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error-ink-detected · 2 hours ago
The Wars We Fight In Our Names
Here’s the thing:
I tried planting a seed
Embedded it in fresh soil and watered it with patience and good-will
But it never quite came to fruition
It was never quite enough, somehow
So here’s my plan B:
To drill a hole into my skull and scream
Loud and obnoxious, until my lungs corrode and my ears tear in half
Until I can’t deny the existence of it all anymore
I want to yell kindness and bruise compassion
I want to cry happiness and choke on contentment
Want to rip open my chest with the feeling of finally being enough
I may look gentle,
But no-one gentle goes so viciously to war with themselves
No-one gentle self-sabotages with such a twisted delight of finally proving what everyone denied:
that you’re falling apart
C  r  u  m  b  l  i  n  g
I want to imprison all the kindness into my head
Until it knocks against my skull like a steady clockwork-cacophony
Every smile and compliment, every touch and every action that yelled: “you are enough!”
And I was too busy drowning out the bad to notice the good
Whoever said self-love isn’t violent?
You eradicate whatever you had constructed so you don’t have to build from a rotten foundation
Even if you feel that the worms would be good company and the soil looks warm, like a hug perhaps
You destroy
To build
To prevail
To live, perhaps, one day
If I have to split myself open for a garden to bloom in-between my ribs
Maybe I will do that
This is all a process
Of growth and destruction
When did I ever un-learn to love myself?
When will I ever un-learn to un-love myself?
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michaelbogild · 5 hours ago
The best lines of @fragiledewdrop / @versesofdewdrops
Part 1
A black cobweb of scars where my heart should be.
Trembling I light up with dusk: with a sunset for a heart.
To the dreams the breezes brought me from frozen lands beyond the moon.
Every sunray scarred my eye, every moonbeam drowned me in silver waters of strangled hope.
Bringing flowers to the graves I dug within myself.
Lying in a field of forget-me-nots looking at the sunset, giving my whole soul to the gentle wind.
I will weave it from the beams of a full moon. I will temper it in the blood of a hundred sunsets. It will be light as a whisper, but stronger than steel.
I dive into the night and look between the stars.
I fly with wings of ash that were once fire, my love is a wild thing that belongs to the black.
In the darkness, orchids kiss me. In the darkness, I become.
Give me dark orchids to remember ecstasy, give me dark orchids to forget dismay.
I will make love to the flames.
When the day around me is but the shadow of a dream. Let me step into my boat and sail towards the moon.
Let me dress myself in starlight.
More than anything, you want wings to fly away, to find places where the sky is as blue as it is in your books.
Even light is harsh enough to bruise you, even night is bright enough to blind you.
You left the nest I made you out of shadows and whispers, out of soft touches and warm silences.
The world is cold and hard and cruel, like snow on naked feet, like the hand that tore hope from your heart and fed it to the flames.
Why does his hand in yours make a sun ignite in your chest?
With every shiver you think of a flower until you are in a sea of poppies.
The dew glimmering on meadows to make fairies drunk.
I miss the key to decode souls, but I know how to marvel at them.
To catch the train that leads to tomorrow.
Twelve are the shells in my glass jar that still have the sea in their heart.
And I cradled my treasure like wild beasts cradle prey.
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imperialhaiku · 5 hours ago
mother's day poem / another trip around earth / you and i mother
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imperiallefty · 5 hours ago
We made books out of bricks and threw them through windows of ignorance.
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sharkygiovanna2 · 6 hours ago
about innocent love
innocent love
resembles dandelions in a field during
spring where a young couple kisses in the
grass not even noticing an approaching
innocent love
resounds in the passionate piano notes
gulping down the hungry listener's throat
on an intimate summernight by candle light
innocent love
is what so many of us feel nostalgic about
as these days have been replaced by
worries , struggle and search for renewal
but that too is unavoidable and not
necessarily bad
@sharkygiovanna 2🗿🗿2021
@sharkygiovanna 2🗿🗿2021
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Be true to yourself, but what parts?
The brave, committed, loving selves?
Or the lazy, selfish, too small hearts?
What do we treasure in the life we delve?
Regret is the ultimate loss
A burial without witnesses of dreams and hopes
"What if" is a heavy cross
Resignation is the grave and apathy the ropes
Be true to an ideal instead
Shed weakness like skins
Let your ghosts be with the dead
Create a karma free of sins.
Your soul's signature remains
With butresses of character to build atop
Purge all that she disdains
Be her well when she needs a drop
Every woman needs a knight
And every man needs a queen
His nobility makes wrongs right
Her heart is his keep never seen.
@artwork by Bri-In-The-Sky on DeviantArt
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peninpaperback · 10 hours ago
My withering image in the mirror
Translates the Tale to me,
Of the light-years,
My heart travelled.
And still, it floats.
The pale Colours my body reflect
Are the rainbows I absorbed,
From all the other forms.
The patchy flakes which shed
Like a breezy Autumn morning,
I remember the knees which my head
Made to fall and scratch,
On a gritty floor of my ego.
The sacked and lifeless eyes,
which is a tattletale
Of the sparkles and fireworks,
I packed away just for me.
My God! The image I see.
