give up.
remember you live in a small town,
and out of that small sleepy town,
you may know merely one-fifth of the population.
one day he or she will appear in the most unexpected place.
and you will find beautiful people you would have never imagined or fathomed,
you'll be so amazed because you never thought someone like that actually existed near you.

one day you'll look up and then distract yourself so they won't see your jaw drop in the presence of them,
and you'll stare so frequently, but you'll strive to look further than their physical appearance, because you've never seen someone as beautiful before.
you'll search and find that despite their beauty they are a person just like you.
your heart races when you exchange looks
and you find the most intricate details of them alluring
but then just like that,
the masterpiece of a stranger has to leave,
but he lives on in my mind for hours,
and lives in these words forever.

knowing there are so many beautiful people out there waiting to be met is what keeps me going.
I want to know them all.
I hope one day I will be someones beautiful stranger
564 · Sep 2013
frail
dafne Sep 2013
larger eyes
longer lashes
tinier waist
thinner hair
oval face
smaller ears
straight hair
what I wish for
what a waste,
who said beauty
was the look of your face
and the measure of your waist
560 · Dec 2013
fog
dafne Dec 2013
fog
we spend our time
waiting and searching for
something,

daydreaming about the day
we discover it

and staying blind to
what is right in front of us

and once it's in arms reach
once it seems so close

your arms don't seem long enough
your running isn't fast enough

to grab hold of your treasure
and your eyes fill with tears
and your hole deepens
and your peace breaks

its like the little child
trying to reach for a cloud to keep
in his pocket
on a foggy day

the fog covers
the sun
that's greater
than all the clouds
but the child can't see
the miraculous sun
that the clouds can't live without.
557 · Jun 2014
scabs
dafne Jun 2014
I couldn't walk past the coffee shop we visited
and walk through the isles of our local bookstore
without your name screeching through my head
like acrylic nails on a chalk board

I thought i'd never heal
I thought i'd never forget
but now it's been a full year

and I couldn't remember that your favorite artist was Bon Jovi
and you smelled of shaving cream
and you hated the taste of coffee because it was bitter (similar to you)
and I almost forgot about your stretch marks that were a terrible insecurity, even though you're a boy.
I almost forgot about that Coldplay song, Strawberry Swing.
I almost forgot that your favorite color is green,
and you had an undying relationship with music,
which was always in your ear.

all these things used to cause me to cringe
until the day i forgot them,
and they came back,
but now you're forgiven and i'm almost completely healed.

you're the wound that caused
terrible bleeding and an itching scab
that I would peel off and cry about
but in the end you left a wonderful scar
that will bring back good memories

you're forgiven
537 · Aug 2017
ooze
dafne Aug 2017
time feels like a dali painting,
dripping down my chin , oozing into a wasted space.
i wanted to feel what a day was like with out your name ringing in my head, and solve the mystery as to why you resided there for so long.
to be unaware of your existence would be surreal, a euphoria for my tired mind, a serenity for this relentless desire.
my emotions have exhausted over the same person for eternity, clocks disintegrating like quicksand, wondering if i'll ever be enough, if anything will ever live up to this waiting, if its true when they say "good things come to those who wait", right now i'm feeling deceived by such a theory.
its 3am and i'm a mess
531 · Dec 2014
kurinji
dafne Dec 2014
i was doing fine
fine as in
nothing at all
doing nothing at all

things felt settled down yet unfinished,
kind of started and then left there
like a puzzle a child started to solve but never came back to because he got distracted
new people came into the room
breathed new air into my lungs
which allowed me to expel the old air of old friends and old people
(old as in, i'm able to get tired of you, not old as in wrinkles, though they caused wrinkles too, like smile lines and crows feet, sometimes those hundred elevens between your eyebrows too)

