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Leanne ' 18 ' England

[jsydbrantley]

What is love?

When I was younger I could define infatuation By the butterflies fluttering inside I was taught not to trust my gut Because I never got the guy Now a grown woman trying to understand What real love feels like when it comes I have an undeniable craving to love him But I’m cursed to lose him before it’s begun When will what I am be enough To deserve someone else’s love

[eachnewday-blog]

when someone we love suffers from a physical illness, we become frustrated with the doctors that care for them, wondering why they just can't do enough to save our friend. we ask them why, why this had to happen; we look to them with trust that they will be able to make everything better.

but when someone we love suffers with a mental illness, it is ourselves which we beat up for it. we try our hardest to make it all okay again and when it doesn't get better, we blame ourselves for everything, guilty that our love alone was not enough. imagine standing beside your friend, their legs broken to pieces and in plaster, and feeling so angry and upset with yourself that your kind words weren't enough to make them walk again.

we are not professionals, we only have our small experiences and our hearts to share, and we pour ourselves dry in an attempt to cleanse another's cracked skin. this is a noble act, and yet it eats at us everyday wondering if that person truly knew how much we loved them, and if it could have made a difference. maybe they didn't know, or maybe they did and they loved you all the same, but it still wasn't enough to stitch their wounds up & heal their bruises. we loved, and we love, and that is reason alone to be proud.

I wish I could have saved him, but in the end I am only a person, and sometimes I don't know the right things to say.

[eachnewday-blog]

september 18th, 2016

why do I want to end my life? I don't exactly know. I feel like I've had all the happiness I want, and the longer I go on living the more things I'll fuck up and the more I'll lose and the more sadness and anger I'll feel. that's it. I've had a good life. and I fail to see how extending it could possibly improve it. that's what everybody fails to see about life: quantity doesn't equal quality. I do not fear death, I fear a life unfulfilled. a sad life. a life of pain and loss. the life of an old person.

they say it is better to have loved & lost, than to never love at all. wrong. the pain you feel when something you are attached to is taken away, why would you choose that over the blissful ignorance of detachment? if I went deaf tomorrow, and lost music and all that I care about, yes I would be grateful to have had the opportunity to experience the joy of music, but I'd sooner be deaf from birth. so as to never experience that pain, of loss; so as to never know what I was missing & thus not miss it.

this I feel right now, is like a mountain. I've climbed a mountain, and felt glorious all the way to the top. I've taken photos at the summit, made friends along the way. but now I must go back down. and nothing exciting waits at the bottom. there is the promise of more climbs in the future, but I must go down first. what goes up must come down, unless it dies at the top. if the climber were to die at the peak, they wouldn't miss the experience of the climbs they never did, because they wouldn't know. and their ups would ever so slightly outweigh their downs.

// almost 2 years later, and free from suicidal thoughts, I delved into my old diaries and decided to share with you the madness of my slightly younger mind. and also share my story, because I am healthy now, and when you are healthy you realise all of the things you thought before were wrong. in the moment, it seems like death is the only way. but it isn't. and I am so glad to still be on this planet, experiencing the joys - and lows - life can bring. if you're struggling, talk to somebody. don't keep it inside. there is hope.

[anna-g-x]

“Let me crawl inside your head, and live amongst your dreams.”

-Anna O'C

[eachnewday-blog]

I will write a symphony

one day I will write a symphony, and it will echo across all of the whispers of time

to find you, and you will hear it, and you will fall in love with the sound

that you understand, you will know the meaning of every note on that stave

and every harmony and every dissonance, will remind you of a memory that's good

or bad, all of them containing me, and you will know that this huge sound

is us, as a song. it will get stuck in your head like you're stuck in mine

and it will be the best thing

and the worst thing that you have ever heard, an indescribable arrangement of melodies

that when you hear it, you will know everything, you will know just how I feel

and all of the things that I want to say, and

you will understand.

[eachnewday-blog]

hey

are you okay?

do you need a hand

to breathe / to stand

to live your life today?

and it's hard enough to

stay awake

when the air pushes so hard

against your skin like you're

10 feet beneath

the lake.

you're in your house but

you want to go home.

in a crowded room but

you feel alone.

and nobody knows

what's going on

inside

you curl up and hide

within yourself, because

nothing outside

seems real.

and all you want

is someone to say

hey

I know how you feel.

[rachandroll]

I saw a sad facebook post from the gay bookstore back in Ann Arbor where I used to live about how they hadn’t sold any books that day so I went on their online store and bought a couple, and while you don’t get #deals like elsewhere online, I’d love it if y’all would consider buying your next gay book from them instead of like, Amazon.

[furiessong]

!!!!!!!

