pixie dust in words

I believe in magic- but only when it's bleeding into paper, distorted in ink

[bleedingexpresso]

i can not put me in words— because i’m merely a pixel in a blur, a lost particle in cosmos, a space in between letters, a war waging in silence—

but i do have a name, and you may call me Sneh :)

[bleedingexpresso]

History,

Something that makes you want to

Leave a mark upon this world,

"We’ll go down in history,"

The Fall Out Boys said,

But what if we didn’t?

What you were my story and I was yours?

What if we don’t go down in history?

What if we aren’t etched in stories for them to read?

Because honestly, I’d rather not.

I’d rather not leave a mark,

I’d rather keep us with us,

I want our story to be something

That’s just between us,

I want it to be an unopened oyster,

I don’t want them to know about

The invisible string that tied you to me,

I don’t want them to know that,

I knew how you smile,

I knew how you loved memories,

I knew how you were a story in yourself,

A story I’d like to keep to myself.

So if you would,

Let’s not go down in history,

Let our story belong to just us.

Etched in just our minds,

Because I definitely don’t want

The world to know

How I memorized every carousel on your palm,

Every fold on your skin when you smile

And every light reflecting off your eyes,

Because they are sketches in my mind,

The only place they’d ever be etched in.

Please?

[bleedingexpresso]

greetings tumblr

i woke up with the fresh thought of what if poems did not need to have a title. i mean— do you see where i’m going with this? How beautiful would it be to never name your poems— because they came to you as simple words and you just put them in whatever order deemed fit to you at the time. imagine people not knowing the title of your poem and just reading for themselves to find out. imagine them going in their heads trying to think if they were to refer the poem to someone else what would they call it; imagine your poem is like an open-ended story except with an open beginning.

[bleedingexpresso]

i don’t see myself in the mirror,

i don’t see myself in the ripples of a lake,

i don’t see myself in between lines of

a Taylor Swift song,

i don’t see myself in the colors on a canvas,

i don’t see myself in between pages of a book—

not as good as I see myself

reflected in your eyes, anyway

because I’m a book open only to you,

and you read every syllable.

[saanjhish]

Oh I'm sorry my bisexuality makes you uncomfortable :// *proceeds to kiss a girl and a guy (with their consent)*

[bleedingexpresso]

what an icon

[bleedingexpresso]

The sky goes dark.

So does the ocean;

But it never can see a storm coming

Even if it can, it can’t tell.

It goes rogue with the winds

But once it's all over, it’s as if nothing ever happened,

And the horizon looks different that day.

Sometimes they aren’t just storms,

They are war.

And those are the bad times,

But again, once it’s done the ocean is calm

And the horizon looks different each time.

The ocean would never know,

If the same storm passed her twice

She would go rogue, and then

Have absolutely no memory of it.

But it changes her every time

And while the sea doesn’t like to be restrained,

Maybe it does know that the horizon

Changes every time

Maybe it does know that she might never

See the same sky again,

But the sea wanting the sky,

Doesn’t mean she has no memory

Of the same storms that passed her by twice

She just doesn't show.