peachverdi - Hello Poetry

Simplicity in easy things And peace in the flutter of the leaves Spring has sprung The sun kisses my cheeks Worries fall from my shoulders How I revel in the blossom The bloom and the growth The persistence and perseverance Season after season Century after century They continue to flourish With the warmth comes an comforting gratitude I’m not jealous of the flowers I am taking a leaf out of their book Admiring their petals Accepting that their growth Doesn’t make mine less phenomenal In fact I’m glad we weathered these seasons together An alikeness in nature

0

Oct 24, 2024

Oct 24, 2024 at 12:26 PM UTC

peachverdi

Blooming in Tandem

Simplicity in easy things And peace in the flutter of the leaves Spring has sprung The sun kisses my cheeks Worries fall from my shoulders How I revel in the blossom The bloom and the growth The persistence and perseverance Season after season Century after century They continue to flourish With the warmth comes an comforting gratitude I’m not jealous of the flowers I am taking a leaf out of their book Admiring their petals Accepting that their growth Doesn’t make mine less phenomenal In fact I’m glad we weathered these seasons together An alikeness in nature

20

If my love for you is what guarantees your warmth, then you shall never feel the cold again. If my passion gives you comfort, you will forever feel at ease. From this day forth, for I will be yours— until the time dawns, when we say goodbye to the earth we know as home. Even then, you’ll echo on, forever alive resounding in the depths of my soul.

0

Oct 24, 2024

Oct 24, 2024 at 12:19 PM UTC

peachverdi

Oaths To You Without The I Do’s

If my love for you is what guarantees your warmth, then you shall never feel the cold again. If my passion gives you comfort, you will forever feel at ease. From this day forth, for I will be yours— until the time dawns, when we say goodbye to the earth we know as home. Even then, you’ll echo on, forever alive resounding in the depths of my soul.

5

Parts of my brain killed themselves as a survival tactic and I had no idea why. I woke up one day and I was less than myself, parts of me missing with no subsequence. I know I will grow again but I will never be the same. There are nights when things I cannot even remember, paralyse me in tears and fears on my bedroom floor. These are the nights I realised I was wrong about where the monsters lay, I was lead to believe they live underneath our beds. To my surprise, they are the ones who enter our beds; uninvited. I am jumping from breakdown to breakdown. It’s like playing the floor is lava, just with my sanity. Sometimes, I am struck with full awareness of all my adolescent traumas and a lifetime of wounds cut me all at once.

0

Oct 24, 2024

Oct 24, 2024 at 7:23 AM UTC

peachverdi

Mind Games and Misfires

Parts of my brain killed themselves as a survival tactic and I had no idea why. I woke up one day and I was less than myself, parts of me missing with no subsequence. I know I will grow again but I will never be the same. There are nights when things I cannot even remember, paralyse me in tears and fears on my bedroom floor. These are the nights I realised I was wrong about where the monsters lay, I was lead to believe they live underneath our beds. To my surprise, they are the ones who enter our beds; uninvited. I am jumping from breakdown to breakdown. It’s like playing the floor is lava, just with my sanity. Sometimes, I am struck with full awareness of all my adolescent traumas and a lifetime of wounds cut me all at once.

