overstrung.

"It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness" In other words, I am hopelessly hopeful.

[biancacanlove]

The quote in your description is really inspiring! "It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." This quote you shared helps me a lot to focus my attention to what truly matters with a solution mindset instead of a criticizing/complaining mindset. I wrote it down in my favorite quotes notebook. Thank you for sharing this mind-opening quote!🌻

I'm so glad you liked the quote the same way I did when I first read it :))

[shymagnolia]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[shymagnolia]

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

[flagellant]

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

[coffee-or-hot-cocoa]

i need all the help i can get for finals

[finnglas]

Hey so

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like. 

So you know. 

This might be the real one, y’all.

[avhira]

I could use some luck

[biancacanlove]

No Longer Respect, Only Love.

I believed in you

more than I believed in me,

and so I listened

even when it hurt

and I considered,

though you were unfair,

and I obeyed

more than I should have.

I believed in your experiences,

in the fact that you were

older than me

and thus knew the things

only time can tell.

I believed in your pain

and in all the tales you told me

of your many regrets,

of all your "I wish I could've"s.

But, the truth is

that you only believe

in your anger

and in the pleasure you feel

every time I obey you

instead of the voice in me,

the truth is that

you are unfit

for authority.

[biancacanlove]

Lavender Tea With A Bit of Stevia.

I didn't take the meds,

I couldn't, you see, cos I don't

even have them,

but the point is,

I didn't consider taking them,

didn't even ask for them, you see-

I refused to

even when I was a hundred percent sure

that there could be no other way.

I didn't take the meds,

I don't trust them;

don't trust their effects, don't trust

their influence-

maybe I'm missing something now,

some sort of happiness, maybe

some part of me is still broken

cos I didn't take the meds.

I didn't take the meds,

not even when the blood rushed

to my face, and I curled

on the ground,

unable to get up cos

the fear was just too much, but no,

even then,

I didn't take the meds.

I didn't take the meds,

no one in my family ever has,

though we are all sick in the head;

we get angry too quick,

violent too quick,

we scream too loud, get anxious too easily,

we are homesick for things we've never had

and for emotions we've never

believed in-

maybe it's cos we've never taken the meds

that we're all so pathetically trapped-

our blood flowing within each other

in this one little insignificant corner

of the world.

Sure, I didn't take the meds,

but I didn't take the lie either,

I didn't take the assumption-

the one that said that I have no way out

of this mad cycle of painful growth.

I can't take the meds,

not right now-

no, right now, that option is not there,

because taking the meds

would mean acknowledging my situation,

our situation,

and they won't forgive me for that,

trust me, I've tried.

I haven't taken the meds,

and that's not my fault, not yet.

For now, somehow, I'll put up with my

episodes of inactivity

that come after my episodes

of restlessness, which occur due to

all the anxiety,

and I'll pray to God

for mercy, and for help

to pull through until

considering the meds

becomes my responsibility.

I didn't taken the meds,

but for now,

I think I'll take a mug

of lavender tea

with a bit of stevia, instead.

It helps.

[biancacanlove]

Poetic Truths.

You, the muse and I, the poet,

you, the art and I,

the artist,

you, the alms

and I, the beggar, you

the loved and I,

the lover.

You, the sky and I, the stars,

you, the rain and I,

the earth,

you, the beauty

and I, the beast, you,

the loved and I,

the lover.

Indeed, in poetry alone, is one incomplete

without the other.

You, a part of me, and I of you

-such is the truth, even if not poetically true.

[biancacanlove]

Well-Wisher.

Oh Well-Wisher, tell me,

do you see what I see?

A tightrope, infinitely long,

and the sea stretched underneath.

Oh Well-Wisher, I see

pity in your eyes for me

and my situation; a bridge-walker

who hopes hopelessly

to defy this tightrope over the sea.

Oh Well-Wisher, do not pity me;

the crowded bridge gave me safety

long enough for me

to witness the power of the sea.

