The gardens of my soul have blossomed
and withered,
both within one heartbeat.
trying on a metaphor

roma★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Cosimo Galluzzi
wallacepolsom
we're not kids anymore.
Not today Justin

Origami Around
🪼
Sade Olutola

Kaledo Art

if i look back, i am lost
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
One Nice Bug Per Day

JVL
occasionally subtle
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Three Goblin Art

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Spain

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@sunflowerssoulmate
The gardens of my soul have blossomed
and withered,
both within one heartbeat.
He does not want me, still I remain.
A nihilistic phantom gliding by unseen; absorbing every move he makes, imbibing the air he breathes, mesmerised by his very being.
Stuck, within a perpetual blurring of actuality and reveries, cursed by an everlasting ache for more.
Oh, how I will him to do something.
I arrived when the ground was still cloaked with frost. Now I suffer amidst the light of spring, yearning for autumn's obscurity instead. Somehow, it feels much more grim when the sun cuts open my wounds, rather than the rain.
Waves of melancholia crash over me, leaving wariness in their aftermath.
Instead of battling, I surrender and float.
Here, within the midst of the storm, I am home.
I cringe from the weight of my own words.
To name myself a poet feels presumptuous, an act of self-importance that I am not sure I deserve.
It is true though, that my heart holds a softness and emotions consume me whole. Constantly I find myself yearning for approval and simultaneously recoiling from the attention it brings.
So here I will stay; safely hidden between the pages of my notebook, seeking refuge in the very art that both liberates and suffocates me.
Embracing the paradox, I continue to write.
I am nothing if not a poet.
I am drowning within myself.
oh, I love him I fear
No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle.
You bruised my soul with sharp edged lies and shattered my heart with waves of rage.
-N
Your veins brew lightning, trying to escape. And I wish you could see that you’re nothing but art.
You are poetry
I’d be his, if he asked
“It’s not that you ruined me. It isn’t, because I refuse to let my love be named anything other than courage and no one gets to take that away from me, not even you. I will not regret how deeply I loved you, even if it ended in my broken heart. So no, you haven’t ruined me. It’s just that every poem I write still tastes like you. And I am trying to change that. All while having grace in my heart while letting you go.”
- Nikita Gill, Excerpts from a book I’m writing
I was treading water, trying neither to drown nor to swim to safety, just staying in place, because here was the truth.
“Find things beautiful as much as you can, most people find too little beautiful.”
— Vincent Van Gogh
I still find pieces of you in the back of my mind.
“Talk” - Kodaline