She keeps songs locked away in boxes like secrets. She will take them out like postcards to help her remember the feeling of a different time, a different person by her side. She likes the one that makes her eyes close to see the lights. She smiles at the one that makes her stand up on tiptoes, the one that helps her forget she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
The tune will carry her.
Like it did the times when voices broke like a heart. When instruments’ strings would snap and hurt.
oh, to speak akin to the music: so eloquint, yet simple. song-bird chronicles, notes raging the flames from blazing blue to calming in yawny yellow, the spirit dance of a mind amid a dance-floor of strings: on a rainful day; soothing, sleepy melodies.
to the tune of nature.~ these wondering words inside of musical notations of time; a levy of streamlined audible flurescense that one can translate into written word. a dial of sensibility. a clock without its hands. an angel's wings; from the sound of a bell.
Every action every word that’s been spoken has me pondering if I’m doing right by me and for the future me if I’m moving like I’m in my 40’s when I’m in my twenties what’ll happen when I’m 40 will I make it there or will it all end by the time that I’m 30. I’m trying to do all that I can but it feels like it’s to much. Like what if I’m not cut out for all that’s ahead of me I have to think 5 steps ahead and really get it into my head that I have to focus on myself but sometimes I wake up feeling like I’m lost I want to cry but I can’t because I don’t know what bothers me. It’s so many things but some of it may be from the past and what’s happening to me now. I try to take it one day at a time but some days it’s still to much..
i spent my life trying to please someone with a twisted disease i broke myself down and tucked my feelings away to become the person they wanted me to be i let myself be watched through the glass of a two sided mirror of a sociopath i wallowed my spirit away and begged for acceptance but there’s nothing in the world that i could do to let the narcissist know that i am human too
the only thing that can please a narcissist is being miserable
I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
My shadow wears black even on days when we are supposed to be "letting some colour into our life." I look at her and she winks, then she smirks and for the most recent time, I pretend sarcasm is humour
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
i cannot breathe. my soul feels like it's escaping. these clothes of yours are suddenly too tight. suffocating. painful. things that were big and comfortable. things that brought me peace. i can't bear to give them back. to lose them would be to lose you, to lose us. i do not want to be a distant memory, a fond look onto what was. i was your present
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
I thought if I could swallow the stars I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky I tried one night with fireflies They burned my throat Their legs striking at soft flesh But my skin did not glow No moon crawled from my eye sockets I was left with corpses in my stomach I soon learned I would only ever be A cemetery
i think there's a peculiar beauty in sadness not the frowning, shallow, petty sadness i mean the heavy, consuming, profound sadness the type of sadness that ingrains itself in every aspect of life devouring all light and pureness with dark veins of pulsing grief but, there is a beauty in that. there is a special beauty in heartbreak, abandonment, grief because you cared a lot and enough for it to hurt you stab you destroy you when that love was gone there is a strange beauty in the way your eyes leak for whispers of the past, an escape from the present, for salvation from the future you can plead you can beg you can get down on your knees and sob, but, there is a beauty in you that will never cease