Stuff I Write

Words words words

[luthienne]

Danusha Laméris, Bonfire Opera: Poems

[heartofmuse]

"There are people who, more than being part of your every day, become part of your breathing so that if you do not feel them it is as if the day did not finish waking. You live longing for them and you find them in the smallest things without even thinking about it. They sit on your shoulder and tell you secrets and recite memories to you. They are the perpetual prayer that your heart does not stop whispering and the breath that your lungs do not stop taking in.  They are the fingerprints on the tips of your hands and the moisture that wets your lips. They are the first rays of the Sun that warm you in the morning and the kisses of the Moon that guard your sleep. And as I write this I realize that I am deceiving myself,  there are no such people for me except you ...... only you. "

e.v.e.

[deadwatered]

bluesroom

[stargazerinmoksha]

Visit Original Link

– Ate & Bunso

[arielfinch]

[6i]

I’m tired of temporary happiness. I’m tired of temporary pleasure. I’m tired of temporary people. I’m tired of temporary conversations and connections.

[stuffiwrite]

this is just to freak kelsie out

[stuffiwrite]

after this long,

i am new and i have learned.

my self righteousness

faded long ago,

maybe five years and

one graduation,

two career paths,

one new girlfriend

six medications,

two apartments,

two tattoos,

many haircuts,

and so many days

pretending to be happy without you

to be better than you...

maybe that’s what i needed to realize

i needed you.

but you,

don’t need me.

and five years was just what you needed

to forget about me,

to find what you need,

to be happy.

you don’t know me now,

you knew me then.

i won’t reintroduce myself though.

i am so

happy for you

[stuffiwrite]

and maybe

i was too scared to say it out loud or maybe it was that i still didn’t believe it myself. But being with you makes me feel like every moment up until now has been the prologue and i’ve finally gotten to the chapters. And i’ve never been in love. but i love people, and i love places, and if loving someone feels like this, like the smell of dust off of old pages and the feeling of old leather-bound, maybe i’ve always been wrong.

[purplebuddhaproject]

“I never realized that we need to talk with other people just to know that we exist. That we matter. Loneliness is a howling, empty cavern inside of me that just keeps growing.”

— Cheryl Rainfield (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[dropdykegorgeous]

There is either a cowboy in your house or there isn’t and you have to deal with that

[2sad2live]

……..what does this mean

[vampirejuice-deactivated2019112]

It means you just have to deal with that

[vomitingwords]

Do you write things

about me, too?

Because I could have

spent a lifetime

reading those words

even if it breaks me

more than what

it could have done

to you.

Strangers, Prose and Poetry//ma.c.a

[celestialchimchim-blog]

“You can’t just touch my soul and leave.”

-unknown

[vomitingwords]

And maybe

I wasn’t strong

enough

to forgive you.

Maybe I wasn’t

brave enough

to let you

be in my life

again.

Words To Last // ma.c.a

[stuffiwrite]

muted

i'm breaking and i can't make it sound poetic anymore.

i'm lost and i can't find the crumpled pieces of the map that i ripped apart and threw.

i'm worn and every time i try to show my colors

they are just faded.

Dimmed down to a shrine of what used to be,

or maybe it's what they could become.

But either way, no brightness comes from me anymore.

my thoughts are olive green,

my emotions are navy blue.

My heart has become so yellowed from the prodding and poking from dirty hands.

the smoke in front of my eyes is a thick charcoal

and the body of the person who used to be the sun

now shows dull grays and muted neutrals.

Losing your color isn't poetic,

it's sad.

It's laying in a bathtub long after the water grew cold. It's driving in the car with no music. It's catching your breath after every conversation, and it's wanting to feel. It's standing on the side of the road with a box of crayons, hoping someone will help you, and it's taping color by numbers to your back. It's begging to remember the prism of colors, but it's missing the sunset every day. It's everything dimming to gray and it's puddles of paint drying on the floor.It's not pretty anymore.it's sad.

[naturaekos]

“A poem begins with a lump in the throat.”

— Robert Frost (via naturaekos)

[juansendizon]

“She was a tormented aesthetic soul. Forever thinking and thinking and thinking and never feeling.”

— Juansen Dizon