Thoughts of an idiotic genius @thewriterofdesperation - Tumblr Blog

one time a professor asked me if i’d ever wanted to write anything “more important” than romance. and i said no. i was put on this earth to write about sad people kissing. and if another writer ever came up to me and said they wanted to write 400 pages containing nothing but a character baking a single loaf of bread each day, then i would tell them to do that. people don't write something because it's important. they write about something and that is what makes it important

I wish you had known me when I was young.

I wish you had known me before memories slipped through my fingers like sand. Gritty, leaving uncomfortable imprints but no longer the full picture. Before a haze settled over my own history like a fog blanketing my childhood home.

I wish you had known me before my edges became sharp. Before I bled and stained the most unloved parts of me, trying to hide them in some unseen corner. Before I smothered the child within, in the hopes they would love me more.

I wish you had known me before my feelings became landmines, treading lightfooted in case one tears me apart. Before to feel was to hurt, and nothing was better than something.

I wish you had known the boy filled with wonder and love, the one who drank starlight like tea and basked in the high noon sun. I wish you'd known the boy who danced and laughed, the boy who smiled and cried with abandon.

I wish you'd known the boy I had to kill to survive. He would have been easier to love.

#ramblings #writing #love #spilled ink #poetry #poetsandwriters #sad poem #sadness #sad thoughts #i love you #i wish i was better #yours forever #mi amor

nixscriptum

letsbelonelytogetherr

— sylvia plath (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

libralita

Sometimes I think about Ishar's mini-ascension and I wonder what he did when he first got his powers. I think it's pretty safe to say that if he actually ascended Lord Ruler style Roshar would have...been thrown into the sun a thousand years ago. He only drank a little bit of the power.

My top crack theory is that he's responsible for the Thaylen's stupid eyebrows.

armengoldira

spohkh

Swiss artist Simon Berger

radicarian

it is past time we jettisoned the useless false dichotomy of introversion vs. extroversion and just accepted that everybody has a minimum amount of social interaction, failing which, they get really weird. and everybody has a maximum amount of social interaction, exceeding which, they get really weird. these levels are different for everyone, for a variety of reasons, and have no moral dimension. and that is all.

mjalti

why would you come to this club and just shoot Myers & Briggs like this

masaotheheckindog

they deserved it

Fractured Self

Mirrored shards glinting in candlelight, all sharp edges and dripping blood. The crack of glass shattered and screams ring - the voice, alien, echoing through labyrinthine corridors, until I find its source and see my reflection. Crimson stains its edges, stone grasped in desperate fingers

It is twisted, its many facets staring back through the splintered surface with mouth agape and wordless cries drown out little thoughts in a symphony of pain that cannot be released. Each image distorted, a shade different - the many faces of Self pleading to be One but held by chains of fear and something else. They will not name it.

Black shadow fills the back, blotting out tiny glimmers - chasing them away like rabbits flee the wolf, leaving just its shaggy fur blanketing any escape. Its howls douse hope, jaws just inches from the neck and yet still we stare at divided Self

Who are we to think ourselves worthy of wholeness? Us, with hands stained red, our youth torn and past bloodied from unkind hearts? Did we not learn, but instead carve a cage to stop the bleeding?

They were cruel, but are we not crueller still?

Fractured Mirror stands infront, and we see the centre - the child forced to grow, bones broken and skin tight. Tears leave marks, the same pathways taken for years and years. They look up, and all we see is fear.

I am sorry, for they are all gone - and only I keep striking.

I am sorry, for the bruises I have caused

I am sorry, for the blood I have spilled.

I am sorry, for not being kinder.

teaboot

I hate it when your parents are like “I know you better than you know yourself!” Like no you don’t

teaboot

Like oh, you’re an expert on the inner machinations of my psyche? Name three of my top ten existential dreads

heckacentipede

“But I raised you!” Ya and the only version of me that you know is the one I carefully crafted so that you wouldn’t ask me questions because it became obvious early on you couldn’t handle the honest answers

anxietyproblem

I love you.

Simple words, right? We say them all the time, at every opportunity - in the sleepy morning when I drag myself out from the warmth of our bed and kiss you three times, when I come back from a long day with a headache from the flourescent lights, when I hand you our dinner and when we lay in embrace ready to sleep. We say it so often, I worry you don't understand what I mean when I say...

I love you.

Every time I find myself holding you, I feel like I can finally breathe. Like everything stops, and nothing else matters, and even as I write this with flair-filled prose - I think I understand what the story-books all mean when they talk of love. It's huge, and overwhelming, and at the same time - it is what it always had to be. What it always would be.

Loving you, is being home.

Like the amber lights of a childhood I barely remember, like the hum of a computer and the clack of a keyboard. Like a warm cup of tea at 3am when the world is finally sleeping - all of these things feel like you, now. A gentle, but all-encompassing warmth of fond memories, comfort and care bundled together where nothing could go wrong - if just for the briefest of moments.

I love you.