i sit patiently because i feel something coming
i see something rising
i feel as if there's a whisper of the big man
telling his daughter to wait patiently and follow him in the pastures he planted
the city and art will come along as well as the people who breathe new air into me
goosebumps rise along lanky arms as i think about the new dawn
a new life is soon
maybe soon as in three years
maybe soon as in the man's three years which convert to three minutes or seconds
i don't know
but i'm willing to wait
the kurinji flower takes an exceptionally long time to bloom into life and display its vibrant blue-violet pigments
531 · Mar 2015
frozen street lights
dafne Mar 2015
it became frigid quickly, like aluminum street lights at negative temperatures
the cold seeps in throughout marrow, chilling bones and freezing thoughts.
i knew it was winter again and leaves were almost completely gone from the tree branches, each crunching words of remorse as they were stepped on once again.
she was confused, confused between psychedelic highs of happiness and freezing aluminum street lights who froze her fingertips when she touched them.
she asked herself why winter came now, when she had found the sunshine of her life, seeping through her for moments at a time.
526 · Nov 2016
flicker
dafne Nov 2016
it was always hard to find a beginning.
an alpha for an omega, something that could never be found, partially because my brain was overstocked with thoughts i couldn't organize into sentences.
i never knew where to begin, because everything came all at once or nothing at all, and i couldn't put words to feelings and feelings to words, and actions to thoughts, and thoughts to actions.
there i was, trying to remember what felt so wrong, if it was the way i had done things, if it was everyone all around, or if it was the way i forgot to pray in times of emptiness and in times of wealth.
i was giving myself away, searching for the feeling i couldn't name, searching for the feeling i vaguely remember, rummaging through people and places that could possibly remind me of what fulfillment felt like.
every time i come close to finding an alpha, it feels like i only go backwards, constantly going from forward to reverse, not knowing what will set flames to something new, instead of watering down what is constantly flickering in the present.
511 · Oct 2013
petrified
dafne Oct 2013
He was tall,
With a stare that could petrify you.
If his near black eyes
ever met with yours,
your heart beat would instantaneously rise.
The way his suntouched hair sat so perfectly
on his head while he daydreamed
was something that never ceased to amaze me.

So there I stood
To shy to say a word
Or stare straight into his gaze
for more than a couple seconds
So instead I let him slip away
like sand falling through frail fingers.
503 · Sep 2013
mute
dafne Sep 2013
I wish we could
Take away the privilege
Of speaking

often many take advantage of it

They do not know
actions speak louder than words
Or
Only open your mouth
If what you are going to say
Is more golden than silence

Many deserve to be mute.
501 · Nov 2013
sentence.
dafne Nov 2013
Passing by
Without even a glance
Without even a thought

Its you everyday

Its not just you
Its everyone

No
I was not just
A chapter in your book
I was a sentence
In your whole
Bookshelf with millions of books

And of course
I'm on that page
Of the dusty old book
You haven't opened in years
And of course
You haven't even bothered to
Reread the book
And you don't even remeber
The storyline.
491 · Aug 2017
fig tree excerpt
dafne Aug 2017
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
excerpt from "the bell jar" by sylvia plath
481 · Dec 2013
plain
dafne Dec 2013
I'm not beautiful
I'm not bright
I'm not talented
Or precious in anyones sight

I'm plain
With brown eyes
And brown hair
And average everything

No I don't want you to pity me
I don't even want to pity myself

I'll never amount to anyones dream
I'll never be enough
And I'll usually be ignored

I have to cope with what I have
And who I am
Because I can't wait for someone
To change me
And pick me up
And make me feel significant
Because there will be a desperation
To tough to handle
Like an alcoholic
Waiting for their next drink
And cigarette smoker
Waiting for their break
To smoke another.

