"recognizes" poems
Broken recognizes broken.
Two broken souls will find each other,
and hang on for life.
If broken recognizes broken
and I am alone,
am I really broken
or,
have I just not found
someone as broken as me yet?
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Quote#1- Seventy-five years. That's how much time you get if you're lucky. Seventy-five years. Seventy-five Winters. Seventy-five Springtimes. Seventy-five Summers. And Seventy-five Autumns. When you look at it like that, it's not a lot of time, is it? Don't waste them. Get your head out of the rat race and forget about the superficial things that pre-occupy your existence and get back to what's important now. Right Now. This very second. And I'm not saying, drop everything and let the world come to a grinding halt. I'm saying that you could become a seeker. You could be loving more. You could be taking some chances. You could be living more. You could be spending more time with your family. You could be getting in touch with the part of you that lives instead of fears; the part of you that loves instead of hates; the part of you that recognizes the humanity in all of us. And I tell you, That's where you're fortunate..
Quote #2- Your good is Better and your better is Blessed!...
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
Watching the colour drain out of someone’s face,
like ice cubes melting shades out of your coffee.
Branches falling off your favourite tree,
foreshadowing its winter death,
but you pretend you don’t know.
Watching someone you love fall over the same step each time,
like they see a ghost every time they turn left,
so they keep turning left,
And they scream “Why is it always going wrong?”
Watching your brother beat himself black and blue,
like the kids used to do at school,
And now all he recognizes is his beaten back and bleeding knuckles,
but he is so much more than the pain he holds in his hands.
I’ve been watching you break bridges with your voice since I was a child.
I’ve been watching you use fists to communicate since I was a child.
I’ve been watching you self-medicate since I was a child.
I learned from the best,
don’t you see?
Watching you love a woman made me angry,
maybe I knew all along she’d only leave a knife in your back,
after you stabbed her in the front.
At least she saw you coming right?
Watching you break down made me fall apart,
maybe I was hoping I’d become strong,
but watching you suffer felt like being suffocated.
Yet you were the only one suffocating.
Watching you not exist in my life the way you used to took a part of me away.
It’ll never be the same again.
Do you remember all the days we spent doing nothing,
but doing nothing together?
I felt so alive.
I’m watching myself search for you in everyone I meet,
just to get some pieces of you back.
I’m watching myself run away from the person you are,
but I’ve been stuck in quicksand since you left.
I’m watching myself drown as I realize how quickly life changes,
and how quickly it ends.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
I have been going to the track for so
long that
all the employees know
me,
and now with winter here
it's dark before the last
race.
as I walk to the parking lot
the valet recognizes my
slouching gait
and before I reach him
my car is waiting for me,
lights on, engine warm.
the other patrons
(still waiting)
ask,
"who the hell is that
guy?"
I slip the valet a
tip, the size depending upon the
luck of the
day (and my luck has been amazingly
good lately)
and I then am in the machine and out on
the street
as the horses break
from the gate.
I drive east down Century Blvd.
turning on the radio to get the result of that
last race.
at first the announcer is concerned only with
bad weather and poor freeway
conditions.
we are old friends: I have listened to his
voice for decades but,
of course, the time will finally come
when neither one of us will need to
clip our toenails or
heed the complaints of our
women any longer.
meanwhile, there is a certain rhythm
to the essentials that now need
attending to.
I light my cigarette
check the dashboard
adjust the seat and
weave between a Volks and a Fiat.
as flecks of rain spatter the
windshield
I decide not to die just
yet:
this good life just smells too
sweet.
9k
The soil recognizes
the vibration of your
soft soul and soft soles
when you walk around
the garden's edge.
Grounds from every corner
of the world hasten
to be underneath your feet.
