16/F/USA Dreamer with her head in the clouds and, too often, a book in her hands. "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." - Norman Vincent Peale. 140 followers / 2.6k words
Artists are often broken people using the fragments of themselves to create something new and although being healed feels so complete sometimes i want to be broken again sometimes i want open wounds so i can use the blood to paint sunsets so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas so i can carve masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
I build a spiderweb of faces and get tangled in the names my mind is a library of dusty shelves and one visitor who lives but never leaves please don’t ask me if I have your social security number too I don’t and it’s not very funny to me to be locked in a cage of everything that the world forgets I’m not stalking you I am simply being observant because sometimes if you stop talking you can listen to the world around you I am the one who listens in a loud and overbearing world and this web of names keeps spinning obscuring it all until you forget me even faster than you forgot me before
A poem written about my mind’s affinity for names, written on a post-it in a time of great procrastination.
I like to hand the world words on a silver platter Sauté them with gusto and a shake of sugar Feed them to strangers and watch their faces To register any sign of delight or disgust
They commend me on my service As I fill their wine glasses until they’re Tipsy from the poetry Savoring every sip and swallow Like the linguist who speaks solely at midnight
But they try to catch me playful And they try to throw me smiles Unknowing that the poet only writes Behind closed doors In some nook or crevice there is a key I threw away long ago Right after I locked up my heart and soul And took up a pen in my hand
They say to write what’s inside But I’m sorry if I cannot read you a poem While looking in your eyes For there is far too much empathy To make me feel safe
Maybe if the critics wrote me harsh reviews often Maybe if I spilled the words onto my palms And washed them all off with tears I could let the world in Instead of bussing tables shielded by The windows of the soul
I like to hand the world words on a silver platter But no one ever gets to see the face who makes them
A pure whiteness settles over the land I take the first step into the clean infinity Disruption of the beauty creates disharmony within my mind but the expanse of the snow beckons with frosty fingers and the kiss of long-forgotten warmth
I pull my coat closer around me and snowflakes of the most intricate details all know their place amidst the frozen tears of clouds I walk in circles and get to nowhere as the snow consumes the path ahead and the tracks I've left behind
If these wintry eaves can shield me from the brashness of the snow so be it I set upon a patch of snow I am covered in the pristine flurry until I am almost gone
These words These words That will Never be He will never see This agony These words These **** words They just hurt And hurt Aching inside my soul I wish they were meaningless I wish I could let them go These words That will Never be You will never know How much they hurt me All you see Is the Monster. The Hate. these words
They are My Empty fate
This poem really hits home to me. I have someone close to me who I have so much to say to them, but I’m too afraid. He has hurt me so much and I’m afraid to be vulnerable. This poem is not only about pain and hurt, but it’s about saying how you feel. Even if it’s justbwriting them down.