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stonewallswillfallPoems
. page one it starts with the wave of a hand a simple introduction 'hi, what's your name?' it starts with looking and seeing nothing but what is there skin and bones and blemishes and human it starts with feeling no cliche butterflies in your stomach and no additional voice in your head amongst the others and no rapid pulse in your still-beating heart page two somewhere along the way the waves turn into inside jokes and small smiles crinkles by the corners of eyes and light chuckles and glancing just a millisecond too long page three and, well, glancing just a million times too often page four and you write poems in attempts to make yourself believe to drown yourself in denial to avoid confronting the - nonexistent - blooming bud growing sprouting from all angled corners and cracking curves and jagged edges of you page five spoiler: it doesn't work page six and it's strange because apart from seeing what is there you see more or really you don't see what is there you see what you want to be there page seven you see skin and bones and beauty and freckles and stars and constellations in eyes and ethereal - page eight perfection page nine except perfection doesn't exist and what you see doesn't exist it's just your unrealistic expectations piled up from miles and smiles of movies and books and manga and everything page nine and you know this page nine but it goes into one ear and out the other page nine and it doesn't stop you from claiming page nine you're in love page ten if love is just infatuation with a physical manifestation of your ideals without their consent then i guess you're right page eleven there are butterflies bending, banging on you, begging to be released you wonder when your definition of beauty became a name and a face and you wonder when love became synonymous to pain page twelve the butterflies turn into birds and then bears and then freaking buildings except these building are moving and apparently earthquake proof because you can't seem to break them down instead the buildings are breaking you down but the truth is no, no they aren't don't you see? you're breaking yourself down how do you heal if you are both the poison and the antidote? page thirteen if only you could rewrite the story but how could you? how do you rip the pages how do you erase the sickeningly sweet slow stabs slicing through your spine every time a smile is sent your way how do you mute the thudding in your brain telling you that this could never be how do you ignore the extra echoes in your head yelling at you to get yourself together how do you get yourself together? page fourteen you've been asking so many questions lately but you know the answer to all of them page fifteen there's a small voice a minuscule, malevolent voice whispering maybe whispering maybe and perhaps and potentially maybe you're not the only one who wants to hold on just a little longer page sixteen but see it's funny how the story starts with two people and now it's just one person with an overactive imagination illustrating a person as something more something better page seventeen but you're not creative enough to keep your illusion for too long and soon you start to see less of what you want to be there and more of what is there skin and bones and blemishes and human human page eighteen human is ugly and human is cruel and human is wretched but human is somewhat beautiful in its ugliness and human is raw in all its dishonestly and human is real even if you made it out not to be page nineteen you will never truly now human you will never truly know anyone or anything that isn't a figment of your imagination but it's enough page twenty it starts with seeing nothing but what is there skin and bones and blemishes and human and then it ends the story ends somewhere anywhere really but it ends
0
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
a story
. page one it starts with the wave of a hand a simple introduction 'hi, what's your name?' it starts with looking and seeing nothing but what is there skin and bones and blemishes and human it starts with feeling no cliche butterflies in your stomach and no additional voice in your head amongst the others and no rapid pulse in your still-beating heart page two somewhere along the way the waves turn into inside jokes and small smiles crinkles by the corners of eyes and light chuckles and glancing just a millisecond too long page three and, well, glancing just a million times too often page four and you write poems in attempts to make yourself believe to drown yourself in denial to avoid confronting the - nonexistent - blooming bud growing sprouting from all angled corners and cracking curves and jagged edges of you page five spoiler: it doesn't work page six and it's strange because apart from seeing what is there you see more or really you don't see what is there you see what you want to be there page seven you see skin and bones and beauty and freckles and stars and constellations in eyes and ethereal - page eight perfection page nine except perfection doesn't exist and what you see doesn't exist it's just your unrealistic expectations piled up from miles and smiles of movies and books and manga and everything page nine and you know this page nine but it goes into one ear and out the other page nine and it doesn't stop you from claiming page nine you're in love page ten if love is just infatuation with a physical manifestation of your ideals without their consent then i guess you're right page eleven there are butterflies bending, banging on you, begging to be released you wonder when your definition of beauty became a name and a face and you wonder when love became synonymous to pain page twelve the butterflies turn into birds and then bears and then freaking buildings except these building are moving and apparently earthquake proof because you can't seem to break them down instead the buildings are breaking you down but the truth is no, no they aren't don't you see? you're breaking yourself down how do you heal if you are both the poison and the antidote? page thirteen if only you could rewrite the story but how could you? how do you rip the pages how do you erase the sickeningly sweet slow stabs slicing through your spine every time a smile is sent your way how do you mute the thudding in your brain telling you that this could never be how do you ignore the extra echoes in your head yelling at you to get yourself together how do you get yourself together? page fourteen you've been asking so many questions lately but you know the answer to all of them page fifteen there's a small voice a minuscule, malevolent voice whispering maybe whispering maybe and perhaps and potentially maybe you're not the only one who wants to hold on just a little longer page sixteen but see it's funny how the story starts with two people and now it's just one person with an overactive imagination illustrating a person as something more something better page seventeen but you're not creative enough to keep your illusion for too long and soon you start to see less of what you want to be there and more of what is there skin and bones and blemishes and human human page eighteen human is ugly and human is cruel and human is wretched but human is somewhat beautiful in its ugliness and human is raw in all its dishonestly and human is real even if you made it out not to be page nineteen you will never truly now human you will never truly know anyone or anything that isn't a figment of your imagination but it's enough page twenty it starts with seeing nothing but what is there skin and bones and blemishes and human and then it ends the story ends somewhere anywhere really but it ends
it always ends
#crush#love#perfection#illusion#expectations#human#pain#story#infatuation#obsession
Written by
stonewallswillfall
literally lost
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
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