Twenty dignified, upright,
and humble footsteps
from the lilies
to carnations
and much of the earth
is covered.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
multimedia macramé
sloshing propaganda sewage
on the unsuspecting public
***** lice infest ****** hill folk
west Virginia outbreak threatening the world
as we know it
flesh altering nonsense explicitly graphed
charting movement of microbes
on air, land, and/ or sea
global currents the new deliverer of death –
infected immigrants sit smiling
internment camps providing nutrition
never before experienced
as non-natives negotiate freedom
by submitting to vaccinations baths
and the standard delousing powder –
paranoid hand-sanitizer users
glued to the **** tube
spray their shoes with disinfectant
praying to an absent GOD for health
while shoveling GMO corn chips into ever widening
mouth holes
pharmaceutical companies lick lifeless lips
as Congress recognizes their humanity
while rejecting the concerns of the poor
…..no money in it –
outlandish claims of outbreaking Ebola
flood the mainstream outlets
fear: version – infinity
one more plague plan to stimulate new legislation
more law
no touching
even looking at the infirm can be cause for isolation
radiation treatments
courtesy of Fukushima, reactors 1-4 –
new found focus on fracturing the shale
releasing new oil reserves
and old bacteria
dinosaur killers
free-radicals
radically changing the genetic code
humanity altered
once again –
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
The Second Joyful Mystery:
The Visitation: Elizabeth greets Mary: ‘Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb!’
Mary travels miles to see her best friend, and cousin, Elizabeth who was also with child to share with her this great news! When Mary gets to her cousin’s house the two women great each other and Elizabeth’s baby leaps inside her womb in response to being in the presence of the Lord Jesus. Elizabeth is very happy and says to Mary “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” Elizabeth recognizes that Mary is truly blessed to conceive Jesus while still a ****** by the working of the Holy Spirit. Mary also recognizes she is truly blessed to bear the Christ child inside of her. She alone was chosen among women to house the savior and redeemer of the world. What amazing gifts God has given Mary! We pray to God May we, like Mary be blessed. Help us to receive you all the time and, like Elizabeth and her baby, may we give all praise and glory to you now and forever. May we leap for joy whenever we are near to you. Help us also to feel your presence daily. Amen
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
the amount of melanin in my skin often seems to conjure up some controversy so when I sit down to write and I see my hands, my light skinned not quite black but surely not white hands I think about the privileges thrusted upon me and when I begin to write I feel my hair against my back, my curly ***** but not quite ***** hair I wonder how what's on my head could make what's in it so frazzled
I often frustrate myself because I feel like my writing often centers around the fact that I am a woman and I am colored
and the fact that when I say I'm colored some look lost
in fact, in the film, for colored girls
Thandie Newton's character says "being alive and being a woman is all I got, but being colored is a metaphysical dilemma I haven't conquered yet."
and I found it frightening how relatable that was to me, being that I'm not quite almost a woman and not quite almost colored
but when I look at my poems they reflect that I indeed am
even though I'm lightskinned and I'm 16 and according to my white friends I'm, just like them because, as I've discovered our definitions of what a black girl sounds like and acts like and is like are extremely different
and I guess that reflects on who we've been introduced to
I have cousins and aunts and grandmothers and sisters
who represent what I believe emulate what a black woman is
and these white kids see what the media feeds about how black women walk and talk and act and lack
see when I picture a black woman I see beautiful smooth chocolate skin full lips round ******* wide hips and a smile as brilliant as her mind
when these kids picture a black woman they see ***** hair dark undesirable skin soup cooler lips and a mind filled with ignorance
and this is where my struggle begins
But in every ethnic group there is good and bad
and I am sick of black women only being associated with the bad
the fact that when most non blacks think of what a black woman is, they imagine an unintelligible mindless sassy loud mouth is over whelming to me
if you're skin isn't light enough or your behind isn't big enough you're only "pretty for a black girl"
I not only want to raise but destroy all expectations society gives black women
but I cannot do this alone
because we are smart and we are beautiful
we are troubled and we are strong
and we are one
once we stop tearing eachother down we can all be one
and I'm not sure why god blessed black women with so much beauty or why I'm so blessed to be one or why he put this determination in me but I think I will recognize it the day the world recognizes how beautiful are we.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
Value someone who values you not like silver and gold,
Value someone who values you in fact ten times fold.
Value someone who values your smile,
Value someone who in difficult times makes smiling worthwhile.
Value someone who has always been there through the thick and the thin,
Value someone who has held you through late nights and gin.
Value someone who may irritate you till you pull your hair out,
Value someone who would knockout anyone else who tried to in a single bout.
Value someone who catches your every precious tear drop,
Value someone who does everything in and out of the book to make those stop.
Value someone who assures you that not all is lost,
Value someone who inspires you at no cost.
Value someone who protects you from every scratch and rake,
Value someone who spends the worlds time with you putting everything else at stake.
Value someone who holds you when nothing is right,
Value someone who's always there all your worries to fight.
