keystroke musings

a writing blog

[keystroke-musings]

a stupid girl with stupid dreams too big for my tiny crawlspace in the world rose tinted glasses and fantastic romances relics of an overactive imagination greyscale canvases in delicate pastels  the songs and the princes were painted to smudge

[keystroke-musings]

my heart longs for something  but, of what, i do not know i feel a deep sense of yearning muted, melancholy, hollow

[keystroke-musings]

so take me down to the darkness the looming cypress tree let me down, let me drown till darkness becomes me

[keystroke-musings]

One by one the doors closed, The love filtered, The conditions broke. One by one the journey left me. And just like that, With the softest whimper, I unbecame. 

— unbecoming

[keystroke-musings]

we fell through the cracks of the universe, it seemed, how could two things so broken find such solace in the scars of each other’s pain?

— anomaly

[keystroke-musings]

we were floating and drowning, into the abyss, but it wasn’t the chaos of the void, that terrified me. you reached out and tugged, on the golden threads of fortune. and i felt myself spinning, into nothingness divine. you clasped onto destiny, and flew to the stars, and i slipped down to misery, stones tied to my feet.

— i was just your collateral damage

[keystroke-musings]

drowning in a culture so intent on quelling you, you clung to yourself silently. hailing from a place that no longer called you its own, you felt yourself tearing between worlds. henna stains and oily braids, the aroma of the food your mother made with love. you ripped off your gold hoops and hid them, flattened your hair until it smoked. you looked at the dark flecks of hair  lining your bare brown skin, “why can’t I look like the other girls?” you whispered, desperation singeing your insides. and all around you, ivory princesses danced, with their translucent skin and silky tresses. and all the books and all the stories, taught you that's what real princesses looked like. and you looked in the mirror through tearstained eyes, watching yourself fall in their shadows. they taught you to be ashamed of your very being, and you hopelessly complied. you wanted to belong so much you erased yourself, bit by bit, piece by piece, until a part of you broke off and assimilated, right into their midst. and you break yourself in pieces, time and time again, every place you enter, requires you in different ways. because the whole of you was never enough,  for any part of your world.

[keystroke-musings]

so what happened to the girl who once dreamt of stars? oh, nothing. the ground crept up and devoured her from within. did she die? no, she survived, and then, she thrived. but, how? oh, stubbornly.

— unbroken

[ohboywonder]

the most unrealistic thing about harry potter

is that no teacher ever called him James by accident, or that Ron never was called “Bill-, eh Charl-, no Per-, argh!”

[animateglee-archived]

As a younger sister who knows this struggle all too well: THIS IS REAL. Pretty sure 70% of my past teachers still think I’m called what my sister is called in fact.

Imagine Fred being called Percy by McGonagall accidentally and then he gets so offended that he refers to her by “Professor [insert any other name but McGonagall” for the rest of the year, costing Gryffindor a considerable amount of points one at a time.

From then on, she vows to just call them all Mr Weasley.

Until Ginny comes along and she calls her Mr Weasley by accident and Ginny “accidentally’ calls her Sir and it starts again.

[kyraneko]

It’s lightly off-topic but also slightly relevant but I have long cherished this mental image of Professor Snape saying something snappish to Harry in just the wrong tone of voice and Harry absentmindedly, wearily, and completely accidentally responding with, “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

[tarvek-sturmvoraus]

which would have all kinds of additional ramifications when you remember snape is the only one who knew petunia personally

[keystroke-musings]

For when innocence is broken, and a soul torn to shreds, The huntress inside then rears her vicious head. The cries of the swan become the dragon’s breaths. As the world bows its head to her fiery songs of death.

some lambs aren’t meant for slaughter // a.s.

[jordanmcmakin]

[keystroke-musings]

Every time I find myself looking at the night sky, I still trace the constellations of your face with my eyes. Hoping against hope that one of those twinkly lights, Is you coming home to me.

why did the stars steal you away? // a.s.

[keystroke-musings]

Once upon a time there was a girl, She dreamt of stars, of happiness, of love. The world was a wonder, a shining light of hope, And she set out to make the world her own. But then the lights faded and the wonder jaded, And the truth of the world forever descended. She felt her heart break from the pain of it all, Over and over, bruised with each blow. The stars abated, her happiness a fable, And love was the mask that kept the farce sated. She put on a smile, broken pieces swept inside, The world was now her stage, her pretense a disguise. Because once upon a time there was a girl, And once upon a time, there were no magic songs.

fairytales didn't live in her world // a.s.

[keystroke-musings]

When you sent the wide-eyed doe into the lion's den, Did you foresee her coming out a lioness? When you marched up on a silver platter the tiny lamb, Did you know she would beat you at your own game? Did you know she would rip apart all your plans? Did you think she would turn all your limbs to ash? For when innocence is broken, and a soul torn to shreds, The huntress inside then rears her vicious head. The cries of the swan become the dragon's breaths. As the world bows its head to her fiery songs of death.

some lambs aren’t meant for slaughter // a.s.

[keystroke-musings]

She was born with fire in her veins and stars in her eyes, And she could never settle for anything less than the skies.

Call me Icarus, for I strive to burn.

[keystroke-musings]

If I lose my fight and the demons win, If I perish in the flames of my own anguish. If nothing ever remains of my life and my dreams, Just please know that I was here. I was more than a name, more than a number, More than my failures and more than my blunders. I lived a life and I was more than alive. I felt happiness, and pain and desire. I was a person fighting through my crumbling mind. I struggled through my demons and let my light shine. I suffered in silence and I suffered alone, But I stole my happy moments and put a brave face on. The world may never know the battles that I have fought, The scars that I had and the burns that made me raw. But if there's one thing you give me, then please give me this: Remember me for more than the tragedy of my loss. Tell the world of my stories, of my loves and my hopes. Of the girl who dreamt of stars, when the ground swallowed her whole. Tell them the things that I felt and the cheers that I spread. Tell them of my silent demons that I kept forever veiled. If all else fails and nothing else prevails, Just promise me that you will do this for me: You will remember me as more than my ending note, You will remember me as more than just my tragic swan song. For I lived and I loved, and I had hopes and goals and dreams. And I fought through my plight and thought of grand schemes. But through all my strength and my silent warrior cries, If everything else was robbed from my life, Then please promise me that you will give me this, Promise me that you will honor me in my memory, at least.

The World May Never Know Me, But I Was Here // a.s.

[keystroke-musings]

A prince's love is like a falling star, Beautiful, all encompassing, and fleeting. It showers you in hope, eclipsing the night, Consuming your heart and soul in its stride. It takes all of your love, Leaving only the ghost of your heart. And when you have lost yourself fully, In its beautiful facade. It disappears without a trace, Leaving nothing behind.

it glitters, it’s gold, and it’s the most calamitous curse of them all // a.s.