Twice Shy Poetry

a page that will keep collected the unwindings of my brain

[books-n-quotes]

… always rub honey into wounds instead of salt.

Meggie Royer, Writings For Winter (via books-n-quotes)

[twiceshypoetry]

Frigid

It was January 6th. It was -23 degrees celsius

It has been seven years since

that front door gone.

Those instruments of living compiled in their necessity.

They don't make words for the absence of love.

Mother, you seem to like asking me why I don't like anniversaries.

Today is always so cold.

[callmemommytho]

is there anything better than a pretty boy with a collar around his neck?

[boydaisies-deactivated20170620]

Shoutout to the people who are traumatized by an event that didn’t bother them at first By something that they didn’t realize hurt them By something that happened when they were young and naive and didn’t know what to do so they forced the memory out of their head By something that only started affecting them recently You are valid and I love you

[ptsdbajoranwarrior]

I love this any whoever posted this

[studyblr]

you can do this. stop sabotaging yourself and your dreams. there will be risks, there will be stress, but go on and actually pursue what you want to do. you will not regret having tried, all things considered. self-doubt can destroy so much of your life. don’t let it, please. 

[jet-lag]

[twiceshypoetry]

Well, Travelled

1. The feeling of being an underage queer on your first night out may never go away for you

2. The first time your lover tells your other lover they want to kiss them will feel like-

3. When he hits her it is sometimes better than sex.

4. You might be the kind of queer your mother warned you about

5. Be it anyway

[twiceshypoetry]

Mr. Twenty Hours

The last time I wrote this poem,

It was a poem.

You were all lines, shadows, and moonlight.

The open window,

that curtainless sky

Your hands forever cementing the magic of that night,

Of You;

Intact, despite the world's endless misery;

Music stepping towards me.

[crownist-deactivated20140418]

[twiceshypoetry]

You have no idea What it feels like This is tequila, and slices My tongue feels like dissonance, The kind of smoke that curls and seeps,

Honey Baby I don’t want to un-promise you every Thing you’ve ever dreamed of I could separate you Eviscerate you and afterwards/ I’m scared, (Rather sincerely, You have no idea. The bar-rail, the queue line; There are so many people mad at my indecision) That you’d thank me

[twiceshypoetry]

Little Death

Today is sixty three days since/ I’ve quit filling my lungs with “Please no more tomorrows” Sixty three days my lungs have been/ Branches crawling across me in my sleep One day I’m certain, my lips will forget the flavour/ of want

[twiceshypoetry]

grown swans

that was the entire fever dream; to wake up from severing myself

i’ve grown swans  in all of those seams  while i was gone since you saw me last- i’ve poured you a pitcher of stardust. Let’s pretend the ache is just another kind of song. the lavender in my veins teaches me new ways to recognize your kissing my eyelids. there are so many languages of healing.