[beachdeath]

https://www.facebook.com/Common-Language-Bookstore-42608907253/

[eachnewday-blog]

the monster within

sometimes I am engulfed by myself. I feel like a giant monster, teeth that tear against bare skin like pieces of broken glass, the bad wolf, stuffed inside the little girl - wearing her pretty peach body like a suit. it hurts me to be folded up so tightly in this way, a huge, dark thing squashed inside a music box and fighting to break free. it isn't me, it isn't me. I am lost inside the layers of myself, the tiniest doll with the least amount of detail, running through a maze; the hedges are growing higher and higher, I can feel the thorns scratching at my eyes and the pressure to keep my face from burning. something so small inside something so monstrous, once again caged inside something small. but of these three selves I wonder which one I really am, as the tiny mouse screams and the monster roars, and my outer skin pulls her hood over her face and never leaves the house, the wax of her cheeks baking into a solid expression. I am scared, I am scary, I am unchanging. everything turns upside down, and my shadow grows and grows and tries to drown my soul, feasting on its own reflection. but it is only a time of day, a position in the sun. at night I'll sit upon my bed, look behind me and it's gone.

[september-stardust-deactivated2]

665. Hear Me

And if I speak into different frequencies, will the airwaves pick up my prayers? Will my words find their way into the night and echo through your ashes?

Words: @september-stardust Art: flowsofly (Instagram)

[electricarmchair]

Call It Rain

If you need to

Dress up as a cloud

Call it rain and let go

After the storm

It’s easier

To see the rainbow

[eachnewday-blog]

spring

at the beginning of Spring

the flower buds emerge from beneath

the melting snow, like little jewels -

bulbs of yellow and white,

and the sun comes out and entices them

with its sweet rays to unfurl

their golden pockets of seed

like upturned lampshades on the grass,

and as April whirs its tractor wheels

across the muddy March fields

sunlight gives way to these yellow

splotches on green, young flowers

blossom in the naivety of

the Summer's tease. but April is

the cruellest month, as clouds part

and give way to showers

the young buds are drowned as quick

as they open, trampled by the

raindrops that force them

back into the ground.

the seeds to scatter and buried away

until the Springtime

next year round.

[callitfatecallitkarma]

“To you, I want to start writing a letter about how these days I try to fit you into pictures you’ve never been in, take you to places you haven’t seen, trace you in things you’ve never touched. I want to write how when I look at my hands I see the spaces between my fingers waiting for you like some unfinished jigsaw puzzle. I want to tell you how my house lives without me in it yet I still cast your name out in the sea of the silence of its hallways, half expecting someone to reply. Just like this letter that I’ll never send.”

— Unsent(imental) by aye rah

[eachnewday-blog]

when I am not myself

when I am not myself

I take myself away

draw the curtains over my eyes

to block out the harsh sun

I drink spices straight from the bottles

and pick holes into my own skin

sometimes I sleep all day

only to lie awake the whole night

shining lasers into my own face

in the form of screens

my throat tightens

and stops the words from coming out

to speak about it would burn me

from within

when I am not myself

I am just a shell

emptied out my own soul

and threw it onto the streets

I hold tight onto my bedsheets

the only thing left that feels real

[argumentsfromwithin-deactivated]

Kings and Queens

We are the kings and queens of our universe. For who but ourselves can we trust to rule a kingdom. Who but ourselves can we place our lives to make sure it thrives. A responsibility that we will all realize, is our own. We are the kings and queens of our universe and to be quite honest, it all gets a bit heavy sometimes. I wake up with the pending inevitability that societies collapse, and nothing lasts forever. So in the time that we have we must leave our mark on this world, strive to leave our fingerprints on the very fabric that makes up our kingdoms. The lives of those we love always in flux, always teetering on the edge of disaster, on the brink of broken dreams. How do I save them, how do I save myself. To create a life where the days pain and strife, have meaning. How do I become, how do we move forward. Will I ever be enough?

C.S.

By: ArgumentsFromWithin

[kristensnotebook]

“A poem begins with a lump in the throat.”

— Robert Frost

[september-stardust-deactivated2]

For me it’s a knot in the chest.

[eachnewday-blog]

ink

ink spilled across watercolour paper

soaking, swimming, drifting

in puddles, like blood

on a white shirt, spreading through the cotton

paint splatters across my back

like a tie-dye pin cushion

I have 10 holes in this shirt, from last year

under coloured patches

they don't erase the rags I live in

but they stop the blood from coming through

[prcserpina]

“And the stars sleep in each other’s arms.”

— Forough Farrokhzad, tr. by Paul Weinfield, from “Border Walls,” (via violentwavesofemotion)