#johngreen
the aroma of a roasted bean chocolate coffee would never beat
John green's new edition..
Aug 2, 2022
Aug 2, 2022 at 11:36 AM UTC
𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕓𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕨𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥..
𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕠 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕪 , 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕩..
Feb 10, 2022
Feb 10, 2022 at 9:23 AM UTC
I give vent to my grief
on top of the hills,
my heart still hurtles
and all the way down
expedited by ills
i count the turtles
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
“The problem with sanity is that I CAN’T lose my mind, it’s inescapable.”
Sanity is a spiral. An ever-tightening coil, that goes around and around.
One may find themselves at the beginning, their head perfectly clear.
But as time goes by, moments of absurdity start to appear, like mosquitos at the start of Spring. It feeds off you. Picks at you, like a scab ready to burst.
Until you finally reach the center and the spiral is so tight it crushes your psyche.
But the thing about spirals is that they never end, there’s always more.
You may never fully break,
But you can always turn around and find the beginning once more.
And just remember,
“Your now is not your forever”
Even if the spiral may feel that way.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
I had those random thoughts again.
Such as; how people pick you last for the first game of the semester played in a gym class, even though they don't know how good or bad you are.
It's off of appearance alone, which is ********
"Oh they look thin, they're probably not good at (sport)."
What the **** does that have to do with anything?
When we played soccer, I showed up everyone else,
even though I was picked last.
They had the nerve to say to me, "Wow, good job!"
As if the notion that I was good at a sport was some sort of miracle.
Whatever.
Not like I played soccer for eleven ******* years.
Not like they knew that since sixth grade.
The way they say, "Wow, good job!", makes me sick.
They say it to me as if I'm unable to be good, just because they perceive me to be horrible at sports.
They sound so surprised.
Another thing's been stuck in my head ever since I've read Paper Towns.
John Green mentions people seeing mirrors of others as who they believe the person to be.
I find this true.
People love to think that they know someone very well, when they only know the version that they've created.
Green says we need to see through the window to see who the person actually is.
Which seems ******* impossible.
But it's not.
Just talk to them instead of assuming.
They've already built a mirror of who I am.
Of course, it's completely wrong.
I'm not some boring skinny twig that can't talk right.
I'm not smart, and I'm not rude.
I have emotions, and I really care about others, much more than myself, even.
That's not who I am to anyone else, though.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 7:30 PM UTC
I need to go to a burning man. I need to lose myself in the woods for a year. I need to make my threshold and enter through. I heard my call a long time ago but I just never...
I can't stand myself any longer! I must lose who I am to find what I am to become. And I can't do that in a world where I exist in everyone around me. I need a place with none of me and plenty of else. So much that I can spread myself out to one thought thick. Finally be raw, enough to see myself clearly.
I shouldn't worry about forevers, because forevers are simply composed of nows.
I want quiet place to sit against the tree, look out over a lake, and read until my eyes bleed pleasure, my brain secretes knowledge, and my heart wisdom.
A place to harbor a gentle haze of mind, a place to leave myself behind. Just and think and think some more, until and passed the point of being head sore.
I want to place with plenty of glasses, and plenty of cracks, plenty of muses and no ways back.
A place full of forevernows and nevermores, where people are stupid enough to cross the desert because of a recurring dream. A place of pink purple sunsets and endless shores.
How mirrors have learned to lie I will never know, because I don't recognize the person they show. I have to turn them around because even my own eyes try to deceive me.
If I don't I will always want to. If I do I won't enjoy every step, but I will a few.
The hands that shaped this road are now, older.
I don't know how I will, and a not even sure I understand why I will. All I know for certain is I MUST.
Because I can't stay here. If I do I will fall in love with possibilities, and not realities. I will fall in making people out to be more than a person. I will lose my heart to and afterimage of a dream, and even if I do I would never have pursued it anyways. I want to leave the field, sell my flock, and start my full circle, or square.
Wherever I go I have no plan know method know fall backs, but the beautiful hair of uncut graves. With only the Spektor inside my books to hold me.
I want to hear the symphony of stars each night and have the wind tell me its stories of its travels that day.
I want to sleep knowing the poppies stand guard.
I know nothing, and I'm ready to listen, but first I must get out of my hand made prison, burn the map smashed of compass. Put my feet anywhere besides in front of the other that way I'm going nowhere fast and never looking back.