1

I am changing. But the idea of me that I want to put out into the world isn’t. Who I want to be and the parts of myself that I don’t like are conflicting. I stand firm on foundations that feel crumbly at the fact my morals feel proud. I worry that I think too much about what others think. Other times I worry I don’t think enough about that at all. I’m scared that if I’m honest about how I feel I’ll be met with judgement. For no real reason, other than what I feel is anxiety. My feelings have no solid ground, so of course they are easy to judge. Does that really mean that they are judging me though? By that logic, are my morals really mine or just my anxieties of what people will think? The few things I used to take pride in being, I might not be anymore. So who am I? Will the people who loved me then, love me now? Anxiety is a feral hungry beast. Pacing and pattering through my veins. Thumping and crashing in my heart like a misplaced 808. “I’m really not an anxious person.” Shakily fall from between my lips, reluctantly. As I realise, I’m anxious to even admit that im anxious. Am I supposed to have life figured out in my almost mid twenties? Probably not. Do I feel like I should have a vague sense of direction about it? Maybe. Although I’m battling with the idea that no one ever really knows what they want to do and people just get stuck. So maybe I’m the lucky free thinker. Or maybe I’m the delusional directionless unemployed rambler that people avoid at pubs. Good job I avoid pubs. I thought I was a powerful, political, before my time, feminist. Who was just “too awake for the world before me”. Miserable because my eyes are open too wide, that sort of thing. Identifying as a realist. But maybe, just maybe, I’m just a miserable old ******* Creaky kneed, bleak thoughted. I never used to think that much. Well I did, I just never categorised myself as an overthinker. I was wrong. I just overthought about irrelevant things, out of my control. Unimportant to spiral over. Now that I and the people I love are centre to my anxious internal ramblings, i realise just how wrong. I thought growing up would entail control of your mind. Coping mechanisms. Maybe growing up is realising coping is just getting on with it. That prospect has never sat right with me. “Queen of holding on to things” my mother often refers to me as. Hoping to god I’ll learn to one day “park”, as she would say, just one of the things that make me miserable. On any of the number of days I choose to let it pop back up. Which would feel like everyday. If you catch me on a “everything is bothering me day” I’d tell you I’m playing whack a mole with everything bad that’s ever happened in my life. And although I know how it goes, I lose every time. Maybe that’s because I’m so dedicated to my hobby. Not a healthy one, I have none of those. I’m referring to my insane ability to play basketball with chucking my feelings into my **** it bucket. Until of course I realise that the **** it bucket isn’t looking so **** it anymore. When you’ve felt so much for so long does contentness ever feel less like emptiness? Does the peace ever get quieter? Do the problems get realer or do we just stop creating them? The questions I’d have asked myself a decade ago take a soul-wrenchingly, starkly, different tone. So am I ungrateful? Am I ungrateful that my biggest problem is anxiety? My biggest problem is fake problems. How 13 year old me would laugh in my face and spit venom with the tone. I went through so much to get to where I am now. To feel like I cheated? Like I somehow don’t deserve it? Not to say I earned it, but why would I deserve it less than anyone else? I am aware. I always have been. I see the flaws in my thinking The excruciatingly humane flaws in my self. People fault me on seeing every one of their flaws, and pointing it out. But how do I stop thinking them? “Being aware is the first step.” Yes. Everyone finishes there. Is there a second step? Me and a few other million people are wondering. Nothing else in life is like that. You’re given an equation. It’s explained, you get an answer. It’s right, or it’s wrong. Mentally we are left exhausting all the options. Flaw after flaw, fault after fault, lapse after lapse. For what? No closer to answers just an opportunity to do it wrong differently next time. Exhausted from thinking The thoughts are chaotic like 5 point round abouts. I am terrified to verbalise them. I don’t know what I want. Being heard isn’t enough anymore. I don’t want solutions. What are we left with? Nothing practical. Just a wish and a dream of one day feeling differently. Being content with being content. Accepting serenity as peace, not a moment to be ruined. There is a paradise out there, I just haven’t met her and neither has anyone I know. Does that make me sound like a believer? Like actualisation is tiered with heaven? As I get older, the more I realise that it just might be exactly that, for atheists. Try as you might, I don’t believe it’s possible in life. I’m upset that in my realism and internalised honesty, that I forced my brain to block out so much of my life. I focused on the negative things and considered myself to be being true to history and my past. Remembering is important. Yes. I wish I remembered the name of my favourite song on the dance mat. Not how upset I was when I found out it had been thrown away. I wish instead of getting so hung up on how people left, why people left or how terrible they are for leaving, that I remembered how good it was to know them. I’m worried that my brain is not who I want it to be. I’m scared that everything I hate in this word is an externalisation of everything I hate in myself. I’m anxious that all of my darkest thoughts, are the truest testament to who I am as a person.

