An Anthology of My Writings

This page is devoted to all my random writings of prose and poetry. If you're interested in book reviews visit my other blog: http://mymindrebelsatstagnation28.tumblr.com/ Also check out my other two blogs: http://holmesiscrafty.tumblr.com/ http://sherlockwherearemyclothes.tumblr.com/

[stronginbrokenplaces]

Ugly Guy: I'm God's gift to women!

Me: What...like a white elephant gift?

[stronginbrokenplaces]

i sigh

and i hear

the whole world

exhale with me

the weight

of my life

pushes all

the air from

my lungs

blinking back

the pain

eyes burn

as i look

at others

just to

know

that i'm not

suffering alone

the whole

world

groans with

each turn

with every dawn

i question

my existence

i sigh

and i hear

the whole

world

exhale with me

[stronginbrokenplaces]

The fog is comforting Letting me know That the world is as hazy As my brain. 3:50 in the morning And sleep has been elusive. I gave up an hour ago Accepted that tomorrow Will be hell, But then again Isn't that what tomorrow always is lately? It's a shame how lovely the weather is now Soon to be chased away By the blaze of the sun. The weather we've been wanting is here But we sleep through it. All night the moon Has drifted farther And farther away. It'll be morning soon. My family will be surprised at My early rising. They never did understand My insomnia. I guess they're past the age Where every thought refuses To let go. Refuses to let you breathe. I have so much to worry about And while I shouldn't I still do. I'm lost And for some reason I believe the answers are to be found at 5am. They're not. All that is found is a distant moon, fog, and four walls that are sick Of me.

[thebeginningwriter]

Tell your stories (via Pinterest)

[stronginbrokenplaces]

            I feel so trapped, and it’s the worst kind of trapped.  The kind where as I look towards the future I just see a row of the cages I will be put into at different stages of my life.  Right now I’m currently barred within college and minimum wage.  I’ve been stuck here for years.  At the beginning of my internment I was hopeful; looking towards the end and finally being free.  Now, being close to the end I’ve discovered that freedom was never an option.  I’ll be trapped in work, family, a deteriorating body, and then death.  Death is the ultimate freedom.  I shouldn’t think this way, but every time I try to correct my view I still come back to Death.  Morbid I know.  Everyone always says to live for the little things in life.  Everyone just tries to ignore the bars.  If they bump into one they simply change directions, and they keep doing so until they’ve worn paths in their cells from all their constant circling within their encasement.  Instead I stare out the bars angrily wondering why I can’t just get out.  The bars are scratched and dinged from my constant clawing and banging at them.  I’m terrified of this enduring imprisonment.  Yet a small part of my brain wonders if maybe, just maybe, I’m not trapped.  Maybe I’ve created these bars.

[stronginbrokenplaces]

When I try to express these feelings no one ever really tries to comfort me. They give me words. Words…saying that one day it’ll be better. That these feelings will pass. That things aren’t as bad as they seem. These words do nothing. They fall flat on my ears never to be picked up again. I don’t want these words. I want someone to just hold me while I cry. I want them to listen and try to see things from my point of view. I want to them to see that from behind my eyes all I see is myself trapped alone in a dark corner. Unable to escape the suffocating stench of feeling like a failure and that I’ll never be good enough.

-Old Journal Entry

[donnydonowitz]

[stronginbrokenplaces]

When planning story: This is great! I can go far with this.

When writing story: No I can't.

[stronginbrokenplaces]

the dull buzzing,

it lulls and relaxes

the brain.

permanence being

inked in while

blood seeps out.

needles pushed

through skin and

cartilage in a

back room.

eyes shut,

waiting for the

pain to pass.

rewarded with

an artistic

statement.

not the place

your parents

want you to be,

but behind

their backs

we decorate our

skin with

our individuality.

[nequiquam-blog]

How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.

David Foster Wallace’s The Pale King (via nequiquam)

[taylornapolsky]

Always be a poet, even in prose.

Charles Baudelaire (via taylornapolsky)

[stronginbrokenplaces]

This is my poetry Moleskin. If I ever lost this book I would be crushed.

[stronginbrokenplaces]

I stare at the ceiling trying to figure out where the hell my life is supposed to be going… searching for a purpose, but ceilings never have anything useful to reveal.  

[stronginbrokenplaces]

I just wish to be able to wake up with a smile on my lips and not have the world scrape it off little by little throughout the day until it's gone and I forget that it ever existed.

My journal

[stronginbrokenplaces]

i place all

my hopes

in you

and it's not

fair.

all my

pining for

romance i

placed at

your feet.

i hang every

expectation

upon you

and i suffer

when i feel

unimportant to you.

i long for you

one moment

and hate you

the next.

feeling as though

you owe me the world

when you owe me

nothing.

in my mind

you are the

evil one,

though you've done

nothing to warrant

that title.

i unfairly

expect you

to give

yourself to me.

i say i will

protect you,

all the while

not knowing that

i am the

monster

waiting to devour you.

[stronginbrokenplaces]

the waves

crash down on me.

unrelenting and painful.

never able to

catch my breath

i'm beaten down

into the sand.

the salt stings

in my eyes

and burns

my cuts as

it tries to

seep into my veins.

i cry out for help

but am silenced by

a mouthful of ocean.

will i become

a bird

and soar above

or shall i be

hardened against it all

and become a shark

plunging into the depths?

[stronginbrokenplaces]

you paraded

into my dreams

again.

in that sacred

place i am yours

and you are

mine.

there are no

questions about

our feelings,

only certainty.

but with the

rising dawn

you fade away.

and once again

you are a

great distance

away

instead of in my

arms.