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August 2d
i decided a long time ago that i don't need light to see...
when i get up in the night i just fumble around
trying to find a pen.

now i wonder
was that really the right decision?

because old habits die hard
and i don't want to push her away.
why would you smoke a cigarette
but leave half of it dropped onto the sidewalk?

“our cigarette butts leave signs,”
you told me,
“I threw it there to
let others know that
I can control my bad habits.”

this is who you are.
you’re the type of person
who leaves cigarette butts on concrete
to scream “I was here.”

you’re the type of person
who purposefully lives an unfinished life
for the world to wonder
what you would’ve done
if you had more time.

this was the same way you left me.
halfway through our dreams and goals,
only to find out that I loved you
wholeheartedly, obsessively, and recklessly,
while you walked away
with a mouthful of tobacco smoke
and halfway love.
Zywa Oct 2
She is old, fidgets,

before sitting down she fans –


the dust off the chair.
“Makura no Sōshi” (“The Pillow Book”, 1002, Sei Shōnagon)

Collection "Shelter"
If we can restore vibrancy to color
stripping layers of time
to render art new
then can we lift sound particles
from memories
laid down decades before
dab a pen over words
slandering our hearts
eliminate critical noises
that chastise
til all we recognize
is a blank slate of static
where WE select
rhythm and pace     
            
compliments      feeding our lives' diorama  

                 beliefs              entangled    
                                    between      
                                              heartbeats

we become the artist
         the symphony playing remastered tunes

Stay Strong    
                                  You are Valuable
And, most importantly,

           You Deserve to be Loved
If we can challenge old thoughts that debilitate our efforts and rewind time's old cassette tape to the very beginning, what dreams might we record, what promises to ourselves might we keep?  BE KIND TO YOUR MIND
Isabella Aug 25
I could chew the skin off of my thumb,
Or force my teeth to bite my tongue.
I could eat my lip til it goes numb,
Or press the air out of my lungs.

I could scratch my arms until they bleed,
Or dig my nails into my cheeks.
I could swallow copper I don’t need,
Or hold my throat til I can’t speak.

I could break my bones to set me free,
Or feel my crimson tingly seethe.
I could rub my eyes til I can’t see,
Or exhale deep so I can’t breathe.

The violence fills my mouth with cherries,
Ever sweeter than before.
A taste unlike all the other berries,
And I salivate for more.
You may have to read this a few times to understand what I mean, however I encourage you to interpret it your own way.
Soon is the time to take a break
The body aches as high
energy starts to dissipate
This vacuum burns quick without a wick
For your sake vacate to an empty space
Absorb, recharge and wait
Before shadows turn to creep in place

Dedicate some wealth to yourself
Cleanse and replenish vital health
Prioritise the time ahead
This is not the start nor end
Regenerate in wake
More work to come in a second phase

There is only so far one can bend
Patterns formed from social habits
No linear trends
A new way of living is needed to mend
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Heavy Hearted Aug 12
In Ashleigh's book, I now write
& provide her with this true insight:
We have yet to be friends- how we're connected despite,
all of the habits we-

Choose; Still,

to diminish the light
.
Read in order to write
Listen in order to say
To Repeat, repeat & repeat
Is the only way

To hold on to mindful thoughts.
Knut Kalmund Jul 28
all the turmoil inside pacify
like a little combusting sun
that warms my body
in winter hardships and
cools my mind on a blue summer evening

when my vacant stare catches the delicate rills
as they incinerate out of existence
one by one like incense into the holy skies
until the only light serves my needs

harmful habits do me good
what a doleful commentary on my life
I am a lesson never learned
    I am repetition at its finest
          I am your favorite record skipping

And—

          I live my life in circles.


I am a gargoyle sitting on that bench. My head in my hands. My knees at my chest.

   So much noise. Shouting. Laughter. Flocking. Walking by.
               I feel their glances.

                                                  It’s so late. And I’m so dark.

  But I am fixated on the floor.
         Eyes burning through that ***** brown carpet.
                                                         In a place I’ve learned to call home.

                      And I’m lost somewhere in those ***** floors.