And they will never
Get their drink
Or get their cigar
And they'll die
Of weariness
Like I die
Waiting for
**you
I don't even know who "you" is yet
Who are "you"?
466 · Jul 2014
violet amber
dafne Jul 2014
Autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavements in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding sidewalk, letting the motion of the wind and leaves carry her forward.
Her shoes stirred the circling leaves.
Her face slender and milk-white, and in it was a kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with tireless curiosity.
Pale surprise with dark eyes that were so fixed to the world that no move could escape. Her dress was white and it whispered.He almost thought he heard the motion of her hands. Eyes so dark and shiny and alive that he felt as if he had said something wonderful.
They walked in the warm-cool blowing night on the silvered pavement and there was the faintest breath of fresh apricots and strawberries in the air. her face as bright as snow in the moonlight.
"I like to smell things and look at things, and sometimes stay up all night, walking, and watching the sunrise."
He saw himself in her eyes suspended in two shining drops of bright water, everything was there as if her eyes were two miraculous bit of violet amber that might capture and hold him in tact. Her face, fragile milk crystal with a soft constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity, but the strangely comfortable and gently flattering light of a candle.
For how many people did you know who refracted you own light to you? People were often blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your innermost trembling thought?

*"Are you happy?"
excerpts from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. I gathered fragments and sentences that spoke to me and that I loved since that first time I read the book, and created a small story out of them.
465 · Dec 2013
sidewalks
dafne Dec 2013
I am like the cracked sidewalk
Slowly eroding
With fading colors and
Roots breaking through

The sidewalk is ancient
And not very beautiful
Just plain and gray
With millions of stories
But with not much importance

Walked all over
Stepped on
And engraved
Having seen thousands
of lovers pass by
And countless memories created
But it didn't partake in any
Loves
Adventures
Or stories

And no one seemed to ever
Look at the sidewalk
Or find beauty in its cracks
It was simply just to step on
And walk away
Without a thank you

So it slowly covers
With dead fall leaves
And chewed up gum
Developing more cracks
Desperately waiting for
Maintenance to come
463 · Apr 2017
nostalgia
dafne Apr 2017
me acuerdo cuando soñaba en largar me del lugar endone naci. encontraba todas las razones por qué odiaba este lugar y era la canción que mi mente cantaba día y noche.
ahora que me voy por seguro, estoy descubriendo los lugares que voy a extrañar,
los lugares que me dan alguna razón de vivir aquí,
que me hacen el corazon latir con esperanza,
un motivo para extrañar un lugar que nunca aprecie.
en unos meses ya no te tendré, y voy a acordarme de los petalos de flores, los besos del sol, el olor del mar, y la música de las palmeras en el viento.
462 · Jan 2015
lone city
dafne Jan 2015
after 8 days in a place where my name was unknown i am convinced that i need to leave.
not leave this earth, just leave this town.
i needed to go to a city, something like nyc, los angeles, chicago, london, or miami.
i figured out why, because i need to be alone.
yes of course, this sounds so silly, a city is full of millions of people and you are practically enclosed in a shell of other peoples skin and encapsulated by human noise.
but the city has that thing about it, everyone is alone. you are anonymous.
you will not see the same girl who whispered curses at you in her brain at the coffee shop and the same curious boy who would not take his eyes off of you on the subway.
in order for that, you would need to push yourself to talk to them if you would like to see them again, and you would dare to speak out so you don't loose opportunity.
you wouldn't think, "i'll talk to him next time i see him around."
you will not hear rumors about the girl at the coffee shop or meet her friends and be a part of their life. you could shake her off and never see her again and again.
people were fast paced and running,
city dwellers do not live in family sized homes, they usually came alone or in pairs to chase dreams they are hungry for.
i needed that time alone.
when i had that time, i could figure myself out, discover what i want, plan, meditate, think, breathe my own polluted air.
i needed that.
its why i stay up past midnight while everyone at home is asleep, its the only time i get alone and the city shifts a little closer to me.
458 · Mar 2014
j
dafne Mar 2014
j
and my heart sank
like a rusty two ton anchor
in the sea of depression I used to swim

you were my lifeboat for two weeks
and i'm sinking again
i'm drowning deeper than I was before

