#poet tree

[lavenderlattesandzinnias]

u should never be embarrassed for loving anyone. for making silly playlists that ended up being on private, for writing about how you met them and their eyes shined for you. to think of them even now, after time has passed and so much has changed. to have love held deep inside your heart is not a shameful thing. it’s not a shameful thing to love- loving so much, so completely, is a strength.

[that-whichisnot]

Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.

Khalil Gibran, “Sand and Foam”

[zontiky]

he wishes he had time to hang his coat beside the door and kiss his mother goodbye one last time before he left for good. it would have been nice. he wonders, is he missed? was he loved, is he still loved? do people remember him as a faulty slip, a mistake in the code or as something... more? less? different? perhaps he's not remembered at all or rather, remembered incorrectly when people die they tend to get misinterpreted maybe they don't remember that he made mistakes, that he was the one who stole the last cookie that one summer day, that he was faulted just like the rest, that he was human, too. (he's not religious, has never been but he prays that he isn't forgotten and that they remember who he was, and not who they wanted him to be) he wishes that before he was snared in the trap set for him (in a way, he set it for himself) he could have hugged his sisters, pat his brothers on their backs made his bed one last time (he'd been in too much a hurry to tuck the blanket in, that summer's day.) he wishes for many things and none of them are voiced his body has enough room for a second life why would it not have room to keep his wishes stored away?

[variouspositions1984]

As the trees on the coast grow leeward, pushed into those bent shapes by the cruel ocean wind So have I grown; Green, yes, and growing but still stooped and gnarled Windswept, windtorn, windblown! Branches reaching out and not up, So unlike the magnolia tree that grows in the front yard.

The long winter months have been harsh. Have I endured? Endured those nights that stretch out so cold, the days without sun and how I crave it! As does the magnolia tree that grows in the front yard.

Spring has been announced by its herald; a single pink rose that blooms bravely in a tangle of itself. The trees are a-whisper with buds and the bulbs have awoken from their sleep, deep in the rich, dark earth. Softly, softly, it all creeps back, And the magnolia tree that grows in the front yard has begun to bloom.

[11passed11]

Pretty Ugly

I'm very ugly So don't try to convince me that I am a very beautiful person Because at the end of the day I hate myself in every single way And I'm not going to lie to myself by saying There is beauty inside of me that matters So rest assured I will remind myself That I am a worthless, terrible person And nothing you say will make me believe I still deserve love Because no matter what I am not good enough to be loved And I am in no position to believe that Beauty does exist within me Because whenever I look in the mirror I always think Am I as ugly as people say? (Now read it from the bottom up)                             by Abdullah Shoaib

[katajanokka]

Who else loves the Grand Oak? :) 

[thefragilityofopenness]

You know when you check the weather to see if is cold enough to wear a scarf even though you haven’t even left  your apartment and you’re already cold? That’s what it’s like to grieve over heartbreak.

It doesn’t feel valid.

Like you have to find similar love pains to suit your process to make sure you’re allowed to feel this insatiably sad.

Its 50 degrees out.

You put the scarf on anyway but now it’s even more difficult to breathe. it feels like it’s suffocating you even though it’s wrapped loosely around your neck.

It’s the knots in your throat that you can’t swallow or cry or smoke away.

Sometimes my body is a bullet casing but no one ever sympathizes with the bullet. Imagine what it must feel like  to rip through another human being  so easily, at such an alarming rate. 

Sometimes the clouds are claustrophobic.  Sometimes they are exactly what I need to feel held. Sometimes I’m am taken aback at how beautiful I look after I’ve been sitting in my apartment crying all damn day. 

I wonder if my next door neighbors can hear me. I wonder if the weight of my aching seeps through the thin walls and drapes over their furniture.

The damage done by smoking is so silent. So silent until your lungs begin to collapse. The same way they collapse when you show up unexpectedly, and it’s still such a quiet cave in.

It just feels, it just sounds, so groundbreaking on the inside.  

Different Stages of the Let Go: Water Weight, Ivy Dowhan

[moondriver00]

Grandpa, Fall 2001

He was... a bit fat

a bit wrinkled. 

A little bit too cheery, 

a little bit too bossy

quite loud. 

But, I remember

when he looked at me and said, 

“I knew I wanted her since I was seven,

she was chewing on ice

real loud

her parents had a real row.”