I want to teach myself the song of my soul, so that I can hum every bar by heart, but I can't do that here. Not in this place of paper people and towns who live their lives never getting wet.
It says if I can ever catch my breath, that I'm strangle lading in the stench of mold and excitement of leaving and never coming back.
Mark here this day, as I lie awake at night as the last moment I spent outside the labyrinth. I need, no, I must leave find a place where I can listen to my heart and drink and its wisdom. But that place is not here I don't know where to, but I must start.
Thomas Edison last words were " its very beautiful over there, I don't know where they're is, but I believe it somewhere, & I hope it's beautiful"
~Crow
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
We resided in an empire of light
On the second block from the right
Waiting for morning
I thought of how damaged people are
She was gentle as a falling star
"I love you," we refrained
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
#4 | 31 Poems for August
Woken up by the sound of rain.
Writing about intimate memories until sunshine finds me again.
It may seem like I cannot see but sometimes the darkness becomes my light.
It’s amazing to see a love this beautiful shine so bright.
I found love in the midst of pain.
I found sunshine in the midst of rain.
Your perfect imperfections are the most intriguing parts of your being.
Sometimes these words are just not enough to describe all that I feel for you.
Your hips are perfectly contoured for my hands to hold on to.
When you’re not here, these hands don’t know what else to do.
We found love in the midst of pain.
We found sunshine in the midst of rain.
The pages of my heart are saturated with words describing how remarkable you are.
In a sky full of constellations, you are my favourite star.
Your perfect imperfections are the most intriguing parts of your being.
A connection this strong was destined.
I gave you love, you gave me reflections.
Now a song by Justin Timberlake keeps playing on the radio.
I may be introverted but my love for you will always show.
Maybe that’s something our friends need to know.
Woken up by the sound of rain.
Writing about intimate memories until sleep finds me again.
“I don’t know a perfect person. I only know flawed people who are still worth loving.” – John Green
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish I was Margo Roth Spiegelman
I want to be able to follow my heart and do the things I've always wanted to
I want to dance with wind
Feel the grass beneath my feet
The stars to blanket me with sparkle
And the moon to light my face
I've always wanted to run
And never look this way again
To be the captain of my own soul
Seizing all the hours of my day
I have feet because I know I wasn't meant to stay on the ground
I wasn't given wings because I know I am no angel
But I knew I was destined to fly
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
My heart ached in my chest.
It was swelling up, finally getting ready to shatter into millions of pieces.
Tears wanted to drip out of my eyes.
My breathing sped, as I tried to control my breathing.
inhale exhale inhale exhale
What if I stopped?
What if I stopped thinking about breathing?
Would I stop breathing?
A wise man once said "crying doesn't help a problem "
So I held my tears, until I absolutely needed them.
Until my pain was 10 on a scale of 1 to 10.
Until my pain was Unbearable.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
He used to quote John Green
Like the cancer kid he was "on a roller coaster that only went up”
He never told me he was afraid of heights
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
She is a diary, a diary you'd never want to write in. One you don't want to read again. A book who's pages you'd never want to turn. She, is a diary that's never been opened.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
*Buried deep within teenage romance
And wit and strife and philosophical musings and --*
He'd nudged my foot,
His face is a gorgeous grin over these pages.
I glance back to them.
*The love interest rose up now
Handsome and beautiful
Charming, clever, humorous, and deep
(But did he have to be oh so middle class American??
And did she? Or I, first person as it is?) --*
He's started to stroke my toes now,
Gently, just how I like it.
I'm not kidding when I say
"If you touch my feet I'll fall in love with you"
It's almost instantaneous.
*A heroic act of selfless love:
Amsterdam snows confetti
Virginities are lost or traded or gifted
Heroes are demoted --*
He kisses my head now,
My cheek, my temple
Interrupts with a story,
Hilarious I am sure
"What was that? Sorry, I'm distracted"
I giggle
Engrossed in the 'other land'
*Love blooms on the wings of angels
(And all those other cliches)
He is perfect, yet flawed, as they all are.
As we all are.
They click and rebound and discuss
They laugh, they cry:
They try to fill a part of themselves with
The Other --*
I glance up, spying on my own lover
His soft glance on the laptop
Beautiful lips
Gorgeous style
Our own joking, rebounding, enthused exchanges.
Our own supporting, caring, deep meaningfuls.
