todays bird
AnasAbdin
hello vonnie
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KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Stranger Things
styofa doing anything
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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Misplaced Lens Cap
d e v o n
Jules of Nature
wallacepolsom
DEAR READER
Game of Thrones Daily
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@musingsofmi
Who am I
when I’m all alone?
Is the voice in my head mine?
Or does it come from above?
I don’t remember agreeing to listen.
Seer or crazy?
If I’m crazy
why am I so often
right about things I wish I wasn’t?
Are the scenes that play in my dreams
my creations?
Or warnings of what’s to come?
No off switch
No relief
Only the weight of knowing
before it happens
I’ve never believed in religion
and magic is a form of that.
Isn’t it?
Clairvoyance
Precognition
Divination
Bestowed as a blessing
But oftentimes I feel cursed
Like touching life
through broken glass
I want to give up
But faith keeps finding me
even when I don’t reach for it
A knower, always knowing
A seer always seeing
A feeler
Always feeling
simultaneously devoid of emotion
I don’t know if I’m numb or broken
Maybe both.
I guess that’s what survives
When you feel too much
For too long
Fuck.
I don’t know.
Maybe the point of life
is to be lost
I never know how to respond when someone compliments my strength. Resilience is not something I chose. It’s not this admirable trait I desperately desired to possess.
Should I say thank you?
Would it be too awkward if I admitted that this body of armor encases a little girl who is scared more often than not? Would alarm bells ring if I said each silver plate was forged by the fires of trauma, I never asked to walk through? Some too terrible to ever utter aloud?
I never desired to be strong.
I’m a woman that uses music to drown out her thoughts. One who cries on the shower floor because it’s the only place her tears will wash away without a trace. I’ve spent countless nights begging.
For guidance. For faith. For peace.
Praying to someone or something I’m not even sure exists.
Maybe the midnight pleas departing from my trembling lips simply drift into the cosmos. They say there’s no sound in space. No ears to hear my cries. No angels up above granting my wishes and sending back miracles.
So I’m not quite sure who this strength people see in me belongs to, because it certainly isn’t mine.
Perhaps there is a divine source watching over me. Winding the key in my back, just enough, ensuring I stay upright a little while longer. I can’t exactly explain how I keep moving forward day after day.
Maybe it’s spite. I’ve always been stubborn.
It feels like I’m holding on, hoping I see the day the sun finally emerges from behind the clouds to warm my skin. For a time when life finally feels worth living.
A timeline where I’m not so alone. Not so afraid.
I’m not strong. I’m just a broken woman trying to figure out how to make this one life of mine worth living.
Echoes in the Cosmos
No one talk about the pain of release.
Silent funerals we hold in our chests.
The cruel way life builds graveyards that lie behind our ribs.
I've laid thousands to rest,
people. places. concepts.
It starts as a deep knowing.
One you try to smother beneath routines and small comforts.
Hanging on with vice grips, crafting excuses, making accommodations.
Then comes the bargaining.
Just a few more days. Just one more chance.
As if Father Time has ever been known to stop or negotiate.
Endings spread like cancer, eating away at you from the inside out.
Gnawing through the places you thought were strong.
You try to ignore the symptoms:
fatigue, heartaches, quiet rot.
The unavoidable feeling that perhaps happiness exists elsewhere.
Until at last, the mind gives in, the body collapses.
Denial is a child's game.
You stash skeletons in closets, drape them in old sweaters.
With fingers in your ears, you pretend the nighttime knocking isn't growing louder.
Hands over your eyes, you ignore the monsters under the bed.
But all secrets have a timer.
Every ending knows its way home.
Like a game of hide and seek, no matter how clever the spot,
The door swings open.
You're it this round.
It's time you learn; surrender is its own resurrection.
Like armor, you hide beneath an exoskeleton of deceit
My body is draped in silk and shimmer. My reflection looks like a prayer.
How do I explain the agony of
grieving someone who hasn’t left earthside?
A mere 40 miles away,
Breath still fills their lungs.
No Heaven or Hell are keeping us apart.
The distance isn’t between realms;
Nor measured in miles.
It’s measured in years of silence,
In instances of violence.
A frequency traveling via telephone wires
Is all it would take for us to reunite.
But allowing them to live
Would be sentencing myself to death.
I’ve felt my heart snap like dry branches
Caught in the whipping winds of winter.
Grieved my own demise hundreds of times.
Though I’ve never truly known the afterlife,
Just the endless dying.
To become whole, I had to be alone.
A life of solitude, my armor.
A self-appointed black sheep.
Born into a family that devours its own.
Idk what to call this.
I would've written to you sooner, but I couldn't find a pen heavy enough for what I felt
I have died a thousand deaths.
Risen from the ashes of past selves
The cremated remains
Now fertilize the roots
Of who I’m becoming.
I am the temple.
Embedded within my walls
Are the bones of people
I used to be.
Each stone mortared
With memories and mercy.
My body is a sanctuary.
My breath is an offering.
Every curve, a hymn.
Every joint, an altar.
Every scar, a stained glass window.
I am a flame.
Burning bright with desire.
Effervescent.
Dancing.
Reaching out,
Daring you to touch.
I am the moth.
Fluttering around a flame.
My wings singed
Marked with lessons learned.
Enticed again and again,
Mesmerized by its danger
And its beauty.
I am the temple.
I am the moth.
I am the flame.
The altar,
The worshipper,
And the offering.
My life is a ritual of holy imperfection.
I am the sacred art of coming home
To a self I don’t yearn to escape.
The thought of dying used to make my chest hurt but now it’s just a fact of life and not even in a suicidal ideation way. I’ve faced my shadow and tasted happiness and I know that I’ll be at peace when it’s my time to go.
I’ll be down in five.
I’m wearing four past lives,
And I smell of honey and vanilla.
Petals and warnings adorn my locs.
Whispers cling to my skin
Like silk too shy to fall
Every step toward you
is a prayer I shan’t dare say aloud.
The night knows too much already.
You asked for me to be sweet.
You didn’t say anything about safe.
I walk soft,
but I carry storms.
I arrive like an omen in heels.
There’s a language in my eyes
You remember from dreams.
You say you don’t believe in magic
But you keep opening the door.
Caution ⚠️ may cause vivid dreaming and insatiable desire
You looked at me like a prayer you didn’t know how to say and I forgave you anyway.
from a poem I’ll never finish
A Poem A Day.
Day 2. Prompt: Before I’m gone, tell them
Before I’m gone tell them
I drifted from lover to lover
pouring so much of myself
there was no love left for me when I reached for it.
Tell them I carried secrets.
My soul, a vault
that held the tales of strangers
Because it felt safe enough to bleed.
Tell them I left behind
a trail of broken hearts and bruised egos.
Everyone adores the spiritual girl,
until she becomes a mirror
and they can’t escape their shadows.
Tell them my laugh
sounded like wind chimes on a summer day
and tradition never piqued my interest
like freedom did.
Tell them that I was a party girl.
Chasing tears with tequila.
Releasing pain with each whine of my hips.
Dancing like my body
was writing it’s own gospel.
Before I’m gone
tell them I was an ordinary girl
with a heart full of dreams.
And tell them
I never feared death
the way I feared living.
A poem a day. Day 2
Prompt: tell me you’re not okay without saying I’m not okay.
All the oxygen in the room
Suddenly turns into water.
And I wonder
If I have what it takes to grow gills.
I inhale deeply.
Praying for a miracle.
Relief floods my body,
As my lungs expand.
Exhale,
I watch intently.
Bubbles bloom from my lips
And ascend to the surface.
It seems
I’ve already drowned.