#relatable poem

[mini-poetry-snacc]

Kale update: Still dead. Me? Barely hanging on. Poetry snacc for anyone failing their self-growth era 🥬🫠

[autumnleavesfallingofftrees]

Will it ever be okay?

Will it ever be okay? Sometimes i wonder if i'm ever the problem, if what I do is wrong? I just wanted all my friends to get along, I wanted to create a happy environment. But I'm not god, so why do I give myself that role? It’s sad seeing everyone stray away. But I'm not glue, so why should I beg people to stay? I’m always the one who has to answer, but not today. So, will it ever be okay?

[literaturemug]

self-love >>>>>>>>>>>>>

[x-atropa-belladonna-x]

She dealt her pretty words like Blades She dealt her pretty words like Blades – How glittering they shone – And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone – She never deemed – she hurt – That – is not Steel’s Affair – A vulgar grimace in the Flesh – How ill the Creatures bear – To Ache is human – not polite – The Film upon the eye Mortality’s old Custom – Just locking up – to Die.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) - ,,She dealt her pretty words like Blades”

[literaturemug]

i am so lost in my life. eleven cups of coffee a day in bed, reading irrelevant things, scrolling through my phone all day, eating junk all day, lazy, unhealthy and nonproductive.

[x-atropa-belladonna-x]

One need not a Chamber to be Haunted One need not be a Chamber – to be Haunted – One need not be a House – The Brain has Corridors – surpassing Material Place – Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting External Ghost Than its interior Confronting – That Cooler Host. Far safer, through an Abbey gallop, The Stones a’chase – Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter – In lonesome Place – Ourself behind ourself, concealed – Should startle most – Assasin hid in our Apartment Be Horror’s least The Body – borrows a Revolver – He bolts the Door – O’erlooking a superior spectre – Or More –

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) - ,,One need not a Chamber to be Haunted”

[clemontart]

Not my photo, not my poem

[thewords-ill-neversay-blog]

You loved me when I held your hands soft and sweet like a baby bird But where are you now that they’re shaking? You loved me when I smiled wide, laughed loud, and gave you my heart But where are you now that it’s breaking? You tell me that it’s not enough and you want more, that it’s not me But what about the changes that I’m making? You tell me I look great and seem well, that you’re glad I’m happy But I guess you can’t tell I’ve been faking.

[s.bucks] #73