Why do people revisit their old wounds ?
Is it an addiction to pain ?
Or unwillingness to let go of misery ?
It is the same reason a bird revisits its broken nest;
To see if it can fix its broken walls or remove the thorns from its floor board .
Perhaps to try something different from last time hoping this time round it will work.
This is the law of life ; learning to leave with pain.
Sometimes when the skeleton gets out of the closet you can't take it back.
The only way to understand pain is to look deep into it without turning back ,to stare Into the dark abyss until you see the light.
Because healing always begins with embracing pain not running away from it.
Mrs Solomon taught us in science of the sun ,moon , stars and reflection.She said just as the moon shines by reflecting light from the sun we too don't t become dim by making others shine .Afterwards she gave each of us blank paper and as we were waiting for instructions what do with it she said “the sky is a clean slate write your dreams on it ."
Next was the arts class and she gave us woods and beams and told us to make toy houses .And when we were done as she passed by she said “children do not make people your homes.People are rivers ever changing ,ever flowing, they will run down with everything you put inside them."
In the English class Mrs Solomon taught that, No ,is a complete statement.That sometimes when somebody says no they don't need to explain ,add or reduct .
In the religious studies class Liz your crush asked Mrs Solomon “What is your religion ?" upon which she answered “love " and then She interjected “I mean where do you worship ? " And Mrs Solomon replied “the world" and we all gave a holy grin .
And lastly came the maths class and she made the maths looks easy,she taught us;A strange subject is maths but it should not give you pats .Maths is full of calculation and you will have to know multiplication .There are sums of tricks and you will get a zero if they don't stick.Have the formula right and with you maths will be popular.
And before the evening bell rang she also took questions on how to dance in the rain ,how to smile in the storm and how to find beauty in the ugly.
Sometimes I am a star,
I am stucked in my position.
Sometimes I am a planet
Rotating and completing
an unending revolution.
Sometimes I am a meteor,
I tend to fall so hard and break.
Sometimes I am a comet,
I burn, I shine, and fade.
Sometimes I am an asteroid,
just a rock wandering the space.
Sometimes I am the moon,
believing that everything
is just a phase.
Sometimes I am just a blank space.
Dark. Empty. Lonely.
There are so many kinds of bravery in this world, my Mother said. The ones where you feel like a small ship sailing through the stormy ocean waves, and the ones where you dry your tears and keep charging ahead even when your knees give out. There are those kinds of bravery where you sacrifice your own self and the ones you love for something much bigger, and those where you decide to live with endless regrets and guilt just for the sake of a single important moment. There are those, too, where you almost give all your life, all the strength you have just to be a little less hopeless, just to have a simple but comfortable life.
But there is another kind of bravery, too. The kind that asks you to take a step back and breathe when everything gets too heavy. The kind that pats your head when you fall down and tells you that it is okay to be home again. The kind that only reminds you of being tender to yourself, of knowing that bravery doesn't always mean going on even when it hurts. Sometimes, it means knowing when to stop and accepting that it's okay to give up and take your time rather than blindly losing everything running ahead.
I hope you don't always mistake resilience for bravery. I hope you treat yourself as someone important, too.
I fell for you
So I told you
I love you
3.0 x 10^8 m/s^-1.
And I mean it.
I fell for you faster than the acceleration due to gravity on the earth,So I told you
I love you faster than the speed of light.
And I mean it. Always.
Writing poetry is like breathing.
Inhale ideas and emotions,
And exhale a master piece.
I know a genius writer
who writes horror,
because his heart
was filled with
anxiety and terror.
he lost his beloved wife,
in the Kingdom by the sea,
it is his Annabel Lee.
he is the greatest poet
who ever lived.
he writes with his soul
as dark as the night
but with a pure heart
that create art.
beauty and sublime,
these two words define him.
his life became miserable
like the stories he wrote,
his death is still unknown
and there were few
people who attended
the world is not that literal.
The Raven took him,
so did the Black cat.
his last words were "Lord, help my poor soul"
I have to ask,
"Is this what a great writer deserve?"
he became penniless in writing,
but it didn't stop him.
writing is not a job,
it's an obligation,
it's the most humanistic profession.
if you can write.