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 Jun 2014 rachel
gd
Out of spite.
 Jun 2014 rachel
gd
Everybody is falling in love
                 and I'm just falling further
                 into the depths of some
                 monstrous black hole I dug in
                 the back wall of my closet.

Everybody is falling in love
                 and I'm just falling asleep
                 under some mysterious concoction
                 you injected into me when I got caught up
                 in your faulty promises, but I should have known
                 that you were nothing but an awful distraction

Everybody is falling in love
                 and I can't help but remind myself that these clouds above me
                 will only remain grey until some external force sweeps me off my feet
                 and carries me towards the highest mountains with a stunning view,
                 and he'll set me on the ground and I'll make a run for the edge
                 only to think twice before jumping off because

                 you ruined me in all the right places  
                 just to make sure everything felt so wrong after you left.


Everybody is falling in love**
                 and I can't help but notice that the weather seems to be looking up
                 and I can't help but hope for it to come crashing down;
                 for the sea to break through the cracks in the concrete
                 so I'll never have to see your face again
                 and you'll never get to see hers either.

gd
{if I am the master of my own destruction, then you were definitely the sidekick}
 Jun 2014 rachel
Anonymous
Writers
 Jun 2014 rachel
Anonymous
The thing about writers is that they’ll win you over with words
It’s enthralling when somebody writes about how your lips are the collision of soft pastels coming together
And how your hair is a waterfall cascading down a masterpiece
Or how your freckles are as beautiful as constellations in the sky
Or how your eyes demand truth in the slivers of honey
caught in a whirlwind of the ocean in your eyes
Isn’t it intriguing the way a writer captures you in words?
Everybody wishes to be scribbled into journals and etched into the back of somebodies mind
After all “If a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die”
But nobody likes being in the forced silence a writer presses upon a room
Nobody likes waking up at 3am wondering why their lover is scribbling into a journal with furrowed brows
Most of all nobody wants to be loved by somebody whose pen can speak more clearly than their own lips
Being loved by a writer is endearing, yes…
But nobody actually wants to live forever in some tattered old notebook that just collects dust as years go by
Everyone wants a lover who shows as much passion through actions
As they show in their words-
Most writers can’t offer that,
and I’m afraid that’s why everyone and no one would like to be loved by a writer
 Jun 2014 rachel
Sylvia Plath
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
******* up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
 Jun 2014 rachel
Sylvia Plath
I have no wit, I have no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
A lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is like the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.
'Twixt night and morning
is eternity of hope
in suffering.

— The End —