#creed64

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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"Tonight I want to stay up and watch the stars with you, I want to feel the crisp of autumn making its way through the trees, I want to lay back and let the night make me and my problems feel small, because in the grand scheme of things, they don’t really matter anyway, one day I’ll be specs of tiny matter, particles burning rapidly in the sky, one day I will be up in the night, shinning more brightly than I ever have, or ever could down on earth, the stars remind me to be hopeful that we’ll be together, souls intertwined into one light, not separated by thousands of miles in between, our bodies and souls, will be together, forever, made of starlight."

@paintedskys

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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I’m fine. It’s just I’m going to fall in love with you and you’re going to be content with comfortable silence and tiny moths. It’s just I want to be spring, beautiful and blooming, but I am fall, decaying and cold. It’s just that whenever I heal I fall back into the ocean out of fear. It’s just that your petals are whole and not blemished and mine are ashes. It’s just that I speak in puzzles yet they think I’m blunt, it’s just I use that phrase as the start of my poems quite often, it’s just I’m always going to be known as the sad girl, it’s just I struggle with being soft and patient when it counts. It’s fine I’m just scared to fall in love you and you’re never going to love me back.

A.G.

@adaliagray

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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Just one look into the mirror. makes my thoughts Clearer. This darkness I feel Just needs time to heal.

When I look into the Mirror. I feel a big Shiver. Because Who I see. Is not who I thought was me.

As I look into the Mirror. I see myself get thinner. Trying to become perfect. So I don’t become a reject.

As I look into another Mirror. I question if I am my sister. Because being a twin is rough. Especially when you feel like you are never enough.

@veltra-fang-poetry

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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The smoke in the air It dissipates All because of our want For bigger cities And tighter walls

The colors of the buildings Variant like the ancient stones We built upon

Street like view Of islands of waste Swimming in the rivers Of mountains of heist

Deceive me Skyscraper With your glow under The morning gray sun

Not much longer  Until we all become Fuel from the bones How much longer? Until our bygone Comes for us all.

- GRAY SMOKE FILLS THE CITY//F.A @oxigentank

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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@scourge-of-the-eighth-sea

I’m washed ashore

my ship’s wreck’d my ribs cracked boards spilling saltwater blood and luxuries

I want the sea to keep them

keep my spice and cannons, keep them curled in her waves and all my dead men

hers to crush in her depths

I am washed ashore

torn asunder by blunderbuss ransacked and waylaid undead with tales to tell and bottles to fill with messages of desperate hope

and a conch to whisper secrets into

the way the sea does her millions that echo onward a record of her voice

she and I in this the same

deadly and alone dying and furious soothing and tyrannical

still different by vast amounts

she so keeps me tethered here where she carried me

and keeps me in the palms of her hidden island

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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he’s dead, i’m sorry

welcome home, ren, it’s good you’re back. have you seen the news– your friend was hit by a train, ren, he’s dead, ren, i’m sorry, ren, but i’m not, i didn’t know him.

happy birthday ren, you’re fifteen today. don’t tell anyone though, ren, it’s his memorial service, ren, he’s dead, i’m sorry.

it’s the first day of school today, ren. i hope you have fun, ren, pay attention, ren, get over it, ren, he’s dead, i’m sorry.

you’ll never see him again, ren, why is that so hard to believe. it’s over and done, ren, you have to move on, ren, he’s dead, i’m sorry.

@tired-hands

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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the room where my sister lived smells like dust and dry sunlight, sometimes a smell brings you back: I see the empty guest-bed ten months out-of-twelve obsolete, the marble floor with footprints of sand clouds of dust in the dull sunlight and summers spent reading yellowing pages hunched over the bed in the old guest room lonely child of shuttered windows in June, I never said, said goodbye or a word of parting but one day I must have closed that door and never opened it again I think of the family they sold our home to and if they ever use the guest room,   or if it still collects dust, if now we are both disintegrating 

@piningtreeforest

[dirtysouthpawpoetry]

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http://crowned-in-stone.tumblr.com/image/164541293098

@crowned-in-stone