Origami Around
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JBB: An Artblog!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@moonlight-inkwell
Our body will remember experiences that we will not.
Your inner monologue is made up of voices and scars with origins mysterious to you.
You did not choose to be so hard on yourself, but you can choose, now, to be gentle and understanding.
Be kind when you speak to yourself, especially in times of self-discipline. If anyone deserves your compassion, it's you.
Most people I speak to have a profound sense of loneliness in their heart, even amongst friends and family. They never say it outright, but if you listen closely they're telling you. It's in their speech patterns, their word choices, and their desire to be heard, felt, and understood.
It's very modern to say that you should learn to sit with that solitude, and that you should be grateful for your own presence. You should, indeed, love yourself in solitude, and be secure in that state, but that doesn't require a person to abandon their own longing. It's a sign you belong somewhere. It's a sign you have more progress to make. If you're in this state, as I have been so many times before, and as I know so many people are now, it's probably because you're weird and no one likes you. Get some friends, loser.
That's great fun, but seriously, if you're reading this, you're closer than you think. Don't give up on people, and don't give up on yourself. There is more for you to see. We're all pretty weird, traveler, and we're all weird together. 🖤
I forgive you. I forgive you for everything in the past, and everything you thought you had to do. I forgive the things I know about, and I forgive the things I don't. I forgive you for hiding things you should have told me, and I forgive you for hurting me with the things you should have never said. I forgive you for all the things I wanted you to be and that you never were. I forgive you for all the things you were that I never wanted you to be.
I forgive you for taking pieces of me away with you, and I'm glad you have them. Please keep them close. I forgive you for letting me forget who I was, because I finally learned to love myself when I got him back, and I love him more than ever before. I forgive you for breaking my heart, because I broke yours, and I learned so much from it.
I forgive you for all the things I wish you would acknowledge that you never will, and I forgive you for the things you had the courage to recognize.
I'm sorry I let you down. You meant the world and everything in it to me.
You are forgiven, and I release you with love.
From Autumn to Ashes
Shards of glass, and scattered Ashes
Left beside a book of matches
Frozen seas, and dried up lakes
In eyes that crash like tidal waves.
Cracking smiles, and stolen breath
A whisper made my heart arrest
Violent shards of crimson truth
All my faith is lost in you
A little bit of fire practice. - just going through a few moves.
I wonder if the moon ever doubts her beauty with all those cracks and craters left behind.
She knows what the stars are made of, but she doesn’t know she outshines every one of them. Does she know shes the only thing that illuminates the dark side of the earth when he really needs it most?
I wonder if the moon knows how important she is, or how strongly she pulls; does she know she makes the oceans move?
Does she wish she was closer? I wonder if she resents her own inertia, that it keeps gravity from letting the Earth get too near, even though they dance together well.
Does she miss the astronauts the Earth sent her? The ones that left their footprints in her dust. I hope she counts those footprints at night, rather than the unforgiving impacts the cosmos tried to shatter her with.
I hope she knows she doesn’t need to love herself to dance with the Earth.
He thinks he orbits her - he pulls her in, and hides her from the sun
to keep her from falling into it.
I hope she knows shes perfect - cracks, craters, and all.
Famous
Such ravenous souls
would stand out with their crowns
or with their fires
and their thunderous sounds
but grow old and grow tired
and your fate comes around:
replaced and retired
from the eyes of the crowd
Borderline
They crashed, at last, the scores will tie;
Well past the doors of silken lies.
From trash to chords with silver lines.
She’d finally see what happens on forgotten shores.
Abandoned ships, the ghostly kind,
"but in fact," she's told, "were still in time
for sweetest notes, for rose and wine." -
We can’t or simply haven’t, of that she can be sure.
Lonely nights with cheeks so teary,
another night, she weeps so weary
"A struggled life" she keeps on hearing.
A painful fright: she’d rather sit and cry her nevermore.
She stands on shattered hour glass.
These sands of time would barley last.
