FrancesGrayWilde

The weight of a soul, the evanescence of a body,the sweetness of sarcasm. Changing the order of adjectives what you get is always me.

[frangwilde]

(I used to be) Frida Khalo (was my writing)

That monumental loneliness.

Almost an evil god

who claimed my sacrifice.

And me….

rebellious worshiper

chained to his altar.

A forced stillness.

My lips sewed by ignorance.

I searched for myself

in society’s totems,

in common behaviors.

Nothing mirrored me,

nothing resembled me.

My imagination became my reflection

bursting in a need to exorcise my pain.

At first they were slurred words

coming out in bites and vomit,

growling self-portraits, painted in distortion.

My writing described my sorrow, not myself.

Then softly brewing or quickly sprouting,

my verses started speaking about me.

I was my writing, my writing was me,

whatever it may mean.

[frangwilde]

Would you hang or would you sink? Flutter like butterfly or moth? Freeze over or return to ash?

I'd hang. I'm not a butterfly but I aim at being a butterfly. I think that returning to ash is the most natural thing.

[pawkimishra-deactivated20260116]

stellar glow, tell me tales of distant shores

of dreams you've held and heart that soar

[mikefrawley]

Flying On The Wings Of Poetry

Flying on the wings of poetry could you dare would you care to share this literary trip with me let’s sail away to a distant shore on the wispy winds of metaphor diving deep beneath the alliterative storm our words shall keep our spirits warm to the stars and beyond untethered and free such magic we’ll write what wonders we’ll see flying on the wings of poetry

[frangwilde]

A pinch of salt

and a pinch of magic

I'm not the princess in the tower

waiting for Prince charming

to rescue me.

You're not my mirror on the wall

I know I'm not

The most beautiful of all

I'm not a fairy

And you're not a wizard

We can't make all our wishes

Come true.

But there are more things

Behind my words

Of sandpaper

And underneath my armor

Than your mind

Can fathom

A pinch of sense

And a pinch of sensibility

There's a silence between us

Crammed with doubts

And with unspoken emotions.

I explain but I don't say.

I refrain

But I don't hide.

Too deep and too far

I should go.

A pinch of strength

And a pinch of surrender

I do protect

My heart of butter

Only music can pierce

All the layers

Of unwillingness

And reach my core

Only music can tear

My soul apart

And then drop all

The tiny pieces

In a blissful rain

Of frolicsome confetti

That rapturous sensation

Of destruction and rebirth

A pinch of bitterness

and a pinch of sweetness

I don't love wandering in nostalgia

But once music has unlocked the doors

memories creep in.

Often my mind goes back

To those Summer nights of my childhood

When stars and fireflies competed

To make the night

A magical sinphony of lights.

Once my brother caught some fireflies

And put them in a jar

In the darkness of the woodshed

I looked at that weird lamp

With that spontaneous, joyful,

unspoilt wonder

which only kids can feel

before life turns wonder

into ordinary routine

A pinch of foolishness

And a pinch weakness

In spite of my disillusionment

Beyond the hurdles

Of my tarnished hope

I often look at you

with the same emotions

like fireflies in a jar

like a blissful rain of frolicsome confetti.

[rosemariejean]

the purple hue of the dirt

in the quietest part of town

with the lillies softly dancing

in the streaming ends of daylight

the water moves so quickly

this is where a girl lost her life

her name is on a brand new bench

the best view of the river

the concrete looks nearly wet

with the tears of a single father

we like to forget the dark parts

when the missing headlines are solved

the search party scatters

then the people move on

but a girl lost her life here

and all she gets is a bench

kayakers won't even notice it

this trail is halfway hidden

i would've missed her name

if i didn't need to sit

[the-silent-troubadour]

i'm good in the light with all the lights on filling up all the spaces i become invisible in that white room sitting with eyes closed so you can’t see inside an i’m good until the dark hours come for it finds me opening up my eyes and all these people these people come round tryin to look tryin to peer inside…:

[emy-is-not-here]

" I crave you in the most innocent form. I crave to say good night and give you forehead kisses and to say that I adore you when you feel at your worst. I crave you in ways where I just want to be next to you and nothing more or less."

[frangwilde]

I miss dawns

I miss the lightness

of my winged imagination.

I miss breathing

without apologizing.

I miss the smiles

that spontaneously bloomed

on my tired lips.

I miss opening my arms

to embrace the world.

I miss the time

I laughed for nothing.

I miss waking up

to good vibes

of warm coffe

and unbridled affection.

I miss music and harmony.

I miss fidgeting

while searching proper words

for a new piece.

I miss the peaceful calmness

of satisfaction.

I miss life.

[frangwilde]

View this post on Instagram

Me in the morning before starting another day off. https://www.instagram.com/p/CeMlg4tqifA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[frangwilde]

Hug me, Dad.

Are you here with me? And tomorrow...Will we be still together? I know you love me, Dad and I need your hugs more than ever now that the flashes of the cannon shots break the dark of our nights. They are brighter than the stars, but there's nothing beautiful in that light. 