Value someone who stands up for you in every situation,
Value someone who never gives up on you and goes for a vacation.
Value someone who does not care what the world says about you,
Value someone who recognizes the real inner you and believes you are unique in your very own way too.
Value someone with whom you may have the biggest of a fight,
Value someone who still incessantly stands two steps behind you and for you with a smile whether day or night.
Value someone who values you for what you are,
Value someone who continues to value you every minute and every hour, whether you are close or whether you are far...
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
and then i am left,
at the upmarket stretch of sand
straddling this most unremarkable state,
quietly flicking my thumb against the blue lighter.
but it's too windy, at the water's edge
in an unremarkable state,
where no one recognizes me,
that bagpipes start playing
the wind acts against my fingers,
they are too delicate, too feminine,
no callousness ever affixed to these,
my ten silken extremities.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 8:17 PM UTC
Namaste
The divine in me
recognizes the
divine
in you
the part of me
that ashes her
handrolled cigarette
all down her top
on accident
who wears someone
else's black rimmed
plastic glasses
they're the wrong perscription
but there's no reason
the world shoudn't
appear a little blurry
hearts are farther away
than they may seem
behind the thin
layer of skin
and tissue
the fragile
birdcage frames
that protect them
If I were a zombie
I'd eat hearts instead
of brains
that way I'd know
what it was to taste love
I've had enough of people's
thoughts and opinions
I wanna taste the ache
for a change
and ingest the chambers
that held all your exs
and family
your friends
the divine in me
eats the divine in you
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 4:12 PM UTC
Unconditional love:
1. noun; when you willingly pay the consequences for the actions of the one you love at the expense of your very existence without even knowing if he understands or can appreciate just how much those consequences have cost you;
(I wonder if you can get a second mortgage on your soul?)
also, 2. when you're able to smile at him even as you watch him take the left-over pieces of memories from your garage-sale of a life and put them in another woman's home, while the time that was supposed to be your final treasured moments and/or memories together, melts away like yesterday's makeup oozes down my clammy face on an unusually humid Palm Springs summer morning. And, even though you knew this was coming, and you tried and tried to warn him, you just smile and wonder in which bloated bag of odd but familiar, priceless knick-knacks your heart ended up in and hope he recognizes it if he ever accidentally runs across it.
(Today I learned the definition of unconditional love.)
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Classroom Discussion
Raucous noise vibrates across
The surface of my ear
Not daring to enter and disrupt
The train of thought
That processes as a machine
Turning, creating, assembling
The wheel of thought spinning round the axle
-------A **** on the rope, a pull on the subconscious
The pulley recognizes the intrusion of an applied force
The wheels halt, as if rust jeopardizes its advance.
The thoughts scatter, a snapped electrical wire snaking in shock;
a cooper waving current racing back to a reality
through black rubber nerves.
The noise registers,
confirming the split of a once continuous wire
Insignificant words- not quite processing,
failing to relay information,
refusing to form a sentence,
still trapped in a realm of limbo
wanting to return to the rhythm of a reverie.
Slipping, falling
the mind surrenders, the electricity dies.
Materializing in a classroom
The cage for intellectual minds
Discussing about.
From one world to another - act, adapt
The bright scientific lights burn
The eyes of the dreamer
Who creates from the dark,
Objects exposed, judged, determined.
No place for the dreamer, who loves
warping reality.
Within the metal box this reality is set.
Bars on the window, an indestructible verticality
Plastic seats, beige, blue, cold
Sit this way, look up, right, like that.
You are my animals now speak, raise a hand,
perform a trick, tell me what I want to hear,
Speak my language of intelligence, be my machine.
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 5:11 AM UTC
Inside this Cocoon of night
nu jazz plays competing
with Lana del Rey tracks
amidst the dim shadows
outside, the broken light
of stars & you ask
how foxes became urban
I do not know
maybe their wild soul
recognizes that like them, a city can't be tamed
entirely or maybe they're just lost
I do not know
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
Hoyden
Perched in a tree
high aloft her mystic mountain
a hoyden sits
wrenching daisies from her hair
She cackles as they cascade
down to earth
Fluttering in a last attempt to fly
The last recognizes defeat,
alighting on the forest floor
She bursts from her throne
crashing atop the petals she’s discarded
Whooping, she stands,
brushes off her dirt covered skirt
Some day, I will be free
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
Im done.
with life,
the world,
people who are fake as can be,
Im done with me,
myself.and I.