and you will not come a save me
because you'll be distracted and focused
on that charismatic beautiful girl.
458 · May 2015
symptoms
dafne May 2015
vibrations echo inside my skin
prolonged tingles of worry along a bent back, i cradle myself to create warmth
eyes become redder than ever before, not under the influence of any substance
its more like the lack of someone which causes the redness
thoughts slither back and forth like ringworm chewing up my brain
coldness seeps throughout my body

the fear of being without the boy
the boy who fed her joy by the spoonful
the boy with veins that intertwined with graceful love and care that pumped with every heartbeat
the boy who made her believe that there was a possibility, a possibility to endless sunsets and sunrises
the boy who looked at her like she looked out for the sunrise, anxiously waiting at the windowsill for the colors that would never get old and whose beauty would never fade
the boy who she hoped would never fade away like the sunrise did
448 · Mar 2014
bones
dafne Mar 2014
Bones
and skin
and an almost nonexistent tummy
were enjoyable to me

I loved my hip bones
and I was satisfied with what I saw in the mirror
I ate often until I was full

I thought I was regular looking.
And I had peace with my shape
until the voices came

"You're too skinny"
"You're abnormal"
"You have a boyish body"
"You're legs are sticks"
"Where'd your *** go?"
"You've gotta eat more"
"Where are your *******?"
"Your back is awfully boney"

And those words
deteriorated me
and I was left with no good thoughts about myself

And I wish I could scream
and tell them I'm fine
I'm eating well
I'm suviving fine

I used to like myself
But now I don't
And it's all them spewing out words

We all have this perception of self love
And how you can't love if you don't love yourself first
But I think we need someone to love us first
to tell us our bones are beautiful
Or our places of fat are meaningless
And to tell us we're loved

But they're hypocritical
Their critiques will never help
And I'll never love my bones again.
Think before you speak
445 · Jan 2015
November 2014
dafne Jan 2015
and in that moment the wattage of the light bulbs died with one last flicker of energy, and the sun set like the days in autumn when it was pitch black at 5:30. I was still fog and he was still a light bulb, shining pretty for another girl. fog was yearning for a chance to ascend once again and become a cloud, her last hope in becoming meaningful. she wished to carry rain drops to heal droughts and move to display sunshine
was searching through papers today and i found this little unfinished blurb
442 · Jul 2015
its fine
dafne Jul 2015
there are countless moments
when i know i could've done it
where i know i could've taken it
where i know there would've been an end
there are countless things i cannot say
things that would bring me to a basement
things that would bring me to the church
things that would make me seem crazy
things that they would never believe
things they'd be embarrassed about
things they'd be disappointed in

lately its felt really bad
everything is coming back
things i used to feel are reappearing
worse
worse
worse
worse
worse
its drowning and exploding all in one
i'm bursting with everything bottled up
a shaken bottle with carbonation boiling inside
spewing out every time

words aren't enough anymore
there is no escape
441 · Sep 2013
cobble stones
dafne Sep 2013
Once a girl
Had seen me cry
And attempted to repose me
By telling me
There is nothing wrong
With being sensitive

What she didn't know
Is how it felt
  To have glassy eyes
    Accompanied by blurred vision
     And a puffy scarlet face
To hold on to salty tears
Until my head split with aching pain
  Because I was so terrified
   Of anyone catching a glimpse
    Of my canary yellow heart
     Turn cobble stone grey
427 · Nov 2015
trafficked
dafne Nov 2015
in fifth grade, they taught us about slavery.
associating it with fields of cotton and colored skin scorching in the heat of the sun.
in eighth grade, we revisited the topic,
furthering it to studying the end of slavery, making us believe it never existed again.

no one taught us about what was happening in our backyards in present time,
because we were always too young,
or the topic too sensitive,
although we were the age target of this tragedy.