The followers of safety- I saw some leap,

craving the silence of the sea, I also saw the sea

destroy the bridge, in rage, and pull the unlucky

and the weak underneath; the strong have gone to the sea

too, but only after they fought, indeed,

I found none who fought against the sea

on the bridge of safety.

Oh Well-Wisher, is it not the sea

that urges our fight to breathe,

urges our fight for safety?

Oh Well-Wisher, only when we

learn to fight the sea

will we truly be free,

Oh Well-Wisher, listen to me,

is not the bridge of safety

constantly at the mercy of the sea?

Oh Well-Wisher, is safety

at the mercy of the sea,

truly safety?

Oh Well-Wisher, can you breathe?

You are captive to the sea

that flows beneath your feet...

Oh Well-Wisher, I see

my tightrope awaiting me,

or is it the sea?

Neither the bridge of safety

nor this tightrope over the sea

can give an eternal remedy,

yet, the bridge lies

and the tightrope tries.

So, Well-Wisher, how will it be?

Won't you run along

this tightrope with me,

not caring for

the sea underneath?

I am young, and presently

caution shall wait for me

for eternity.

[biancacanlove]

Wasteland Heart.

Why has it

taken me

so long

to see

that you

are not me,

that I am

not thee

and that

we were

never once

meant to be?

[turtledragon55]

You say get back up again,

but you can’t see

I’ve been forced back up

before I’m done falling

for so long now

I can’t tell up from down anymore

[biancacanlove]

yesyesyesyesyesIlovethis.

[biancacanlove]

Sandstorm.

There was a storm here

a few days ago.

A sandstorm.

Not as bad as the one

going on in Crete right now,

but it was scary

even so.

So, the windows rattled,

and the sky was grey

and brown.

And the sand scraped

at our walls-

it sounded like

hailstones.

That's what mom said,

cos I haven't seen hailstones

myself.

It began to rain

not long after

the sandstorm began.

Soon, there was a

thunderstorm plus sandstorm.

I kinda wondered

if the bits of sand

would end up sticking

to each other

and make sandstones.

Mom was scared shitless,

but me and my siblings

thought it was pretty okay,

unless of course,

the window broke, or something.

It's a luxury really,

that I have a life

lovely enough to say this :

I didn't want to

miss the storm.

So I opened the curtains

and turned off the lights,

and studied by candlelight.

It's weird, but I think

what I realised was this :

in the human mind,

there can be only darkness,

but there can never be

only light.

[biancacanlove]

Reason For Being.

Throw away prudence,

throw away meaning,

throw away "being your true self",

and bring the ugliness

of revenge instead.

Bring the ugliness

of anger, selfishness,

stubbornness-

you're not wise,

you don't know anything.

Just stop pretending.

You're fanciful and unrealistic,

and you know it.

None of this would be a problem

if you weren't so mediocre-

so just accept it.

You don't know how to focus

on things that actually matter.

Quit hiding behind

all that "it's my dream,

it's what I believe,

it's my true calling" nonsense.

You're childish

and you never listen to reason.

Quit being a parson-

preaching behind the guise

of self-love.

You're furious with the world,

and more than your passion

you care to throw a tantrum-

stomping your feet

and screaming "why, why me".

The truth, my dear,

is nothing special-

no raison d'être lasts long

unless it's personal.

[biancacanlove]

Drowning.

I don't know how it happened.

One moment I was on the side,

perfectly dry,

the next second I was

in the deep end of the pool-

floating,

but that only lasted a moment.

The water came up to my

shoulders, then to my neck.

I tried to scream,

but fear had me paralysed;

my eyes open wide

as the water came up

to my chin.

I looked down- it was deep,

so, so deep.

I tried to scream again,

but only my breath

got faster and faster,

and suddenly, I'm on my bed.

Eyes wide open,

heart beating, still beating,

lungs breathing and breathing,

mind calming,

soul realising.

[biancacanlove]

Awaiting Ambush.

Music in one ear,

chaos in the other.

Senses on alert,

ears pricked up to catch

the sound of footsteps,

before it comes

and catches me instead.