Done with the tension to do something right for once in my life.
The only thing right to do is go ahead and **** myself.
Everyone will be happier.
They won't have to see my miserable face,or the unhappy looks,they won't have to say hey just to make me feel like someone actually recognizes me when no one really does.
Im done
with the pity looks i get from people who don't even know what pity is.
Thats okay there virgins to the world only knowing the good,only faces the good.no bad in their lives thats good,okay,great for them but,one day they’ll wake up see whats really out there.
Flesh being torn apart,screaming,crying,bloody tears.
then they’ll want to die step in front of a train that's passing by.
Its okay they’ll learn and then want to die but,if you stay a ****** to the world with no pity,no cries,no screaming,no one dies.
my world is much different always will be you might not be a ****** to the world but compared to me you are and you're lucky.
Because i’m dead never have been alive..always dead,never gonna be alive.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Holiness is what
I long for
Holiness
Is what my heart
Cries out for
In the night
My heart
My soul
Wants to be
Whole
Completely
Connected
But the world
Has a way
Of dragging
Me back
Dragging me down
Down to the world
To the muck
And the mire
But even among
The troubles
And the trials
There is still beauty
Even in the storms
Life is holy
Every life
Carries that holy flame
That fire that flows
Every thing is holy
Every thing comes
From God
Every thing
That makes us
Every thing
Thats inside of us
Comes from God
All life is holy
In some way
Every thing breathes
The secret of God
In every second
In every action
God is there
Sharing his love
And holiness
To every one
And every thing
That recognizes him
And accepts the healing
Love
Mercy
Holiness
That comes
From accepting
The holiness
Inside yourself
And every one
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 3:01 AM UTC
Sitting in a wintry land
and writing this to you.
I did hesitated after win,
but there aren’t no winning,
you recognizes that
far better than me.
I pause after the word win,
each time
when I write about winter,
or anything
that start with the word, win!
I take a deep breath
and then try to finish it
with the rest of the letters.
After all
trying is everything,
so says lots of them.
It's true for me too
especially when adding a try
to win you and to survive
in this wintry weather!
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
He is smart
He knows how to articulate his thoughts
He knows who I am as a person
He knows Shakespeare
He quotes Shakespeare
He is someone I can share an awkward silence with comfortably
He is preferably Scottish
He is proud
He perseveres
He has principles
He is knowledgeable
He is open-minded
He is a risk-taker
He is optimistic
He is an inquirer
He is preferably a gemini, libra, aquarius or leo
He likes to read a lot
He is reflective
He is handsome (to my standards)
He has dark brown, wild, wavy hair
He has insightful eyes
He has dark brown eyes
He is insightful
He is caring
He is faithful
He sings
He dances
He plays almost every musical instrument under the sun
He is confident
He is self-assured
He is outspoken
He is bold
He is not afraid t0 show emotion
He wears his heart on his sleeve
He laughs everyday
He has a crooked, sweet smile
He has dreams
He has aspirations in life
He has goals
He has his life planned in a general outline
He is safe
He is prepared
He is spontaneous
He calls me beautiful instead of ****
He doesn't snore
He brings out my more intimate side
He is not my *****
He can play rough with me and not hurt me
He knows that I am not fragile
He knows that the only part of me that I cared if he broke it would be my heart
He is honest
He doesn't hide anything from me
He respects my privacy
He is not possessive, jealous, or overbearing
He lets my have my space when I need it
He respects me as a woman
He respects me as a lover
He respects me as a Human Being
He can clearly define love and what it means to him, and I agree
He doesn't base the strength of our relationship on ***
He does not push me into doing things I do not want to do
He has and recognizes that he has past lives
He is an old soul
He is one and at peace with his surroundings
He is spiritual
He is good
He is a healer
He believes in Magic
He believes in hope
He believes in justice
He stands his ground in a fight
He knows when to say NO
He comes with emotional baggage we can solve together
He depends on me as much as I depend on him
He can kick any ones *** in a fight
He is willing to admit his mistakes
He is not afraid to apologize to me for anything
He is willing to change for the better
We connect on a deep level
He has and recognizes that he has psychic powers
He is smart when under the influence
He uses his God-given brain
He uses common sense
He is perfect for me.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 7:47 AM UTC
New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits
She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair
Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East
She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel
Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year
What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
This One Time,
I stripped naked
and ****** my couch.