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dg-fragments · 10 hours ago
As much as I'm drawn by the romanticism of road trips,
the realization strikes what matters most is the company,
whom you choose to spend those lost moments with,
for, while the journey is most often craved,
the camaraderie is what makes it worth it.
There's hope for the life that remains,
to comprise of road trips in your companionship,
as we navigate our way through the many bends of life,
never letting go off the paths we sketch together,
nor the destination that we are striving towards.
- DG (Road trips)
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scatteredthoughts2 · 15 hours ago
I was a baby when I was born,
And I'm a baby still today,
I get lost and so forlorn,
And I have to have my way.
I have moods that change and swing,
I get tantrums when annoyed,
It just takes the slightest thing,
To make me unsatisfied.
Sometimes I blow my fuse,
Like a bolt of lightning shock,
I insult and I abuse,
I deride and slur and mock.
I throw things at the wall,
I get angry at the telly,
I refuse to take your call,
And I say you're stinky, smelly.
If my dinner is not ready,
I will roar and cause a scene,
If it's ready I won't eat it;
I would rather shout and scream.
If my neighbour cuts his grass,
Too early in the morning,
I will go and kick his ass,
And go back to bed still yawning.
I was a baby when I was born;
You can see I've not grown up,
I just love to raise a storm,
And I don't intend to stop.
So you see I am not easy,
You must always be aware,
I am oily, slick and greasy,
And you must handle me with care.
Ambrose Harte
Scattered Thoughts
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scatteredthoughts2 · 17 hours ago
Let Your Sadness Flow.
Sometimes I'm asked why I write so sad;
Is there nothing happy I can write about?
I write of sad when I'm feeling bad,
Because writing sad let's my sadness out.
When you keep your sadness locked inside,
It eats away at your heart and soul,
It gnaws and chews, it's a roaring tide,
It destroys what's good, what makes you whole.
If you let it out in a gushing stream,
It will hurt the ones you love the most,
If you rant and shout and rave and scream,
You will plant your sadness in another host.
So I sit down with pen and paper,
And I let my sadness flow out in ink,
By candle light, by glowing taper,
I free up some space for me to think.
Ambrose Harte
Scattered Thoughts
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lebuc · 20 hours ago
* amidst the swirl of newly budded leaves somehow falling;
the thawed, warmed earth beneath my size 11's, is suddenly kissed with ice crystals.
harbinger of a dream, illiusion or a manifestion of some delayed-onset PTSD since my stint overseas?
i hear folk talking in emotion bursts, info - secondary to their tone, which is somehow...problematic to me.
time's tide has shifted, or i have - into a zone i won't trivialize with the title of 'twilight'...
‘s just that i seem to be in the middle of a phenomenon bigger than the both of us - you don't feel it too?
i'll get the rake, move these leaves something to do - anything - to keep me from taking leave of my good sense, hopping over the fence
& raiding that house, end of the block, with the huge antennas protruding from every angled roof
& the blacked out windows, black suv's with government plates visiting on the regular,
& the overkill of three dobermans roaming the fence surrounding the expansive, groomed yard out back;
right in the middle of a perfectly good neighborhood, that allowed the likes of me a safe haven within. * 5/21 - lebuc - middling
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dg-fragments · 21 hours ago
I find myself lost often,
within the realms of time,
searching for art within the words,
refusing to accept the mediocrity,
only to realize that is all there is,
and that is all there will ever be.
- DG
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consciousprose · 22 hours ago
the warmth of the sun
kisses your skin -
twilight frost melting
into dew drops,
nourishing chamomile
seeds planted deep.
- aleta jay
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We were Inevitable from when we first talked
We were both a long shot, passed over
We had respect to share the path we walked
We resolved to care when no one would bother.
Rich or poor maybe
Chronic sickness in double
Baggage to high to see
Each one in serious trouble.
Vows in a world of broken promises
Sacred trust to be loved when broken
For your aspirations I will be your trellises
Only words of veneration will be spoken.
All we could wish is struggle's remittance
A piece of the dream, a harbor from life
A quiet place with no more goals and strife
A companion and a bed to live our sentence.
Time reveals that endless caring heals
Vows stand unbroken in defiance of fate
A decade of goals is how success feels
Life's purpose is revealed by a soul mate.
@artwork by Etsy on Pinterest
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scatteredthoughts2 · a day ago
Best Kept Secrets.
She knew childhood and she knew death,
And she knew nothing in between,
Just an empty room to rest in,
She was there, but never seen.
She cleaned houses every day,
As she tried to eke a living,
Then she went about her way,
With the few pounds she was given.
She found refuge in a church,
In a corner filled with shadow,
She spent hours there each day,
Dreaming of some distant meadow.
No one knew her name,
Or where it was she wept,
No one saw her pain,
Or the secret smile she kept.
In an empty church she rests,
No mourners there to weep,
With her arms crossed o'er her breasts,
And her secrets she will keep.
Ambrose Harte
Scattered Thoughts
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sparkandashes · a day ago
Most of the time, I feel like a letter written on a piece of paper someone left at your doorstep for you to read but you never even noticed it and now it holds the marks of your footprints as you leave it behind, every word goes neglected and unread, but never mind, at least this letter wears a speck of dust your shoes left all over it. Isn't it lovely that this piece of paper now holds a trace of you?
—Sparkandashes (via tumblr)
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