0

Oct 23, 2024

Oct 23, 2024 at 5:31 PM UTC

peachverdi

Morals, Madness and Maybes

I am changing. But the idea of me that I want to put out into the world isn’t. Who I want to be and the parts of myself that I don’t like are conflicting. I stand firm on foundations that feel crumbly at the fact my morals feel proud. I worry that I think too much about what others think. Other times I worry I don’t think enough about that at all. I’m scared that if I’m honest about how I feel I’ll be met with judgement. For no real reason, other than what I feel is anxiety. My feelings have no solid ground, so of course they are easy to judge. Does that really mean that they are judging me though? By that logic, are my morals really mine or just my anxieties of what people will think? The few things I used to take pride in being, I might not be anymore. So who am I? Will the people who loved me then, love me now? Anxiety is a feral hungry beast. Pacing and pattering through my veins. Thumping and crashing in my heart like a misplaced 808. “I’m really not an anxious person.” Shakily fall from between my lips, reluctantly. As I realise, I’m anxious to even admit that im anxious. Am I supposed to have life figured out in my almost mid twenties? Probably not. Do I feel like I should have a vague sense of direction about it? Maybe. Although I’m battling with the idea that no one ever really knows what they want to do and people just get stuck. So maybe I’m the lucky free thinker. Or maybe I’m the delusional directionless unemployed rambler that people avoid at pubs. Good job I avoid pubs. I thought I was a powerful, political, before my time, feminist. Who was just “too awake for the world before me”. Miserable because my eyes are open too wide, that sort of thing. Identifying as a realist. But maybe, just maybe, I’m just a miserable old ******* Creaky kneed, bleak thoughted. I never used to think that much. Well I did, I just never categorised myself as an overthinker. I was wrong. I just overthought about irrelevant things, out of my control. Unimportant to spiral over. Now that I and the people I love are centre to my anxious internal ramblings, i realise just how wrong. I thought growing up would entail control of your mind. Coping mechanisms. Maybe growing up is realising coping is just getting on with it. That prospect has never sat right with me. “Queen of holding on to things” my mother often refers to me as. Hoping to god I’ll learn to one day “park”, as she would say, just one of the things that make me miserable. On any of the number of days I choose to let it pop back up. Which would feel like everyday. If you catch me on a “everything is bothering me day” I’d tell you I’m playing whack a mole with everything bad that’s ever happened in my life. And although I know how it goes, I lose every time. Maybe that’s because I’m so dedicated to my hobby. Not a healthy one, I have none of those. I’m referring to my insane ability to play basketball with chucking my feelings into my **** it bucket. Until of course I realise that the **** it bucket isn’t looking so **** it anymore. When you’ve felt so much for so long does contentness ever feel less like emptiness? Does the peace ever get quieter? Do the problems get realer or do we just stop creating them? The questions I’d have asked myself a decade ago take a soul-wrenchingly, starkly, different tone. So am I ungrateful? Am I ungrateful that my biggest problem is anxiety? My biggest problem is fake problems. How 13 year old me would laugh in my face and spit venom with the tone. I went through so much to get to where I am now. To feel like I cheated? Like I somehow don’t deserve it? Not to say I earned it, but why would I deserve it less than anyone else? I am aware. I always have been. I see the flaws in my thinking The excruciatingly humane flaws in my self. People fault me on seeing every one of their flaws, and pointing it out. But how do I stop thinking them? “Being aware is the first step.” Yes. Everyone finishes there. Is there a second step? Me and a few other million people are wondering. Nothing else in life is like that. You’re given an equation. It’s explained, you get an answer. It’s right, or it’s wrong. Mentally we are left exhausting all the options. Flaw after flaw, fault after fault, lapse after lapse. For what? No closer to answers just an opportunity to do it wrong differently next time. Exhausted from thinking The thoughts are chaotic like 5 point round abouts. I am terrified to verbalise them. I don’t know what I want. Being heard isn’t enough anymore. I don’t want solutions. What are we left with? Nothing practical. Just a wish and a dream of one day feeling differently. Being content with being content. Accepting serenity as peace, not a moment to be ruined. There is a paradise out there, I just haven’t met her and neither has anyone I know. Does that make me sound like a believer? Like actualisation is tiered with heaven? As I get older, the more I realise that it just might be exactly that, for atheists. Try as you might, I don’t believe it’s possible in life. I’m upset that in my realism and internalised honesty, that I forced my brain to block out so much of my life. I focused on the negative things and considered myself to be being true to history and my past. Remembering is important. Yes. I wish I remembered the name of my favourite song on the dance mat. Not how upset I was when I found out it had been thrown away. I wish instead of getting so hung up on how people left, why people left or how terrible they are for leaving, that I remembered how good it was to know them. I’m worried that my brain is not who I want it to be. I’m scared that everything I hate in this word is an externalisation of everything I hate in myself. I’m anxious that all of my darkest thoughts, are the truest testament to who I am as a person.