we were never informed about the thieves of innocence,
the ones who covered each square inch of skin with impurity,
while we sat in classrooms reading fairy-tales.
we were never informed on the serial killer of dreams,
the ones who indulged in corrupted fantasies,
shattering identities into nightmares that will keep them awake for years,
keep them trembling,
keep them flinching when hands reach out,
keep them fearing the ones who fall in love with them.
we were never aware of the slaves victims were made into,
applying definitions,
when they were more that just mere words,
more than just a collection of bones built to prize and conquer,
more than just a babe,
more than just a pretty face and a pair of legs,
more than just someone to quench satisfaction.
422 · Jan 2017
regress
dafne Jan 2017
there I watched, the moon leave and the tide become unsettling, knowing waves would turn into knots and eyes would become foggy,
everything returned to the way it began.
422 · Jan 2015
forlorn occasion
dafne Jan 2015
i believe the reason you are alone is because you need to be alone
you are living in a the box of loneliness only peering through the cracks to see when your time will come
when you should be staring at the walls figuring yourself out in the silence that is so golden
you are seeing this as such a curse but it could be a hidden blessing.
for you cannot coexist properly if you cannot coexist with your flesh and soul.
this loneliness is whispering to use him for something else other than moping because he is beautiful and practical
God is giving you this time because he knows you need to learn to love yourself
you are not ready yet because you are not capable of treating these blessings properly without peace within you.
you cannot love if you barely love yourself
this time is for caring for yourself, laying by the window and cleaning yourself up like the house cat
be still
it is coming
for many people not just one
418 · Oct 2015
blurs
dafne Oct 2015
at age thirteen,
Picasso could surpass the talent of his teacher,
drawing at the level of Raphael, the prince of painters.
at age sixteen,
Picasso skipped his classes to explore gypsies,beggars, and prostitutes,
and at eighteen,
became exposed to anarchists and radicals who were artists and intellectuals
when his eyes were unveiled to a world of color, pinwheels of ideas, and a milky-way of lifestyles,
he unleashed a new form of art.
abstract, colorful, broken up into chunks, scribbles and slashes,
a child's coloring book,
from the five year old who couldn't seem to find the lines.

in this chapter of his life,
Picasso said:
It took him no time to paint like the prince of painters,
but decades to learn how to paint like the children.

one hundred and sixteen years later
i sit in the whirling emotions,
of the "i don't know yet"
and the "i have no idea"
and the "what am i going to do"
and the "why am i even doing this"
and the "who did i become"
and the "what will i be"
and the "who will i disappoint"
and the "honey you can't please everybody"
and the "what am i here for"
and the "is anybody out there waiting for me"
and "what capacity do i have to connect the constellations that form my dreams?"
and "what amount of this enormous world will i see with these mere two eyes and one small body?"
and "will i be the radical or the anarchist, or the artist or the intellectual, or the beggar or best of all,
the Picasso?"

and i can't seem to find the lines anymore
and everything is becoming a muddled mess of colors,
there is no symmetry, there is no balance,
there is not one face to a person,
there is not one specific meaning,
not one correct answer or distinction,
not a single definition.
and all though there are periods,
and I've been through the blue,
and I'm on the pursuit of the rose,
all i see is commas,
and as time goes on,
i understand more and more,
exposure to this world,
brings more questions and more blurs,
more pigments, and edges,
and adds miles from the distance,
of the lines.
413 · Nov 2013
out of sight
dafne Nov 2013
We are introduced
into this world
with our eyes closed
with blurred vision
on a glorious day

And soon
we close our eyes
to dream
to rest
to kiss

We are led out of the world
out of our misery
into paradise
with our eyes closed

Is it because
the best things in life
cannot be seen?
396 · Oct 2013
you are
dafne Oct 2013
You are
The delicately pressed flowers you collect
In your favorite childhood book
The way you cross your t's
And dot your I's
The specific way you enjoy the weather
Even if its grey and frosty
If you dog ear your books
And highlight certain words that appeal to you.

You are
How long you stay on the phone
listening to the other person whisper
moments of their day
And how you like you coffee or tea.

