Nika

[buggyburger]

Love is not a potion

It's poison

I want to suffocate the butterflies

I want to chop of my wings

So I can't fly

And can't fall

[buggyburger]

I watch the stars

Watching me

As on a cloudy night

They appear as eyes to me

I feel the dark of night

Kissing my skin

As it whispers love poems in my ears

And almost

I'm seduced to disappear

In the night

Away from the warm light

I'm alone

But still

The dark will always be by my side

And the stars will watch me

With awoken eyes

And the moon

If not on a cloudy night

Will show me the might

Of the soft light

That it can have

in the deep, dark night

[buggyburger]

For I want to let the sun shine

But you are the moon that crosses its path every once in a while

[buggyburger]

Like a hatchling falling out the tree

And it feels like flying

But it can't fly yet

So it's dying.

[buggyburger]

A flower long faded

There now stands another

Just starting to bloom.

The first one was you

[quotemadness]

“Comparing yourself to others is an act of violence against your authentic self.”

— Iyanla Vanzant

[buttpoems]

[extramadness]

[destinytomoon-deactivated202006]

Beautiful photo from the protest, yesterday on Santiago, Chile by Susana Hidalgo (su_hidalgo on Instagram)

¡REVOLUCIÓN!

[extramadness]

[quotemadness]

“Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand–and melting like a snowflake…”

— Francis Bacon

[quotemadness]

“The problem is not that there are problems. The problem is expecting otherwise and thinking that having problems is a problem.”

— Theodore Isaac Rubin

[quotemadness]

“We have enough in life against us already don’t be against yourself.”

— Unknown

[buggyburger]

I don't know what to feel anymore.

[quotemadness]

“But in the meantime all the life you have or ever will have is today, tonight, tomorrow, today, tonight, tomorrow, over and over again.”

— Ernest Hemingway

[coffee-and-quotes]

“Suddenly I wonder, ‘Where is the girl that I was last year? Two years ago? What would she think of me now?”

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[buggyburger]