The beach has dried - a weary past.
She has to sit and cry her nevermore
For every charm may weep like bells,
sound red alarms or scream like hell.
“He gave his heart and gave it well...”
-he can’t or simply hasn’t- of that she can be sure.
The bells will sing and scream and cry,
promise anything you can see with eyes,
but take care to not believe these lies;
for the night, you'd rather sit and cry your nevermore.
The blood is dry, and blown away.
The sands, in sky, have choked the day.
We danced, we cried, forever prayed:
We’d wait and see what happens on forgotten shores
The sickness gone, but will it last?
Like creeping dawn, or wilted mask...
Such Illicit wrongs with vicious grasp.
For the night, just sit and cry your nevermore
I pledge allegiance to the Earth and to all the life that inhabits it. One system, our responsibility may there be liberty and justice for all.
What we should be teaching children to say.
Abandoned Halls
The screams of the innocent ran out in anguished calls echoed off the side walk, broken concrete, and unpainted walls the sun will rise and not notice, neither will the moon as it falls the wind will cry for eternity: forgotten whispers in abandoned halls He can feel the blades of indifference, can feel the shade as it crawls it's not what makes him grow distant, It just rakes with its claws the devil acts without interest, without mercy, or cause so she'll never ask him his business, he'll never hear the applause Though it tore through his veins, and it turned his heart black if the poison didn't taste good, he would've stopped coming back So, the walls crumble and rot without a witness or guest it's not for the distance, but for the pain in his chest It doesn't hurt much. Ignore the aches and the moans he’s used to the touch, it merely scrapes at his bones What a waist of a rose, but they all burn to ash better to break than to close? Well, if she keeps coming back “The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved” - Mother Teresa
Paintings (Oct 28th, 2016)
Relationships are a lot like a painting: beautiful or ugly, small or big -they all need a frame; eventually, they need to be hung up, and admired for what they represent. Many artists ruin a good piece of work by adding too much to the canvas; likewise, a relationship sometimes needs to just be framed and admired.
Much of our pain at the end of these things comes from wishing we had more, and resenting all the lines we were not able to put on canvas, or at least the ones that came out crooked. It's often best, however, to sign and date your masterpiece before it becomes unrecognizable, and incapable of being admired - Good or bad.
We spend our lives painting with people, and we either frame the last one with our lovers death, or we die painting, but they all end up on the wall eventually. <3
I drew a flower
This is a thing I doodled at work.
Sky Glitter
The sky has diamonds in deepest trenches. The sparkles gleam the sheen seems endless. Twinkling things that hang on seas of restless clouds and tingling senses. Gently caressing lenses billions of light years apart. From cosmos end, to cosmos end if you take such things to heart Small glowing holes of frequency and fusion, ripple and make tides in the space-time illusion. Gravity and glitter waltz in the void. Billions of eyes glimmer as they inherit the phantoms of the long since destroyed. Shining lights randomly placed in our eyes. They're diamonds that frame the moon in the sky.
White lies of fire frozen like ice. They shimmer in silence waiting to die.
American History Books
The ghosts in our thoughts are echoes with faces
but the most we were taught was we fought war for salvation
That's the rope and the knot that destroyed our vibrations
Vague whisper or not, it’s marked on our pages.
There's blood on the rocks... spilled by split binding
Its their ghosts in our thoughts, and our echoes in writing
The inks, of course, cherry, and the scarlet wells rising
with every soul lost; our nations youth dying.
On the back of a cross
Flag USA
Flying.
A Song For The Hopeless
A song for the hopeless, in it's dearest form delivered by a demon in a crown of thorns The rhythm guides heart-beats, and gives life to the scorned The melody raptures with a thunderous roar The city was captured, she just opened the door The walls tumbling after the first soul hit the floor None escaped any faster, one could scarcely ignore the pretty sounds that had fractured the city walls to their core - Salem Snow, 2016 “When love is not madness, it is not love." ~Pedro Calderon de la Barca