one day my hands will hold the flowers of my mind’s garden
Not today Justin

titsay
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Three Goblin Art

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

blake kathryn
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

JBB: An Artblog!

izzy's playlists!

Kaledo Art
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Misplaced Lens Cap
Sade Olutola
sheepfilms

Origami Around
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Show & Tell

PR's Tumblrdome

seen from Malaysia
seen from France

seen from Malaysia

seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from T1

seen from Belarus

seen from Venezuela

seen from Singapore
seen from Germany

seen from Bosnia & Herzegovina
seen from Argentina

seen from United States
seen from Belgium

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
@goldenliessilvermoons
one day my hands will hold the flowers of my mind’s garden
one day my hands
will hold the flowers
of my mind’s garden
s.h.
like a camel you
carry water through
every desert
but what do you do
when the shadow becomes more beautiful
than the actual thing
what do you do when
the pain becomes more beautiful
than peace
but can shadow and dust
ever hold hands
can they ever know each other
without the blinding light
of self awareness
light never deserts
the one who never
abandons the vision
dust gathers
in pools of light
and then spills into valleys
of darkness
-history of you and me and every body
but the map of your whole life
was drawn on that bedroom floor
empty souls, full bodies
empty bodies, full souls
the seasons change but are never completely full
[there is always an emptiness lingering, waiting to swallow something, anything that doesn’t move]
pain is so ugly
because it never lets go
of its memories
-s.h.
sunlight
reminds dust
of its beauty
[s.h. goldenlies]
[do you see/this sea in me/that erupts every time i am reminded/of the way I used to be/before I learned i wasn’t free to be the way i wanted to be in my dreams]
capitalism taught us
to save our money
for rainy days
but how many people have got
jars of
books and peace and god
to save them
when all that money’s gone
-s.h.
there is nothing wrong with this heart
except that it has a fever
it sets fire to its own blood
but its flesh is ice cold
my patience is thinning and
so is my blood
if i could hold my heart in my
bare hands
i’d squeeze it to a pulp
until its fire eats away at its ice and
none of it remains
i’d hold it gentle
like a baby that cries and laughs and can’t decide whether to be
miserable or happy
i’d stuff it full of
seeds
and pray for fruit to grow
i’d give it wings
and free it from battling to keep
my body afloat
-my heart is sick [of me]
-s.h. [goldenlies]