ACADEMIA

literature | poetry | muse blog | insta:poetryofmuses

[poetryofmuses]

"I wish it were raining right now, so when I cry you'd think the clouds are cheering"

[poetryofmuses]

"I crave a love story so great it is talked about for centuries"

[poetryofmuses]

My biggest fear is not making the most out of this life, of not living to the fullest, of not experiencing all the good things this world has to offer, of not learning everything there is about it.

[poetryofmuses]

Another year will pass and we'll ask ourselves "how did we change this year?" And we'll realize that nobody really changes, we just grow up, our experiences and perspectives broaden, some might become better and some might live with the regret that they didn't let their heart and mind open to new adventures and ideas.

[glkr-xx]

"Come home to me" kind of love

[poetryofmuses]

"you're my home" kind of love

[poetryofmuses]

I realize I have wasted so much love on the wrong people just because I was too young to understand that love came with a price, that it is not eternal, it drains out when it is not reciprocated or respected, that love is fickle and it becomes less each time until it no longer exists.

[poetryofmuses]

The only reason I'm not in prison right now is because I don't let my intrusive thoughts win

[poetryofmuses]

I may seem normal and mentally stable but that's only cz I'm good at pretending and manipulation.

[poetryofmuses]

He taught me how to love, and then stopped loving me.

[poetryofmuses]

December is an illusion. It is meant to be loved but it is easily forgotten. December is sadness corrupted by faux smiles. Holidays are over before we know it. We forget to live in the moment and then blame December for passing too soon. December often feels like a stretch between a new beginning and the life we're used to.

[poetryofmuses]

December is a myth for the poets. They think they'll find love before the year ends, but all that's left in the end are their unsent love letters and half written poems.

[poetryofmuses]

In December, our conversations become longer; everybody acts surprised by how quickly the year came to an end when we all know how. We talk about being better next year, we write resolutions but never fulfil the ones we wrote the previous year. The season turns extreme, leaves don't fall anymore, they die on their branches. Some people await the holidays while some fear how different or similar their life will be next year (they always fear the latter) In December we realize that life is fickle and death might come uninvited.

[poetryofmuses]

Even the heavens know that I would choose to be with you in hell.

[poetryofmuses]

Just because I pluck a few flowers and put them in my hair doesn't mean I don't love them, I just think they look better in my hair.

[poetryofmuses]

I wish romanticising life was easy, I wish I could wake up every morning with a smile on my face ready to start my day, I wish going to school and studying was aesthetically pleasing, I wish stomach and back problems were actually a hot girl thing, I wish being single was actually good for character development and glow ups, I wish life was like a fiction novel.

[poetryofmuses]

I want to be someone's muse, the object of someone's desires. I want to be something somebody thinks about all day. I want to be painted on a canvas by a painter, to be written in words by a poet. I want to be the inspiration for somebody's art.

[poetryofmuses]

I'd happily cook and clean than do a 9-5 everyday, but to each their own I guess?