This other time
I threw a copy of The Fountainhead
at an RV moving at 64 miles an hour
I have a tree
In the foothills
named Clementine Valencia Jeff
and the same day, me and John
made a religion with Adam based
on cloud formations
You see, I'm a weird guy
I got
I got problems
I see a therapist
Her name's Rhonda
She likes Batmaa aaaaan
She sees people worse than me
but recognizes I got problems
and she
she tries to help
cause
cause I got problems
and the
and the problem
with having problems
is
is function
You
You can't do anything
You live to defy expectation
And - and it's really hard
to get into college
You never really get accepted
and and
and even if
even if you do you
you
you never really accept that
It's hard out there for a freak
I get lost within my own
ridiculous quandaries
You feel like you're not
you're not built right
like something's wrong
and you just punch and
and kick and
and destroy
Whatever feels des-
destroy able because it gives
purpose
Bu
But I finally think I -I
found my mantra
My my
My compass thing
My map whatever
It has the same number of
letters of something very very dear
to me
and
and that holds meaning
I
I wrote it on the back of my door
my door
and- and I sprayed it on a
shirt
I actually got it from a videogame with
with a
with Ayn Randian themes
It's religious
and
and every night now
before I go to sleep
I
I- I look into Neil Patrick Harris's
eyes
feel the warmth of my wonderful blanket
admire some handiwork
read about serial arson
close my eyes and tell myself
She is our Salvation
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 2:05 PM UTC
Claude spreads the legs of his first girlfriend and
Recognizes the in-between
From his sister’s.
She was seventeen and silent;
He, six and sobbing,
Pushing the bamboo deeper
After
The men who ate
Dinner with his father
The week before
Told him to.
They said he had to **** her; said
He was a Tutsi, and limp, and finally,
“Farther!”
She was wet with blood and he with tears
Crouched down in the grass.
At twenty-one,
Claude hovers above
His first love
With closed eyes and dry cheeks.
She is wet, with want, and
Whimpering.
Not from
A stick’s broken branches,
Or twelve men
Holding her knees apart
“Showing a cockroach how it’s done,”
One by one
Ants crawling toward her blood.
Claude hears her closed-lip whimpers,
Says how much he’ll always love her, and
Cannot come.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
never knew it,
never was I self-percepted,
that anything exceptional,
lay within, neither obvious
or dormant, was just an ordinary
if not, extra-ordinary pained
child by peers and my surrounders
and my own words yet today,
do not confer any distinction
when yours irradiate me into
a stunned and silenced reverie,
a reminder, a minder, that talent
recognizes no laws of equilibrium,
equality, and certainty not, equity
so I read with shocked, shocked, I tell you,
bemusement but comprehensive perception
when the young and extra~special confide,
their own misperceptions, overwhelmed by
the anxiety
of the billions of sky stars, and letters in their
twinkling orbs when forming identifiable comets with tagalong
dust trails^ of the debris of words that are formed by
their travels and travails on orbits
not necessarily predetermined
by gravitational adult pulleys, a gravity upon
their projected, sometimes directed,
sometimes not,
trajectory
*"and yet, though an orbit is a type of trajectory,
not all trajectories are orbits"*
nor are
*"some comets, particularly
those from outside our solar system,
that move so fast that the Sun's gravity
is not strong enough to capture them
into a closed orbit*
*These comets follow an open, curved path
through the solar system and then
continue on into interstellar space,
never to be seen again*"
so be advised,
as you reassemble the debris from the multi~universe,
when assembling your owned,
unique~verse,
create your tail
and trail,
the futurity
of you is to be both
silent and loud,
absorbing and disgorging,
to awed and to be humbled,
by all that and those who went before,
all once younger and talented,
and knew this self-same anxiety,
but never let the fearing of their
the mystery of plotting of their
path
deter them
from exploring the skies and deep mines of the
sea trenches where undiscovered mysteries
abide
<nml>
4:59am
in the city where one can never see the
light of the stars,
particularly
by their owners
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 7:25 AM UTC
I have a bad habit
of falling for
messed up people.
Maybe it’s because
my own sadness
recognizes theirs.
So darling, let's fall in love
and apart.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 8:37 AM UTC