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girl diffused Feb 19
when you sing,
you want it to bloom out of the garden
in your bones and out of your heart,
and you want it to be like
you were thirteen again and you had blooming
sunshine in your face

you scaled trees, climbed rocks
skinned your knees
wild and as brazen as the first kiss you
stole from some girl
spattered freckles on her face
you counted with your lips
(you got to 14)

erected a monument
out of your garden but it was bare
your bones,
dried husks

who can pull you out of that water?
i can't...
neither can she...
a/n: an older piece that i performed some minor surgery on. i originally composed it two years ago on this day. it's not about me. this is about anyone struggling to love who doesn't adequately know how to. this is a plea. a question. a silent wondering. it's been a while. <3

enjoy
xoxo
Caroline Feb 5
There is a stone, stratified in innumerable layers
Of the richest grays,
Round and breathtakingly smooth, like sea-glass-; polished by the Unending tempest of my spirit,
Relishing the most cantankerous, cyclonic waves.
It rests in my chest, just below my lungs,
Creating a stability in my core.
You see, it is this stone that alone possesses the ability to merge the scattered, and sometimes dissonant, songs of my soul.
It is a grounding stone, a fragment of the earth to call my own,
And like a Celtic dryad’s favorite dove,
I have aptly named it, and that name is,
“How I have been loved.”

It began with the drifting sands
Within my mother’s ****,
Her lullabies magnetizing embryonic silts,
Coalescing disparate forms through the ethereal beauty of her voice.

I vaguely remember being cuddled to her chest,
While she fiercely defended me against the monsters
She herself had faced:
“You will not be hurt, hit, *****, thrown!”
She threatened to brace herself between my tiny form and
Any darkness that would make my life even remotely reflect
Her own.
And there began the cementing of the stone.

And though the unforgiving cruelty of this life has easily tossed
My body to the ground,
My inner core, like stone, remains stubbornly resistant to the force;
Mercifully sound.

I don’t think I deserve these other loves that come to me;
The ones that wrap their fingers in my hair and
Smother me with kisses;
The ones that press me to the wall and take my breath with a
Desperate rhythm;
The ones that trace the outlines of my eyes with such tenderness
That even the hardened places within me

Cry.

Can’t you see?  I should ascend these impenetrable mountains
Within me, this solid stone, and perched above your pain,
I should be the one to reconstruct 'your' soul
Bone by bone.

And this is how
And this is why
I am a seeker of the stones,
Scouring the wild river beds for pebbles to present
To those who need a solid thing to build them up;
To call their own.

This isn’t boastful.
In no way do I ever picture myself somehow “above;”
It is just that, I now realize;
Every blessing that I live;
Every single thing I have to give
Is derived from
“How I have been loved.”
JoJo Feb 1

I am a flower
except my roots and
stems have been plucked
and my roots drowned
beneath my tears
until You positioned
the sun above the
gound from which I grew
and my leaves grew
from Your love.

I'll always be Your flower

The intensity with which we shatter,
Those what’s-left-of-us shards that cut you deep,
Brokenness and jagged edges matter,
When prices paid with pieces feels too steep.

Only two things cause our own destruction—
We’re broken from without or from within.
The damage goes beyond reconstruction,
We can’t build what we built before again.

Cracked into piles of debris on the floor,
The remnants of escaped emotion’s cage,
Whose seething burn couldn’t take it anymore,
Disposing of it disrespects its rage.

We’re broken so that something is released,
Those shards remind us what we have to do.
To put them back is just what matters least,
But don’t cut yourself making something new.
Instagram @insightshurt
www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Bumalik tayo kung saan...
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Nagsimulang ang mga pangamba ko ay mawala,
nagsimulang pangamba ay mapalitan ng pag-asa't pagtitiwala.
Mga pagluha sa aking mata, ay tila naglaho na
Napalitan ng pagtawa, lumbay ay lumisan na.

Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Mamuhay nang kasama ka
Sa mga araw na kapiling ka—- bawat araw ay puno ng galak at pagsinta.
Tinuruan mo akong, mamuhay nang may saya
Pait ng kahapon ay naitapon na,
mula nang ikaw ang makasama ko, sinta.
Samahang walang papantay, punung-puno ng buhay!
Pag-aalaga ay damang-dama, suporatado ang isa't-isa.

Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Malalim na pinagsamahan
Masasayang ala-ala, na tila hindi maaantala—-
    ng kahit anong problema, sa atin man ay naka-amba
Magkahawak mga kamay, tayo ay hindi bibitaw.

Mga gala at lakad natin, na minsan ay biglaan pa
Mga oras na hindi natin alam, kung paano napagkasya.
Basta't alam nating... tayo ay masaya—- kahapon man o ngayon, at kahit na bukas pa!


Ngunit dumating ang panahon, tayo'y sinubok na ng pagkakataon
Masasaya nating bukas ay nagsimula na ngang kumupas
Hindi alam kung paano, tayo'y biglang nagbago
Tila nalagas na puno, hindi na lumago.

Akala ko ba ikaw ay "KASAMA?"
Hindi lang kaibigan o basta-bastang kasintahan
Kasama sa lungkot at pighati, kasiyahang hindi mawari
Pagkatalo man o pagkapanalo—- tayo pa rin ang magwawagi.


At ngayon...
Bumalik tayo kung saan...
Paano nga ba nagsimula?

Nagsimulang mawala ang paniniwala na tayo ay para sa isa't-isa
Nagsimulang matalo sa digmaan at piniling wag na lumaban?
Nagsimulang maglaho ang mga katagang "mahal kita"
Nagsimulang magbulag-bulagan sa katotohanang
b a k a   t a y o  a y  p w e d e   p a ?

Isip at damdamin ay di makaunawa
Hirap pagalingin ang sugat na sariwa
Sugat na iwan ng ating pinagsamahan
Pinagsamahan na akala ko ay aabot sa simbahan

Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Paano at kailan nagsimula?
Nagsimulang matapos ang ating pagmamahalan?

Kahit kailan pinangarap ko, maging ikaw at ako—- hanggang sa dulo
Paano mangangarap kung ako ay gising na?
Gising sa katotohanan na tayo ay
w a l a  n a?


© LMLB
This is a poem I made eight months ago. I think it's the right time to publish it to let the public read it freely, as free as I am right now. Perhaps the feelings have depreciated and that's why I wouldn't mind if someone would read this poem, based solely on my feelings couple of months ago.

There you go, you have it. Read this poem from my broken heart that's already mended now. :)
katryna Jan 8
Pagtatagpuin muli tayo ng tadhana,
Kung kelan,

                                                 hindi natin alam,
Kung saan,


                                                 hindi natin sigurado,
Isa lang ang dasal ko,
Sana handa tayo.
somewhere down the road
Kate Dec 2018
gratefulness is the gold fillings
in your cracked porcelain skin
recognition of your brokenness--
not the brokenness itself--
is the beauty in imperfection.

white ripples across your surface become
golden seams. the tectonic design is
a topographical map of scars and stitches;
the adherence of
traits that don't otherwise connect.

"you are beautiful," he tells you as
he kisses each mark softly,
his lips tracing a winding path through
your gardens.

it is not his words that make it so
but they settle just the same
reminding you that it’s not the cracks
that make you glitter
but the gold with which you fill them—
forgiveness
grace
and love.
The sparks—
They dance so happy
On my chest,
Singing laughter,
Dancing prancer,
Merry-going
In a jest—
But to fall
Into the void
To disappear
Like everything else.
And goes on,
A lonely song,
I sing all by myself.

Time and time,
My heart she says,
It’s alright to dream.
Then life comes up,
Takes the night,
And throws it
Down the stream.
And when I awake,
My pieces ache
Where she
Used to be.
I look around,
The sparks are gone,
And all that’s left is me
Can you tell me how this piece made you feel? What you saw as you moved from word to word?

It’s about losing something you thought would last for a long time— love, friendship, instant deep connection— the makings of an impossible thing— it’s all about that. Sometimes, magic just happens, you know? But it doesn9t last. And you wake up asking yourself: what happened? You kinda try to make sense of it as if understanding the pain makes it easier to bear.

Hiello, there. My name is Limited Vocabulary. Thanks for reading my first poem!
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