Energetic, but not alive-

this is anxiety,

anxiety on high.

Help me, I say, help me-

I love me being me,

why can't they love me?

It's not fair, I hate this.

I don't want to place this

precaution, prevention,

obstruction, intervention-

acting to be conventional,

ending up irrational.

Help me, I say, help me-

cos I can't help me.

My energy is all spent

on saving me.

A story, some kindness,

anything.

If it comes from a stranger,

it is even sweeter.

[paper-wounds]

via

[biancacanlove]

true.

[ivyvolturra-poetry]

With love, your ceiling fan

I see everything, by the way.

Not on purpose—

I am simply placed

where poor decisions

become visible.

You sit down

with your books open,

highlighters ready,

water bottle placed

like a prop.

You read one line.

Then another.

Then you stare

at the same paragraph

like it personally betrayed you.

Be honest.

And yesterday—

you spilled something on your shirt,

looked around,

and then—

licked it.

In a study room.

I had to process that.

And that call—

“Oh my god, I loved that book,

the themes were so deep”—

You have not read it.

Not even the back cover.

Confidence is important.

This is too much.

—

Did you hear that?

—the light flickers—

Exactly.

—

Also,

the way you rehearse answers

for conversations

that will never happen—

“I don’t even care.”

You said it

eight different ways.

All of them

care.

And yet,

when I make one small sound,

suddenly I am the problem.

Amazing.

You,

who opened your textbook

twenty minutes ago

and have learned

nothing new.

…

Anyway,

I’ll be right here.

Above you.

[biancacanlove]

legit genius. This made my day.

[biancacanlove]

Near Sunrise.

The birds are chirping,

but the moon is still up.

The sun is sleeping

and the world is quiet-

there are no night noises,

no morning hustle.

Three a.m, four a.m, five a.m-

it's different everywhere,

so I won't be able to tell you

the time of this strange twilight.

But, it won't be wrong

to call it near sunrise;

not quite morning, or night,

and so quiet, truly quiet.

I also cannot tell you which term

you may use for the creatures

that wake three hours

before sunrise. Are they early birds

or night owls?

However, one thing is for sure-

the ones who wake at near sunrise,

wake because they need time.

Because time moves slowly

during these twilight hours,

as if the world itself

does not want to wake up,

as if the earth keeps hitting

the snooze button;

to buy all the time it could

before the sun came up again

and the world woke up again,

and humans walked again.

It is no wonder then,

that the birds wake up

and start chirping

well before sunrise;

the earth needs

encouragement-

"Wake up, wake up

for another day,

wake up, wake up,

and be brave,

wake up, wake up,

it'll be okay."

[biancacanlove]

Theatre.

Wake up, it's time

to put your mask on.

Who are you? Who are you

when the lights are off?

Forced to act like

somebody you are not-

I don't think you know it.

That mask has ingrained

itself on your face-

it hurts to pull it off.

You don't dare do it yourself

and you scream

when somebody else tries to-

you are afraid;

tearing the mask off your face

will leave your true self

scarred and bare.

The longer you leave it on

the harder it will be

to remove it, to heal.

But you don't care to do that;

to you, all the world's

a stage-

you are content

being fake.

[biancacanlove]

Better Things.

I thought I'd miss you

more than this,

I thought I'd cry for you

a bit more than this;

moving on from you-

is there only this?

So many poems about

broken hearts-

they make it sound like agony.

It's pretty easy, actually;

you gotta start loving

better things.

Lovelier, healthier,

sweeter, kinder things.

Things that won't leave-

wasn't it abandonment

that broke your poor, sad heart?

Don't you want to heal?

Look up, there's the sky,

look down, there's the earth-

if you crave one-sided love

then love worthier things.

There's no need

to forget the memories-

remember each,

remember everything;

the dirt, the roses,

the hidden thorns.

Clinging onto the pain

of broken love

cos you don't want to

feel numb-

masochistic stuff.

Trust me love,

there are better things out there

to break you beyond repair.