                  I am open doors. Branching off…
                               But somehow always

            Standing still. Moving forward. Stepping backwards.
                                      (rarely do I go straight) and

        I would advise anyone else in my situation to breathe. And

                          THINK.

                  Of what a fool I make. You’ve made of me.      
          
       And I beg you for a new beginning.
                                    Beginnings that end the same way they start.

                                                                  To break.—
                                                                                 --To mend.

              To break mend break again.
                                                                      …but to feel good.

  And, you know, I am probably someone’s favorite pastime. If I’m not, I could be yours.
        
        For I am fragments of everything and everything you want.

                           One size fits all, if you will. It’s a perfect strategy…

                  COMPLETELY fallen through.

      ‘cause      I’m       never       a       perfect       fit.

                                               And my god you know
                                                     Some people place the blame

                   But YOU DON’T.
                                     And I admire you for it.

And if there is an excuse…
                    You  won’t  give  it  to   me.
         And if there is love
                          Well, you won’t give it to me either.

        But, no. You want to know my ins. My outs.
                                                 Feel free to study. Feel free to stare.
                                  
                            You find that she’s a peculiar girl. Her own foil.

                    Prone to things like
   MADNESS.
                          CIRCLES.
                                                AND.

              You’d see she places sadness in places you wouldn’t expect.
                                   (hidden in her shampoo bottle for instance…)

And it’s hard to describe a flower the way most poems do.
            When the only thing I can think is…
                                     THIS SMELLS LIKE A FUNERAL.

    And some people say I am twilight. An extrovert- introverted. Your fears, my own.

          Because you are twilight. An extrovert- introverted.
               And you’d laugh and say
                    
                              “You are completely out of your mind.”

     And I won’t disagree.
          Because my mind is a hijacked plane.
                             No longer under my control…

          But no one makes a big deal out of it.
                           And no one fears it.
                And no one will pay any sort of tribute to it’s

         DESTRUCTION.

                                 And you know, it surprises me sometimes—

            How   I    always    forget    that   words    are    WORDS.
  
      Even    if
                                         THEY AREN’T IN CONTEXT.

                                                                                                  But I hear your stress
                                                                                And it reminds me every time.
                                                                         That you. Your words. Are real.
                                                             And we live by doubting one another.

           You don’t want me to love you.
       But you want me to touch you.
Calm you. Talk you. D
                                        O
                                            W
                                                N.

                       And you say you hate it when people compare things.
                                                                          To life. To love.
         But you can have your analogies~
                                                             ~ And I will have my metaphors

                 You know, sometimes they ask me -- Who I am.
  
                                         What I’m about.

          They wonder. How it feels to.

                      WALK. THINK. TALK. BREATHE. SIT. STAND. ACT.

In circles.
  
   I tell them, “It makes me dizzy sometimes and gets me nowhere.”
      
           So they wonder “Why then?”

                                         I say, “Because there is nowhere to go
                                                     and I can’t stand to stand still.”
                
   Yet, still, they fail to make sense of me.
                     I often fear there is no sense at all…

                                                                        Do you dream in circles?
                                                                           Do you drive in circles?
                                                                       Do you love in circles?
                                                        Indeed. Indeed I do.

                        But you live your life-
Like an empty grocery bag caught in the wind.
                     (You appear some days.
                                             You’re gone the next.)

     And I.
             Wait.
                   Sometimes for.
                                         Months.

                                                 And I go in circles when you’re gone…

                                Don’t you wonder why I’m always around?
                      
                   'Cause I don’t know how else to go.
                You send me spiraling in circles.
           Make my head spin in circles.

                       As if ANYTHING I ever do will be the same.
                                 Before:
CAUGHT.
                                   CAPTURED.
                                                                          BEFORE.

                     The circles.
I HATE NICE PEOPLE
their small talk
their half empty smiles
their exaggerated cackles
their silent judgement
I HATE MEAN PEOPLE
their simmering rage
their quick temper
their sideways glances
their blissful ignorance
I HATE PEOPLE
their stubborn ways
their bad habits
their herd mentality
their inconsistencies
I LOVE HUMANITY
their goodness
their rebellion
their resiliency
their power to overcome
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