Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.
Opia. Noun. The ambiguous intensity of looking into someone's eyes, which can fell simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

As you lie in my arms, watching the television, you don't notice that my undivided attention is focused on you. Something I've been dreaming of for weeks, and it's finally come true. Even better, from your angle, you can't see me staring into your eyes, so I don't feel the nervous compulsion to turn away. Whether directly or not, I could drink in your eyes with mine, for hours, and they would be among the best hours of my life.
Then there's the other hand, held tightly by trepidation. I love the prospect of your eyes staring into mine, but it's not without its fears. I'm afraid you'll see all the pain and fears that I've spent the past seven years working to overcome. I'm afraid you'll see all the insecurity and doubts I have about myself. I'm afraid you'll see all the words that I long to whisper in your ear, but can't, because I'm terrified of scaring you away. I'm afraid you won't like the fact that, behind these eyes lies only pictures and thoughts of you. But most of all, I'm afraid that, unlike me, who loves every detail, and lives for moments like these, you won't love the things you see. I long for the day when you stare happily into my eyes, but I'm frightened that you won't enjoy the secrets they reveal.
An overgrown pathway she takes,
A smile plastered on her face, so fake.
Deeper down does detail disquieting doubt.
As she stumbles and searches for a sign of the way out.

Entwined in thorns she now becomes,
As the overgrown pathway, the night succumbs.
Hovering hornets the only sound,
Pretending to enjoy the escapade, how profound.

A shattering noise halts her stride,
But the tranquil look stays in place, what pride.
How foolish a girl to continue on,
How foolish a girl to act as though nothing is wrong.
Passion in the midst,
Hunger is what it is.
Determined to make a change.
Scared for those in pain.
Pride wont let them stop,
Fighting with all they have got.
Acceptance of what is right.
Freedom for those in plight.
Miles of road ahead of her,
With miles and miles behind.

Exhausted from the journey,
All aid and kindness declined.

Clouds above get darker,
Where once the sun shined.

On and on she will travel,
Until all becomes aligned.
When youre feeling safe in your skin
Maybe we'll meet again
Title Fight - Safe in your skin lyrics
Sickness listens to us sigh.
Sniggering snidely as we die.
Seeking our soul as we comply.

But still I live
And yet I am not alive.
I want something that I cannot have. I cannot have it because I don't truly know what it is. I've seen it polished and propped as if it were on display and I've heard the stories of how much time and effort it took to make it look as such. But I want it. I want love. I want the idea of it at least.
I want the fights brought about by events simpler and less important than the time we wasted to have them. I want to be pained by the sight of her pain and know that the feeling of knives piercing my chest when I see her cry is there because I would literally drive them there myself, if only to prevent her tears.
I want our laughs to intertwine over the smallest things and our conversations to stretch our minds over the biggest. I want to see you sleep at night and I'll smile because I know that you're finally at peace. And I want you to smile when you wake up because you know that I'm fighting to make your reality better than your dreams.
I want love. I want romantic love, I want crazy love. I want passion. I want to pick you up in my arms and in that brief present get lost in your presence. I want to be in you when I am in you and have you wish that I would stay forever. I want to be in your heart and mind, and I want our love to be torturous and blind.
I just want love. I want the idea of it at least.
Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.
For Ty & Des ❤️
What do you do when love dies?
What do you do when the glow in their eyes fades..
When you remember how love drunk you once were,
And hang your head down low in shame.
What are you supposed to do?
Do you tell them the truth,
Or stick around?
Do you share your smile a while longer,
Or express your deepest of frowns?
What if you still love them in a way,
But not in the way you once did.
How do you really know when it's over?
Next page