What's an enemy, Dad? What did I do to them? Do I deserve their hate? I don't know, I can only see people holding each other in a desperate embrace and mourning for an empty space that someone left for never coming back. 

I trust you, Dad. You tell me that I have to pray because God loves children and listens to their prayers. But, Dad... It seems to me that God's voice has the sound of the blasts and that sound makes me tremble for fear. I'm here, Dad. I'm still here. Don't worry. Do you remember the other day? Bombs were coming down like confetti from the sky. At the bomb shelter nobody could say a word. We were all waiting for the end of the bombing or, maybe, just the end. A soldier of our army was looking at us in sadness while shaking his head. Maybe he knows what an enemy is and why they hate us, but in that moment he couldn't find a reason for our suffering. He kept on shaking his head and staring at the ground. Suddenly he raised his head and looked at us again, then he took a harmonica out of his pocket. I think he felt very uncomfortable. As he started blowing into that harmonica, it seemed he hadn't enough breath. But he went on playing that old song... That one we used to sing when we were happy and wanted to share our joy.

A shy sound came out of that harmonica, not a happy sound at all. But the oldest man in the shelter started clapping hands at the beat of the song, so the soldier played louder. Soon all the adults were clapping hands and made children dance and I danced too. While dancing I was looking for you, Dad. And I saw you. You were smiling and crying at the same time, smiling and crying. I want to hug you, Dad and wipe away your tears. Now and tomorrow and all the days that it's given us to live. 

[frangwilde]

It happens

more often than you can think,

moments like this

without dreams or disenchantment

of pure craving for you being close to me,

of honey dripping on your lips

of silent proposals

and a soft surrender

without questions or answers

without restraint or fear.

I've walked alone too long

filling up voids

with the stories I imagined.

In between the brightest white

and the deepest black

I silenced my words

in dull, gray dawns

of tar and concrete.

Surrounded by a chilling flatness

that can kill music breaking its notes,

your light too hurt me.

Thus I wrapped you with the night

just to stop grieving.

I wanted to keep on walking alone

staring at my shoes,

I found myself instead

wandering among the stars.

There's no wonder

that there are moments like this then

of extreme acrobatics

and short, dense breaths,

when the multicolored sinphony of senses

makes the grayness melt.

Whether you're light or night,

in the magic of closed eyes

and open lips,

you're always the only one

who can make me wander

among the stars.

[frangwilde]

It happens

more often than you can think,

moments like this

without dreams or disenchantment

of pure craving for you being close to me,

of honey dripping on your lips

of silent proposals

and a soft surrender

without questions or answers

without restraint or fear.

I've walked alone too long

filling up voids

with the stories I imagined.

In between the brightest white

and the deepest black

I silenced my words

in dull, gray dawns

of tar and concrete.

Surrounded by a chilling flatness

that can kill music breaking its notes,

your light too hurt me.

Thus I wrapped you with the night

just to stop grieving.

I wanted to keep on walking alone

staring at my shoes,

I found myself instead

wandering among the stars.

There's no wonder

that there are moments like this then

of extreme acrobatics

and short, dense breaths,

when the multicolored sinphony of senses

makes the grayness melt.

Whether you're light or night,

in the magic of closed eyes

and open lips,

you're always the only one

who can make me wander

among the stars.

[frangwilde]

View this post on Instagram

Reposted from @ajplus This Syrian band used their music video to show what it's like to live with constant power cuts.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ The band, Safar, shot the entire video for their song "Ya Weel Weely" using no electricity at all. Instead, they used battery-operated lights. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ "The electricity situation is so bad we had to rely entirely on batteries to shoot our video. [...] Some days the electricity would barely come on for an hour," said band co-founder Shadi Safadi.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ #Syria #Syrian #SyrianBand #SyrianMusic #Music #Musician #MusicVideo #Art #PowerCut #Electricity #Safar #YaWeelWeely https://www.instagram.com/p/CTDacG_KTMw/?utm_medium=tumblr

[frangwilde]

View this post on Instagram

Love this one. https://www.instagram.com/p/CTDUxBcDvDu/?utm_medium=tumblr

[frangwilde]

And now that all my words

got dispersed

in a sea of nothingness,

I haven't got a word

more to add.

But the last chapter

hasn't been written yet.

I've got so many blank pages

in front of me,

but absolutely no craving for

filling them with other

helpless, pointless words.

The end is already known.

The the sea of nothingness

is still waiting there.

[frangwilde]

I wish you'd look into my eyes. Eyes are the mirror of the soul and they would make you comprehend how much I love you, how undescribable is the feeling which ties me to you. But what would you see? Maybe only the reflection of your doubts, maybe only the shades of my sadness. You'd stay there on the edge of my soul without seeing a thing beyond eyelids, eyelashes and pupils. You'd be waiting for another "I love you" again, you already know it. But you desdain the depth of my love, preferring the superficiality of appearances.