The Imitation Of Life

Jocelyn

[brellz]

[sunmystic]

[eastliberty]

the king of neo-soul

rest in peace d’angelo 🕊️❤️

[lexxnova]

Blassic

[ruhaniya]

[esotericsnob3]

True story

[jussanother]

[icaseybaybee]

[sahlesummerhill]

[emotionallylaboredwords]

B: based on the

L: longevity of our

A: aesthetic often desired, admired, and

C: copied by the society that has historically tried to

K: kick us when we were down we have continued to

P: progress in ways that don’t always seem

R: realistic and believable

I: in alignment with the

D: definition of those same individuals that admire, but also

E: envy everything about our aesthetic

-Jocelyn B.

[xixxcjoc]

My Writing Blog, Emotionally Labored Words

[emotionallylaboredwords]

“Grief is an indication that one’s heart has experienced unconditional love.”

-Jocelyn B.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Nina LaCour via letsbelonelytogetherr

[emotionallylaboredwords]

“I’ll endure the pain of getting another tattoo before I get another lover.”

-Jocelyn B.

[emotionallylaboredwords]

The fullness of our lips should become acquainted.

The fullness of our lips connected would create a sense of euphoria.

-Jocelyn B.

[minimalistquotes]

In the end, we all just want someone who chooses us. Over everyone else, under any circumstances.

[piecesofapuzzle]

i feel like i'm both too much and not enough

[urtopia]

[eris-index]

| you left without leaving

I folded,

knees hitting dirt,

and body bending

like rolling plains.

My palms closed

on stalks of wheat,

and I screamed

into the lying blue

of the sky.

Fury rose

like the hills surrounding me.

Salt fled

down rivers to my cheeks,

slipping between lips,

coating my teeth.

I would leave,

as simply as I came,

fetal,

destroyed,

and covered in the land.

Images battered me:

the slow drawl of a white sheet,

crushed metal,

and the crease of closed eyes.

Small spatters of life

flung like a paintbrush gone wild.

Between the wheel of the car

and the driver's seat,

there was half an inch,

a finger between.

But I was just in bed with you.

I continued to scream

throat raw, chapped lips:

"Why did you leave?"

My hands were small,

but I pounded the dirt

like a hammer driving a nail,

and I ripped those stalks

up out of the ground.

Dirt flew to the sky,

and wheat hung in the air.

Images battered me,

but still

you were not there.

[feminiebutterfly-deactivated202]