You are
what you think is beautiful
And what you choose to wonder about
When you observe out of your window
And what you thank God for every day.

You are
the melodies and photographs
You enjoy the most
And the quotes you've cherished across time.

You are
The way you keep your hands
And whether or not your palms get sweaty
In anticipation of something bittersweet.

All these things collect
Into a beautiful diary
which is you.
389 · Aug 2017
stucco
dafne Aug 2017
my dad deals with an exhaustion that i have never endured. stress and heartbeats, computer clicks and international affairs. bank statements and car payments. medical bills caused by trying to pay the bills.
my mother deals with physical exhaust, legs lined with spider webs of purple and green. the pain of losing a soul inside of her she never saw. the weariness of countless years without a good nights rest. rugged hands from abrasive chemicals to clean messes we made. the wonder of "where did i go wrong?" when her daughters were out of line.
my sisters exhaust was beginning to be mine. seeing life through the eyes of others. the successful, the wealthy, the lovebirds on every corner with rings and a heart that sings.
it was like standing at the window of the electronics store.
tv monitors depicting lives so untouchable, held by such ordinary people. she asks herself "how did they do it?" and "why haven't i gotten there yet?"
its the most crushing walk of life, when the expectations you once held are now on the floor stepped on, disintegrating into patterns of sameness.
i am far too young to experience the exhaust of the ones around me, but my fuel is being lost on being a second choice, an afterthought, and 11PM phone call after the day is done and all that is being sought after is satisfaction. i do not want dates in a drive-in because i know your mind is already on the backseat. i do not care for an empty house, because i no longer crave to be craved. i do not belong in backseats. i do not belong in cars, i am the destination you seek through the windshield, the blow of the wind that drives the passenger to sleep, the home itself, the structure and the stucco, strong and unyielding.
387 · Feb 2017
reciprocate
dafne Feb 2017
i waited for the moment of reciprocation,
wishing life was algebraic expressions,
knowing what you do to one side,
is done to the other.
i listen to the song you played over and over,
not knowing the meaning in the moment we were together because my mind was stuck on your hands on the steering wheel that will drive you away tomorrow,
remembering you'll turn into just another boy in a table of contents,
and i'll be the book you opened but never read,
just a page turned, looking at illustrations but never caring to read text.

knowing there were other people on the other side waiting for mutual feelings from me made me feel sorry,
but it didn't feel fair to try to give them my attention knowing my mind would still be wrapped around the vibration of your voice and the way you kissed and the parts of me i could comfortably unveil even though we had never met eyes until a few days ago

we all sat on this ferris wheel ride watching the one we yearned for take in a view without us,
while they were the only view we ever wanted,
eyes locked on something so unreachable,
yet we'll grasp tight till we loose hope.
381 · Sep 2013
time
dafne Sep 2013
Time is money
Is what many say
Sometimes time is considered a friend
sometimes it is considered a enemy

Like waiting for something
Breathing deeply
  Exhausting oxygen
   For something that may never happen
Like the time away from a person
When you feel yourself
  Fading from their mind
   Forgetting a bond
    That used to mean the world
Like the time we've been alive
Counting how many days
  Seconds
   And breaths we've lived
    Wasting our time
     Saying "when the time is right"
      And we have not taken chances
373 · Jun 2017
senseless
dafne Jun 2017
"i love myself, i love myself, i love myself"
you repeat it in your mind, thinking saying it enough will program your eyes to be satisfied with what appears in the mirror,
banging your head against the tile, convincing yourself that the thoughts you once had are no longer inhabiting your mind,
that you feel so secure in the skin you once wanted to tear off,
that you will kiss your scars goodnight and sing yourself lullabies to sleep, that you will be the one to nourish your body with the love it needs, that every situation will turn into a blessing,
you repeat it in your head, banging your head, over and over, and over, until you're so numb to it all, you shut down what its like to have feeling at all, and you stand in this false illusion of self love and positivity, until everything turns into nothing, leaving you completely senseless.
370 · Nov 2015
tides
dafne Nov 2015
the moon could never keep his hands off the ocean.
for millions of years,
(at least that is what it seemed to be)
the ocean and the moon were in a very entangled relationship.
many couldn't comprehend it,
because their bond was so abstract,
and some appeared to derive the right answers,
with scientific reasonings to every complication .