And I'm not jealous. Not of them. Or anyone. Not one bit.
*Yet tragedy is ever present!
And our handsome and perfect lover
Is tossed into Oblivion:
Or to a Something's Somewhere --*
"He's dying!" I cry to beautiful brown eyes
Framed with long wavy black.
The darkness holds amusement and affection.
*Their perfect and tragic love is ever more so
For its fleeting 'forever'
Its lessened 'infinity':
Beautiful and fragile --*
His arms are around me tight
Why am I affected so?
Too easily invested?
But it's not that.
The emotions are too close.
It had been described so well.
Loss.
So accurate.
And these feelings not completely healed
- But healing. Slowly.
Time heals all wounds,
But maybe some are forgotten, sealed away
This one. This one slowly eases.
Some infinities are larger than others.
And his love surrounds me
As emotions leak from some deep place
Let out to the Universe
Hopefully to never return.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
The fault of our reality is not written in our stars
And it will not dance across unfavorable constellations,
Or dissolve into inconsolable fragments.
The fault, my love, is not written in our stars.
It is written in ourselves.
But how fortunate would it be?
To cast the providence of our unlucky affairs
Into the gloomy twilight,
Where the sky is so unilluminated
That we could close our restful eyes
And fathom a world where it does not exist?
But the fault, my love, is not written in our stars.
It is written in ourselves.
We are heavily folded sheets of stationary:
A collection of utterances
Bound into melancholy novels
By our mangled hearts,
And though spoken words
Still fall onto my turning pages
As tears do fall from my reddened cheeks,
I have yet to forget
The chapter you have left unwritten,
Because an unwritten chapter is one to be adorned:
It cannot end
For it does not exist.
And so we fumble through an amorous affliction,
Fabricated into a bittersweet infinity.
And at midnight,
When my restless fingers
***** the empty air for you,
And the reality of our desolate fault
Seeps into my hands,
I wish you were here.
But the fault, my love, is not written in our stars.
It is written in ourselves.
j.s.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
She was a hurricane
a tempest so true
so strong and indestructible
blowing through existence
and soaking everyone
in her way
day by day
more fell wounded
from her rage
but ignorant
to the truth
inside
too big for the small town box she’s locked inside
she wants to matter
she dreamed of gettin’ out
for herself
yet she worries
what
if…
she was fighting a war within herself
endless heart wrenching vindictive battles
she lost
every
one
she’s drowning
she doesn’t care
she’s had enough
of the paper towns
the paper people
the paper lies
sooner or later
the paper will
tear
and
so
will
she
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Oh John Green!
Why must you see me this way?
You make me weep
and wish they would live another day.
You are so witty
but you do lack certain skills
Killing the main character is so unfriendly
But chocolate will solve the problem anyway
You make me think a lot of things
but they don't have a lasting effect
I know you throw a lot of paper in the bin
But in all due honesty
I feel like setting you ablaze.
Much love,
J
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
You told me I was beautiful,
A cigarette between your teeth.
I raged at the careless gesture,
You laughed and smiled.
The first meeting,
A beautiful metaphor.
A first kiss,
A shared wish,
And the silent love.
A beautiful metaphor.
Happily Ever After came crashing down,
Our demise up in lights,
You held on 'til the bitter end,
A flickering candle in the dead of night.
A beautiful metaphor.
You'll live forever in me.
Augustus and Hazel,
Okay? Okay.
A beautiful metaphor.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
John Green made me sad in the best possible way...
So thanks
Augustus,who taught me to love people no matter what.
Hazel,for showing me we are all beautiful.
Alaska,for saying its okay to be a bit mischievous.
Pudge,for proving that you don't have to have millions of friends to feel loved.
The Coronel, for teaching me to believe in myself,no matter where I had come from.
Colin,for my eureka moment.
Both Will Graysons,for showing me is okay to not know exactly who you are.
And every character in Paper Towns,who just made me really happy.
But lastly and most importantly I'd like to thank John Green,because you made my life a better place with your books, and for that I'm forever greatful
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
That is a poem in itself, i'm just done with life.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
"It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you,"
but seriously don't you want to?
I'm giving you permission,
I'm giving you the go.
Because all I want to know is who you are,
along with what you fear, what you love, what makes you smile and laugh.
And in the end it's ok if you want to let me go,
I'll treasure every moment we spend together even if you don't.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC