thoughtless tinkerings of creaking bones @thoughtless-tinkerings - Tumblr Blog

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I cannot live here. I cannot breathe your words. I am not your beauty. I am not your love. I am only a stranger.

And stranger it becomes.

#words #thoughts

Thoughts 3.7.15

Things are what you make of them. You are what you make of yourself:

I don't believe in an infinite tragedy- just a series of experiences.

Because every moment is a chance to learn and keep going.

Series of myself:

It's sometimes overwhelming to think of every image and personality I present.

Between general composure and professionalism, I know my identities and I know who I am at base, but it's difficult to find some sort of reconciliation between all of them.

Then again, I suppose you don't need cohesion. Each has its time and place.

'Undress each face of mine and leave my smile bare.

Let the final layer be the only thin membrance that separates me and you.'

#journal #writings

Calcification

That you touched me so tenderly, and I felt your skin melt into mine- this is how I knew I had never known affection.

And when you held me tighter so that I would never know the end of love, I felt our bodies cease their stirring, and there was only the hum of silence.

Let me end in your arms.

-R.S.L.S

#poetry #writings

Infidelity, a lack of

My mind wanders a lot.

And sometimes my eyes do too.

There are objects and bodies of desire that pique my interest-

in a quiet glance and a slight smile.

But, my imagination doesn't quite follow to that place. My interest lies only on a surface level and quietly dissipates.

There's never been a better kiss than one that contained all the love in the world.

#love #kisses

I was once a terrible person. As every part inside of me crumbled into pieces, I cried. I cried because of us. Because of my insecurities. My hatred, and rage, and jealousy.

At that moment, I was silent and listening to Beethovens Pastoral symphony, because it always made me smile. But in that moment it only made me cry harder. You tried to hold me, and you tried to say something, but I screamed at you, because I was crying at how beautiful Beethoven's symphony was, and you were ruining it.

As I look back, Im ashamed that I couldnt see how beautiful you were and silenced all of your love for the symphony of a dead man.

On Music

I want to live in a space where I am in-between a space that forgets my corporeal form and lets me breathe and expand upon the beauty that touches my soul. If I could be released from all that I am so that I could live in this place I would truly know peace. Yet I know, the human pain I feel only makes the desire so much sweeter. Without it, I would not be so touched.

#free verse #prose #poetry

The price for being calm 2.4.14

a body is made of flesh, bones and muscles

a mind plays to the want of each.

so when the mind overpowers the want of fury

the body is left listless

such a silent rage that draws tears and madness.

it’s a losing battle each time.

a body is left scattered on the battle field.

how do we tell the loved ones?

who carries the message?

is there a need?

the body rises each and every time.

so what if it falls down again, and again, and again?

#poetry #writings

Headphones 2.4.14

Drowning in voices

drowning out the noises

Im still drowning with whatever I try to do.

Neither matters.

I cant get the rage to ecape my body.

Each hit only drills it in harder.

Im breaking walls, but I never break free.

My body will only collapse after fighting in vain.

I give up each and everytime you utter an “okay.”

I cease to believe that it means you’ve listened

Because I only know you’re learning to play this game.

It means you’re tired of talking. So am I.

So you play by my “rules.” I get what I want and you deny yourself.

But I dont care for games with you,

I’m trying to get somewhere you won’t go.

What does this mean?

Is it the end of us?

Each “okay” furthers the divide. I know it when you close your eyes

I know that you’re trying not to roll them

I also know that want is strong

So youre not listening

and Im tired.

All I want to do is stop drowning.

#poetry #spilled ink #writings #headphones

Shattering 10.16.13

I don’t know who I am today.

I’m just so angry.

and frustrated.

I don’t know who I am, and I don’t like it.

Who is this person?

I am not familiar with them.

I don’t want to be around them.

I don’t want to be them.

Yet here they are.- wearing my clothes, my eyes, my smile.

I don’t recognize their face, and it’s lost all its warmness and glow.

I can’t look in the mirror.

///

This change is for the worse.

A peeling of all the kindness that was my second skin.

A disparaging of meekness.

A belittlement of patience.

I only exist

as a shell

a displaced emotion

the surrogate of someone, who had they stayed the same,

would be the only person who mattered.

Yet. No.

“Nope”

Everything is empty and consumed by the looming sense of meaninglessness.

Nothing matters anymore.

It matters, but not the the sense that you are significant in the universe.

Time will not stop for you,

strangers will not cry with you

and your friends will not even know to comfort you

because in this moment, only you know

and you are entirely, and utterly alone.

///

I am angry that the universe will not acknowledge me.

I’m screaming into the void,

being thrown into an abyss,

and all my sobs are stopped by the vacuum of space.

Yet, the universe, unsentient, unbenevolent or even malevolent,

still will not acknowledge me.

I don’t exist, in the way that god, people, and notions do not exist or matter.

I am only a needle pin lost inside some galaxy.

Stories (A Very Merry Christmas) 12.26.13

Worn leather(Where is a journey, but in the heart)

The grief of a long journey follows the heart.

The steps are traced through and through.

Through wood and snow each melting tear tells of hardness and trouble

but such weariness only last as long as a cheek remains dry.

So they say of this journey

though scuffed a traveller may be,

though skin may become as worn as the leather on their feet and backs,

the sorrow they outwalk is dug through in the heart, with each footstep becoming a mark of memory

never to forget grief.

The old scarred fellow and the boys that knew nothing

Tell me of the brazen men, ye young fellows

and what of the shame they forgot- yea left behind.

Such, they said, only made the stern solid faces most attractive.

so much easier to straighten the back than to bend and break.

and what of you, young men?

with yer yellowed guilt;

your ashen shame.

do you turn now, hobbled and gnarled,

to face a mirror?

Where is yer pride?

Where is yer want?

What say you?

Death is the ultimate act of vengeance.

Self-inflicted end.

It says, “you’re sorry now, aren’t you? Well it’s too late.”

#stories #writings #poetry

The world is not so quiet 10.24.13

Have I mentioned I hate people?

Just. Sometimes.

It happens.

I like being alone in these moments, and it’s what I want.

Maybe it’s just that i’m overwhelmed by everything around me that I want to the world to blink out.

That’s why I hate people. Not by any fault of their own, merely because they exist in the same space I am existing, and that in itself is enough to merit my unwarranted aggression.

#writings

"How do you balance the line between being paranoid and being careful?"

Someone mostly wise told me, assess the reality around you.

Thoughts?

#feminism #social anxiety

I'm so terrified I will fail.

#at least you know you tried #at least you tried

Unremarkable 8.15.13

I wrote a letter once- To myself. To be viewed by one other witness.

And I ended it with:

“ …and this will be the start of my greatest work.”

In this moment I am sitting with my family while they watch white house down. Notice I said sitting with. I’m not entirely concerned with the movie. In front of me is an essay application. An essay that I’ve gone over at least ten times, and scrapped once.

This might not seem like a big deal. Believe me, I’m aware. There are plenty of writers who have possibly gone over something 200times. But the difference here is that this is me trying. This is me giving a shit, a real shit about what I’m trying to accomplish.

I am a college sophomore, but I just barely got by.

I’ve got to pull through

By the end of the year I was at a 2.9. Not even a 3.0. This is when things got real. Friends dropped out for a lack of money, or for a lack of grades.

And I almost, almost lost the support of my family.

After all, they’re the ones paying for college. Not me. Sure, the loans are in my name, but I have no money to my name right now.

So, things got down before they got better. That’s when I realized what I could do and what I wanted to do.

I’m pretty amazing. The people around me remind me every so often. And I also know because I can be happy for no other reason that just because. There are things that I have accomplished which no one expected, and I have this unbridled potential that I’ve only scraped at the surface.

I’ve just got to keep trying

So I’m trying to turn things around.

I received an invitation for the opportunity of my college career; A fellowship that will provide resources for graduate school, and allow me to conduct a summer research project that will then be presented at a national conference AND be published in an interdisciplinary research journal.

Forgive me if I’m excited. Actually, no, scratch that. I am excited, so excited, and terrified.

I made a promise to make things happen and turn things around, but I’m dead ending a lot. I’ve made progress on this essay, but it’s not perfect and the deadline is tomorrow, but I’m turning it in tonight.

Here is my fear.

I’m trying. I’m doing. And.. this still isn’t perfect. It isn’t my best work.

Even when I’ve put all this effort into it, I feel like I’m going to fail.

I am so afraid of failing myself. Of letting myself down and realize my best means shit.

Can you tell I’m stressed?

#journal #stress #deadlines

dial tones 8.9.13

There’s history that follows me; history that I’ve locked away and drowned.

And here I am, dredging it up from the dank and dark abyss I threw it in.

I never thought I’d be on this end of the line. On this dark side of the moon.

Yeah. I’m the heartbreaker.

#Journal #Journal 8.9.13 #prose