the ocean never really had it figured out either,
she never planned for someone so distinct to make an entrance.
in the beginning, the moon was exciting, extravagant, exclusive,
and caused her to feel something new, which was a tide.
the ocean loved the movements of the tide,
they formed her once slow heartbeat into a melody,
the ups and downs, her constant change,
a dance with the moon was a thrill.

the moon enjoyed finally having a partner,
for he was alone, visited by only a few a year,
now he had the ocean,
the one he could twist and turn,
wrap around his fingers,
make her heart beat for him,
and only him, her obsession with new-found life,
of zigs and zags,
it was so different from her stagnant past.  

the moon saw the oceans vulnerable eyes,
falling in love with him and his assets,
his magnificence and glamour,
he began to take advantage, shaping her
into a sea of emotions,
a puddle of once shallow water,
creating depths of mile long darkness,
and the ocean proclaimed her love to the moon,
everyday praises and promises,
but tides began to be reckless,
trying to escape the moon was the hardest for her,
without him she'd be completely still,
a girl with no owner,
but they came from two different worlds,
differences that were incompatible,
polar opposites,
the moon receiving few visitors,
the reckless ocean, once safe,
year after year,
they choose to stay.
362 · Jan 2017
twine
dafne Jan 2017
i wake up with this feeling in my throat,
and go to bed with it again, scratching like sandpaper,
aching for fresh air,
i try to keep myself going,
to do what is expected and necessary,
but i find myself stuck,
fingers frozen, throat closed, eyes glazed with uneasiness,
mind overstocked to the brim, closing in, people ran miles around my brain, circling a twine filled with questions that will cut circulation in my veins,
images of memories unwind, the feeling my face got when it was hard to not hold a smile, the warmth of another, the thrill of affection, the belief in one another, the vibration of words that held hope, to make hearts vulnerable and eyes light up.
the temporary people who have passed by and created reels for remembrance, each one leaving me as cold as the next.
358 · Mar 2014
drowning
dafne Mar 2014
it hurts
throat,
stomach,
and mind.
I just want to drown
and I am drowning
I've been drowning.

and it sounds pathetic
but I just really feel alone
and I just want to scream
until my lungs dry out
and my skin turns red
and my head is pounding

but there's no one to vent to
because i'm fifteen
and my problems are too mere

and I cannot remember the last time
someone was concerned about true feelings
or my sudden quietness
or how I've been lately

here I am screaming and drowning
over the absence of unimportant people
while there orphans and hungry babies
and cancer and mental disorders.

so i'll keep quiet
no one cares
so why should I
352 · Feb 2015
between
dafne Feb 2015
“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
-Pablo Neruda

