#i will cry like its unavoidable. so whether my life's falling apart that week or everything's fine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youngdeaemi · 5 years

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“She Has Wings, She Has Wings Not”

My mind is a simile to symbolism. My body is rightfully Amazonian. I'm full of resilience, lotsa resilience, babes. I'm breathing in life for days, but Earth is afraid. What is this change? Is it an ignition with intent to burn or a baptismal storm with a calm for reward? My heart is lightest when fed lotsa love on a Sunday. It's at its heaviest when left with no goodness for Friday. My brain is easily brightest on an unpredictable Monday, but succumbs to the dark when it's wires are either famed or shamed. My gut reacts to Tuesday's hyperactive response, a response that earns inner peace when reserved for romance. On Thursdays, I create. My favorite way to create is fingering steel formed to string while gracefully singing to the sound that it brings. With these strings, I am redeemed. I surpass my limitations by riding my own godly feet, As I run for lost angels, blessing each kind of tree that I meet. But as uncomfortability reaches its peak every week, I often say, "no", to the tree with a D and retreat. Within a week's time, Saturday feels like a blur, and I capture a reminisce. I'm reminded of everything from the past I don't miss, so I release my capture and stir. And in the middle of this reckless home improvement I attempt, Wednesday smashes in for a show about death, as I'm left to enjoy the unavoidable fall of my breath. I try to refrain from fueling a brawl. But if my fists speak in loo of some fear factor game, don't expect to see the pretty princess I sometimes have tamed. For a princess's crown has no use when her queen protects plenty of corn, but not anything green. With that queen, I lost my life to the cornfield in my conscious. So I hid my crown away, but this heart of mine is constant. Still today, my blood pumper is in lotsa pieces, trying to heal but absent of stitches. She's hungry for kisses. She clings like before to the corn that her four fathers planted right next to diseases. Now my heart's lightsource has a dimness that activates a fiend in me to confess, “I'm just as guilty as them, I supported the corn at my best". I was born to believe, but raised to be pushed into pushing the gated into a box. A box with not even a lid or a lock, just a moat that flows in rows and grows moss. But the gated are told it's dangerous, so they choose not to swim or cross. I'm sorry fear had you raided by 9,000,000 heathens while I was gone and avoiding my loss. When I feared, I left my voice box behind. I failed to use "no" again and again. I failed, I gained pain, I was taken and shaken. Through molestation, sedation, predatory grime, and humiliation. I hope you can understand now, why I didn't use the plan I wrote down, with the intention of greeting karma, to find freedom in a band, to tear down the walls of big pharma, to follow the master at hand. Now I scream with big lungs made from glee, "Fear begone, I am free, just plain riddance to you, for we mourn, we drink tea and just be". So I grew to let go of my guilt, heavier than the trees that we kill. Just like I let go of a dozen IDs, they all had names that never quite sounded like me. My double G's, grief and guilt, give me lessons for growth, but my relics are smiles received from unforgettable foes. My brain is named Tigress. She reacts to each passing feeling, whether they are welcomed or leaving. She does not accept lust as easy as joy but she sees why each feeling is needed. Rebellion is probable with my type of brain. Rebellion is love to the nation station we made wIth the gated who mated, and became reflections of the ones they call faded. Well, I've been gated, I've mated, I'm usually faded. I've had my fair share of jade. I've cried for myself and died for myself, it made me who I am today. I cry for each life that won't care to see it's their own life purpose now jaded. I want us all to be happy you see, and crying is a necessity. My best friend believes the heart I display is irreplaceable, that it's inevitable she'll grow back to be everything that's me. So I must get my heart to feel alright with destiny, or I'm bound to face the fee of not being free. But Alright doesn't stay long, and it's surely not worthy of memory when compared to her majesty, Joy. And Joy dances through doors held by little Miss Bliss, then Bliss runs with the flighty and coy. There is no fear of a pitch without note when dust in the wind unites with Miss Bliss and Joy. The wind cannot falter a rainbow or fin, nor a bone that's buried alone. The tone of my voice is misleading, but my words are calling you home. Here I am! I bask on feelings that resemble a memory. I was a baby with wings who would harmoniously sing while flying over a healthy prairie. In another, we were together, filled with light throughout the night. We both looked up at the sky. All I said was, "Oh my!" So we flew up to our eyes that shone bright. We looked dead ahead, saw my own pupils that shimmered and shined. Then we looked down below us and saw support from a big, blue sky. It gently reminded us of what is inside, and we were invited by life to come in. Wrapped up like a babe, light bursts through my skin, found in a neighborhood of immeasurable sin. I tighten my bow, and tell an old soul, I must return to the night again. Yeah, babes, I like to find myself in the dark. Here's the part where I conquer fights for the weak of heart. Cowards say they remember but don't seem to do what is right. Well if you aren't doing right, or feeling alright, I declare you are falling apart, losing your might. When separated, stars weep at their inability to speak. When separated, suns blow off their dreams. When separated, the moons lose their mystique. So what happens to you and me? A baby can't build his own cradle, but if a baby is born with wings, they are able. Able to fly, to soar through an endless sky of hugs. Don't hug a baby too tight, you'll break his wings on site, He'll fall down to the ground, and be eaten alive by bugs. So all you Feminines and Masculines, all you washed up heroes caught between, This angelic message is meant for you, whether you wear feathers, scales or a seam. I am the lion and I am the lamb, I'm sure all believe in me, even Sam. Can't you or your allies see? Satan was never our enemy, he has always been you and me.

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