S I D R A H

lol idk i write shit • crying midnight caffeine tears bitch • been followin back since i was a fetus • HARAMBE IS BACK :)))

[nytepoet]

we don't have demons---just the haunting ghosts of other peoples criticism.

[nytepoet]

you are too in love to think proper, and much too vain to know less, and glance too much in the mirror, for you are in love with yourself.

Nytepoetess//Sydrah

[nytepoet]

where we hit the wrong spot in love is when we expect others to love us the way we need to be loving ourselves

[nytepoet]

you said i was the worlds oldest rose,  fascinating how i was still lush red.  the scientist in you could never know that it was magic in me that bled. you said: "no, no, no, there must be an answer-- a reasoning behind your physique.  as i shivered my petals i told him,  "you shall get no answers you seek" for there is no reasoning in magic,  no immortality in the scientific field. and no answer for love but liquids in our bodies that make us feel.

nytepoetess // sydrah 

[nytepoet]

i lose a part of myself in the war with my existence everyday i prove a part of myself that could never be proven until today

nytepoet

[nytepoet]

what is the beauty of sleep if my soul just cant fall what is another alternative to feel nothing at all

nytepoet // sydrah

[nytepoet]

to hear a heartbeat while you spoke with another would take us to softer,  understandable beginnings.

nytepoet

[nytepoet]

behold now: the storytellers--- from their tongues---spill myths. beware, their cogent smiles, for truly they're the devil's wordsmiths. behold: an enchantress whose beauty will damn you blind. beware, for she will be no more than the fall of mankind.

nytepoetess

[scareletcat1]

Hasn’t society told you yet? Grief is such a fragile bird. It has clipped wings and blind eyes. And it hurts anyone and everyone. You can be rich, powerful, wealthy and poor. You can be lost and you can be found. Grief will hold you down. It’s intolerable as it demands more and more. As it consumes and breaks down on you. It’s loud and in the darkest of nights, silent. It is simply Grief. Enriching societies lack of care and understanding. Now you know, right?

-Society waits for no one//farawaye.e (via scareletcat1)

bbbbbbeaaaauuuutttiiiful </3

[nytepoet]

Superficial people attain superficial happiness. Such a happiness is not so easily disassembled, though. You have to look....stare...take apart every piece on it's own. It's that one dim glimmer in a sea of delightful eyes. It's that bare second twitch in a movie-star smile. It's the sound of laughter that comes out plastic. It's the hands that clasp together a little too tight in 'delight'. Superficial happiness, you see, is easier to detect than superficial people.

nytepoet 

[nytepoet]

People tell me I'm a mess. My rooms a mess. My desks a mess. My lockers a mess. My drawers are a mess. My notebooks are a mess. My hair is a mess. My actions are a mess. My mistakes are a mess. My success is a mess. My failure is a mess. Sometimes I am saddened, but then I look at who I am. I am a writer...a poet, and if us damn writers and poets weren't a mess, then we wouldn't be here to help the earth bleed at all.

[nytepoet]

Her skin smells like roses...but not just any roses; like the roses your eyes drink in the second you walk into a flower shop---those vivid, luscious red ones at the corner of the shop that cry to you louder than the low jingle of the opening door behind you. Her skin is soft---like the petals of jasmine's...and not just any jasmines; the jasmines in your backyard...the cream white ones that when touched...take you right to heaven. When you curl into her on your darkest nights, when the rain billows hard against the window and the yellows and reds of passerby cars cascades onto the glass...when your heart has been broken or your dignity has been hurt: she's there. She holds you...wraps her warm shawl around you...she brings you warm coco, she pokes you, makes you laugh. She smooths her soft hands across your hair, tells you that you always have her, even when her luscious hair turns wispy gray. Her jasmine hands have callouses on them...from working day and night to keep you going---for a better chance at your life, but they are still softer than jasmine. Her skin has turned a little wrinkly from all the worrying and the bills...but she is still the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. She is your mother, and there is no like her...nor will there ever be.

S I D R A H

[nytepoet]

to the hymn  to the music you and i,  we dance.  limb to limb  as we loose it,  intertwine and hence,  as the music billows closer we grow further apart in the glowing sparkling lights all we see is the dark. you and i,  we weren't meant to ever  truly stay together lie on lie- we were sent for merely  changes in the weather

S I D R A H

[nytepoet]

They say that the universe is expanding. Always. Forever. I will be expanding. And in this expansion, worlds are created. Worlds like mine...words like yours. There are dimensions, you see. Dimensions of me, dimensions of you. Dimensions where you and I could last. Dimensions where we barely know each other. Those dimensions, honey---those are beautiful. This dimension? I don't fathom to think so. For you see---we knew each other. We do know each other. We lasted---we last---but it's a toxic array worse than uranium in the sky of space. It's burns harder than the radioactive rays of the sun. It's darker than the void of space...filled with unanswered questions...countless ones like the countless stars in the universe. People wish to last in their loves. But lasting is nothing. To last without love is a high possibility-and honey, it is worse than not lasting at all but still sharing love. I wish it could be that way with you and I: to not last as we do now but still have love as now we don't. Why are we still entangled in sheets, then? Why do you still let your lips curls up when people watch? Why do you trace your cold fingertips up the veins of my wrists too many mornings? Why do you bother to take me to the movies? Why do you splay me with roses? The sheets aren't silk anymore. The smile isn't starlight. The fingertip touch doesn't cause me shudders. The movies aren't classic anymore. The roses have long gone been dead. This isn't love, that much is clear. Then why doesn't the name of you and I together cease to exist?

nytepoet // sydrah 

[nytepoet]

she asked me what i was- and i said: nothing... to which she replied: honey, you must be something? i looked her in the eye,  let the corners of my lips fall,  and i said: honey, like i said--i am nothing at all.

what the fuck am i doing tho like seriously // nytepoet -- sydrah 

[nytepoet]

You taught me,  How to hold myself- In order for me to learn, How to hold someone else.

nytepoet // sydrah 

[nytepoet]

monday night and the house in silent but in his dreams the sight is violent he stirs in bed blood flashing in his eyes of the people he’d lost of the battle cries then he felt like he couldn’t breathe like suffocation pulled him underneath the gunshots screamed inside of his mind And the aircraft's hovered like devils in the sky he woke up gasping, clutching the sheets... felt her hand on his shoulder and then he could breathe she whispered soft words inside of his ears and for the horrors he’d known she cried his tears the night hours ticked by fingers intertwined she knew and hoped ...that they’d be fine

a soldier’s lover -- nytepoet // sydrah