
tiana-lizyness
// Into poetry and classic literature , living in a town not big enough for my dreams and aspersions. Poetry is my way of venting. I write when I don't have anyone to talk to .I've been able to see myself mature through my writings...it's amazing what a pencil and paper can create. Enjoy //
Maybe we’ll meet again, when we are slightly older and our minds less hectic, and I’ll be right for you and you’ll be right for me. But right now, I am chaos to your thoughts and you are poison to my heart
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
please don’t fall in love with me.
i’ll write about the way your collar bones curve and the way your lip trembles when you’re upset. i’ll focus more on the way you twiddle your thumbs counter clockwise rather than the words slipping from your mouth. i’ll remember your favorite song and listen to it on repeat until the lyrics are engraved into the crevasses of my brain, but i’ll forget why you prefer coffee over tea. please don’t fall in love with me because once you realize i’m not good enough, i’ll write about you until my palms bleed and my bones begin to ache to serve as a reminder that i should’ve tried harder to make you stay. i should’ve focused more on the feeling i got when you held me rather than how many god **** freckles you had on your arms. i shouldve woken you up to a fresh cup of coffee, not tea.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
Isn’t it crazy how you could miss a place more than you miss a person? im not sure exactly where this place is , it may very well be your arms but i know one thing for sure its the same person that held your very hand walking down that same street. That spun you around, that kissed you in front of passing strangers. That looked you in the eyes and told you they love you and for that split second you began to believe it? That same person that keeps your mind awake at 4 am while you write about the way your jaw clenches and your finger tips start to tremble just when you hear their name slip from someones mouth. I began to feel sorry for myself because how could I be so cruel to miss the place you would rest your hand on my knee rather than the feeling of my heart pacing faster and faster the closer you got to my thigh? But a place can’t hurt me. A place can’t make me feel like their “one and only” yet when midnight rolls around they’re telling another girl how **** she looks with her hair down. A place can’t make every vein in my wrists go cold at the thought of you with someone else. A place can’t hurt me. But you can, you will, and you did.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
6/19/16 12:00 AM
I never understood the term falling out of love, how you can possibly stop loving someone you once would have chosen over life itself. I never understood when he stood in front of me and gave the speech only seen in movies.
"It isn't you its me, I'm just not in love anymore. I fell out of it. You're great really, I just can't."
It's been the phrase used by cowards and the one that no one could ever make sound heartfelt but now I'm sitting in front of you picking apart the words so many have used on people and trying to determine how to say them to you without hurting so much. How to tell you I no longer stop breathing when I look into your eyes and how to tell you that I no longer go to sleep at a reasonable time because I can't wait to wake up next to you.
This thing only seen in movies has now destroyed my life in both ways
And I can't decide which way is worse.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
People are poems. Beautifully written, wonderfully designed; marvelous works of art.
People are written with starlight and wonder, with verses of beauty written across their hearts.
people are walking rhymes, walking wonders, sometimes you will never understand or find out walking words that tell , stories of freedom and redemption sadness and love but that’s what we call life isn’t it ?
People are poetry, people are songs, and people are melodies that are sung on
Bright summer days in a car with the windows down.
People are the words of grace, they are the words unforgotten, and people are words that remain unknown.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
Lorsque vous me demandiez
Si je voulais écrire pour vous ,
Je ris , et répondu .
" Je ne suis même pas écrire pour moi-même ,
Je ne vous écris pas du tout vraiment,
Je suis juste un navire ,
la poésie m'a écrit
et coule à travers moi ,
sans cesse ,
pour l'ensemble du monde à voir
When you asked me
If I would write for you,
I laughed, and answered.
"I don’t even write for myself,
I don’t write at all really,
I am just a vessel,
poetry writes me
and flows through me,
endlessly,
for all of the world to see
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
3:11 am / The 23rd of May
I don’t remember the exact moment I realized I had fallen in love with you.
But I just remember holding your hand under the stars and realizing how much it was going to hurt when I would have to let it go.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Can you see the water dripping from your mother's mouth?
It's been giving you life since before your father ever took a sip.
And at times, it scorches the prints right off your fingertips but you still have the same blood.
This same blood, which mixes with the water dripping from your own mouth, turns to wine as your lover grazes each corner of the lips that always turn down.
And as they purse into the softest circle, you remember the way your mother smiled with her mouth, full.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
i think hickies are beautiful
love-bites and temporary marks
the thought of someone leaving one
on your skin if rather beautiful
a little piece of them left behind
a reminder that they were there
a reminder that
that beautiful moment
happened.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
Find a beautiful piece of art. If you fall in love with Van Gogh or Matisse or John Oliver Killens, or if you fall love with the music of Coltrane, the music of Aretha Franklin, or the music of Chopin - find some beautiful art and admire it, and realize that that was created by human beings just like you, no more human, no less.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC