Overthinking doesn't just mess with your head; it messes with your heart, your vibe, your joy, your spark, and your love. It's sneaky but deadly self-sabotage.
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Wonder what we could have become if the past had been happier...
Poetricismic
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for the hell of it (for the plot). a poem.
i see your ghost everywhere I go
an empty seat in the back of my car
missing from your spot on the couch
in my house
in my heart
i see you fade in and out of being
flicker in my eyes, taunting me
sometimes I pretend you're there
i smile toward the seat in the back of my car
but it always fades
because there's little to smile at
when you're no more than a ghost
a flickering memory
and an ache in my heart
-k.c.
and as requested, tagging @wistfulenchantress , @gardenofrunar , @justyourlocaldisaster
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S. F. Solstice, "A Piece of You"
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Here I sit.
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you are my favorite person to annoy.
and also to love and to cherish
and to watch movies with
and share my secrets with
and sit muted on calls with,
but you are one of the
only people in this world
that i feel safe enough to annoy.
i'm normally too terrified
of even the idea of other people
being mad at me for any reason.
but there are no buttons
in the world that i would press,
or bubbles that i could burst,
that would bring me half as much joy
as you rolling your eyes at me.
this is how i show my love.
this is how you make me
feel safe enough to do so.
-mars
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The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing....
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Lost in a time I do not belong in
Every night you show
I look up & stare
I see your beauty
So bright
And every night I hope
I hope that she understands me
I hope that she sees me
I hope she says something about me
I hope she opens up to me
The more I hope, the more she hates me
She does not want to be spoken to gently
She does not like how soft I am with her
She hates that I seek her permission
She hates how patient I am
Still, I hope
I hope I am not lost in time
In the meantime
I'll look for you until I find you
I hope you're looking for me too
— lame
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"death on a stony shore"
- some thoughts about the simultaneous inevitability and futility of intelligent life. poem by me 🤙
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I want an old, wise professor or stranger to notice that dead spark in my eyes and draw me under their wing, and say,
“Show me your poems.”
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It’s only in each other’s arms that our wounds find their reassurance.
.
.
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Dealing with your own mind is the toughest battle of all. Sometimes it's your ally, sometimes it's your opponent.
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If you could say one thing to a person who is no more in contact what would it be ?
Kabhi kabhi main sochti hoon ki kya tum bhi kabhi kabhi mere baare mein sochte ho?
Agar sochte ho to kya sochte ho? Aur jo sochte ho vo kis se kehte ho?
Kya tum bhi meri tarah apni kitaab ke panno ko humari kahaniyan aur kisse sunate ho?
Kya meri vali playlist aaj bhi sunte ho? Aur ab agar koi pyara gana milta hai to kisko bhejte ho?
Meri kavitayein sunke jo sukoon tumhe mila tha ab vo sukoon tum kahan dhoondhte ho?
Jis chand ki tasveerien mujhe bhejte the kya ab us chand ki tasveerien khichte ho? Agar haa to khichke ab kisko bhejte ho?
Tum kehte the meri ankhon mein tumhe puri duniya dikhti hai magar ab puri duniya mein tumhe jab ye ankhein nhi dikhti to kya karte ho? ~dishaa
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I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
-Sylvia Plath
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always, the end of march still feels like winter,
but april... when april calls on the blooming rose,
always, she ushers in spring's new beginnings,
and this year, she gave me you,
a vernal sun behind clouds,
but still so brightly shining,
melting the last of the bitter winter hour,
a biting frost fallen in the cold walls of this heart,
and illuminating the things thought to be lost,
word by word, piece by piece,
the forgotten poet in me—
you shone brilliantly,
like a clear star dotted in the night sky,
an astral anchor for this lost, hopeless sailor,
once at the whim of nothing but tumultuous sea,
trapped in watery forces...
it was you who dared to shine
like an outstretched hand,
firmly taking in mine, to pull from the depths
a new me, that holds more love for the warmth
of palms as tender as the ones you've shown me;
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