111

the cold breeze that is your absence wakes me like a shake in the middle of the afternoon on a December day the emptiness is so loud when I wake up hungover having drunk all night to forget the mistakes I make calling out to you praying you respond from the left side of my bed the pain of turning realising you aren’t there smelling you on my pillow shaking my head and the pound falls I have no right to want you words echo emptily I’ve only got myself to blame for the reasons I can’t love you when I made decisions that hurt you I have all the reasons to need you but no grounds when I can’t make you stay I have no right to miss you when I pushed you so far away all night I’m wide awake fighting the urge to call you I long to hear your voice but I have only me to blame for the choices I made the night breaks to dawn and the cold hugs me comforted by the regret sleeping in my pain in my unmade a bed of roses

0

Dec 15, 2020

Dec 15, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC

peachverdi

lying in the bed I made

the cold breeze that is your absence wakes me like a shake in the middle of the afternoon on a December day the emptiness is so loud when I wake up hungover having drunk all night to forget the mistakes I make calling out to you praying you respond from the left side of my bed the pain of turning realising you aren’t there smelling you on my pillow shaking my head and the pound falls I have no right to want you words echo emptily I’ve only got myself to blame for the reasons I can’t love you when I made decisions that hurt you I have all the reasons to need you but no grounds when I can’t make you stay I have no right to miss you when I pushed you so far away all night I’m wide awake fighting the urge to call you I long to hear your voice but I have only me to blame for the choices I made the night breaks to dawn and the cold hugs me comforted by the regret sleeping in my pain in my unmade a bed of roses

36

I’ve watched my wildest dreams disappear from in front of me feelings I thought were solid are melting through my fingertips I’m trying desperately to hold on take me back to when we were living in freedom falling helplessly in love these memories at times seem so hard to find and at others so hard to blind

0

Dec 15, 2020

Dec 15, 2020 at 8:41 PM UTC

peachverdi

muse

I’ve watched my wildest dreams disappear from in front of me feelings I thought were solid are melting through my fingertips I’m trying desperately to hold on take me back to when we were living in freedom falling helplessly in love these memories at times seem so hard to find and at others so hard to blind

10

i still see you in my dreams and it would hurt less to be asleep with you than to be awake without you i hope the blue in your eyes haven’t lost the twinkle i pray the dimples in your spine still feel like home to my fingertips in naive optimism i hold onto hope that maybe nothings changed i don’t know what this means though i can tell you i love you and i promise you it’s true

0

Dec 15, 2020

Dec 15, 2020 at 7:50 PM UTC

peachverdi

e m p t y

i still see you in my dreams and it would hurt less to be asleep with you than to be awake without you i hope the blue in your eyes haven’t lost the twinkle i pray the dimples in your spine still feel like home to my fingertips in naive optimism i hold onto hope that maybe nothings changed i don’t know what this means though i can tell you i love you and i promise you it’s true

13

lost in the heat of it all i never took a second to realise how far it would be if i fall never took a second to theorise and see all i could lose how could i not realise it’s not only me who would bruise?

0

Dec 15, 2020

Dec 15, 2020 at 7:34 PM UTC

peachverdi

actions have consequences

lost in the heat of it all i never took a second to realise how far it would be if i fall never took a second to theorise and see all i could lose how could i not realise it’s not only me who would bruise?

7

the times that i hate myself the most are the times i wish i could be my best i wish that for you i could be a better me the moment it shatters is when i see how beautiful it was it wasn’t supposed to happen like this everything is going so wrong i am hard to love and i am broken inside but all of my pieces are loving you loving you with all that they are

0

Dec 15, 2020

Dec 15, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC

peachverdi

meraki

the times that i hate myself the most are the times i wish i could be my best i wish that for you i could be a better me the moment it shatters is when i see how beautiful it was it wasn’t supposed to happen like this everything is going so wrong i am hard to love and i am broken inside but all of my pieces are loving you loving you with all that they are

12

i am so in love with no idea how to love where i should leave trails of roses i leave trails of destruction today is the day i stop asking myself why people leave me because if i could i’d leave me too

0

Dec 14, 2020

Dec 14, 2020 at 9:08 PM UTC

peachverdi

paradox

i am so in love with no idea how to love where i should leave trails of roses i leave trails of destruction today is the day i stop asking myself why people leave me because if i could i’d leave me too

8