not in love, not in like, not in infatuation. just waiting for the same feeling Neruda had.
343 · Jun 2017
fat in the "right" places
dafne Jun 2017
i live through photographs of perfect bodies and walked among worshipers of flesh, the ones who looked at curves and nooks before being drawn to a mindset.
i could not help but put down my own body because i did not follow the criteria for the checklist their eyes scanned the room for.  there was not really an area of me i could be proud of, except the person i am on the inside. i wanted to cocoon sheets around my body and feel eyes drawn to what i'm made of.  
i wanted someone to touch the slopes of my mind, kiss the laughter echoing within me, eyes fixated on the glimmer within, to constantly think about the way i am instead of the way i look.
sadly i knew no participants in life were like this, so i stared into space night and day thinking about the way i needed to drink another water bottle, tallying the ones i had already finished.
if i would be fine if i had sugar twice in one day,
if everything was going to build up in me and i'd become even more undesirable to they eye, if all the fat would go to the wrong places, and never fill me up to look like a woman in the eyes of mankind. being desired was the new admiration. i craved recognition for the person i was, but physicality was the only concern with the crowd, men receiving a social trophy for having the woman most lusted after.
340 · Jun 2015
real
dafne Jun 2015
people who have the gift of sight are thankful for it, but are not kneeling down on ****** knees thanking God for such a beautiful gift of sight
if there was a way that i could thank God enough for sight, i want to know what it is.
i am beginning to appreciate all my senses but especially sight throughout these past three months
you may question what has happened
what did i see
what did i sense
what did i perceive
and i will tell you
but words cannot fully confess the magnitude
of beauty and love that i have discovered
when we sit down to think, we remember that the adjectives and words we use for emotions were created thousands of years ago and used to generalize feelings, and if i say i'm in love, you will never know what that means, because all humans love differently.
but i believe i have discovered my definitions of love and beauty, and they all pertain to you.
i never thought i would use the word beautiful to describe a boy, but that was the only way i could describe you, no other word matches up to what i think when i see you.
my eyes cannot drift away from the beauty of who you are, and while sitting there with movies on the screen i can't focus on because you're next to me, every moment i look at you i think to myself, i have found beauty.
i always questioned myself to what beauty was, what could beauty be defined as, where beauty can and cannot be found
and looking at you i am reminded of what it is
because you are pure raw beauty
a human who inside and outside is natural and real
who is effortlessly pretty, in every angle, emotion, or light.
336 · Sep 2015
my soul is
dafne Sep 2015
my soul is a city
it looks like glistening sky lights, picturesque advertisements, and phosphorescent open signs
its sky contains twinkling constellations of stars hidden behind pollution and street lights
it has it's 5 o clock rush hours, 1 am parties, and 3 am sleepy time
it is divided into areas of charm, abandonment, and shabbiness
it holds crime, but there also innovation, prosperity, and thriving ideas
it is abided by eccentricity and idiosyncrasies
it is accepting of a variety of colors, beliefs, and characters
it holds unknown places, discovered by those who were willing to explore
it is visited by millions, but only some dwell, some leave an impact, some fall in love
and it is open for people to call it home
336 · Sep 2015
my city
dafne Sep 2015
she was the most draining thing i have ever known
arms made of paved streets, no potholes, no stories,
identical freckles aligned across her face
similar to zero-lot-line houses

clothed in green,brown,grey, no city billboard neon,
her breath was humid, her body radiated warmth,
her eyes resembled those photographs of the sea
her skin tan, rough, dry, grainy like beach sand

she would never leave, a tight grasp around your neck is what she felt like, her constant security of what will happen next, where we will go soon, like a body guard who told you that you could only go to two or three places. those who had the strange desire to be with her were lured by her blue eyes, the tan skin, and her constant "i'll be there for you"

she whispered ideas of smashing the window and running away,
or drowning in the bathtub
my first dictionary vocabulary oozing out of her glossy gossiping lips,
words of a braggart, spewing, spitting, sputtering on how beautiful, advanced, polished and intelligent she was,
when in reality all she was, was ***, drugs, blood, cuts, aluminum cans of alcohol, and suicide.
personified where i live
335 · Apr 2017
nameless
dafne Apr 2017
i remember the feeling of weightlessness.
i wonder if you're up there experiencing it too,
suspended into clouds and hanging gardens,
veiled in beauty beyond my understanding.
there are moments when the weight of my heart knocks everything down in sight. when the lids of my eyes feel so heavy, when the words my mouth can form are not enough, when these keys are the only thing my fingers yearn to touch.
i miss you even though you never existed, and my eyes create rivers i wish i could teach you how to swim in,
to watch you grow into another piece of the fractions i am built upon.
you would have been sixteen by now. i miss you more than ever in these hours. i wish i would've gotten to say your name or see your eyes, it would have beautiful to watch you bloom.
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