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thestuffiammadeof · 3 months

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Is this what love means? To not let them know that your egg is still runny and eat it anyway?

#spilled thoughts #spilled ink #love #poetic

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thestuffiammadeof · 3 months

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I stopped writing when I wasn’t in pain anymore. I didn’t have an itch at the back of my throat that only bleeding on paper could stop. My life seemed to flatline, no lows, but no highs. Just listening became normal. For a while I just listened to myself. I wrote what I could see, and forgot everything else. But then I stopped. Now I listen to everything else, silence least of all. The days where I stood still long enough to write my dreams down were months ago. I forgot. I am consumed and so I consume. There is no room for my own thoughts. The flatline shows no heartbeat. The buzzing noise is only heard in the silence.

#spilled thoughts #spilled ink #poem #poetry #self acceptance #self discovery #self love #nonduality #existentialism #lightworker #writblr #writerscreed #spiritual journey #mental health #writers block #freeze mode #consumerism #content

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thestuffiammadeof · 6 months

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I don’t feel like you’re real. You could be just an apparition before my eyes. A “blink twice and they’re gone”. A firefly in the night. I tricked myself into thinking I didn’t miss you at 8 p.m. yesterday evening, when just at 6 o’clock I had been thinking I needed you to come home every even tide. You’re an apparition in my mind. One wrong move and you could disappear forever. So fear takes over and I don’t even let you see the love in my eyes. How trite. To be myself. A pattern re-emerging from one year, six months and three days ago. A pattern I made in my childhood. “Let’s play hide and seek”. But no one ever could find me. And so I write to assuage the fear, build some resistance to my own mind, remember that I used to be aligned. And maybe this even tide I will tell you.

You’re probably,

most likely,

surely

the love of my life.

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thestuffiammadeof · 7 months

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Death comes in many forms.

When the blood cools in the body

happens to me most often.

I forget what it is to live.

Each day passes without a flicker of gold or stardust.

I pretend I’m content but it’s really complacency.

Contentment wouldn’t despair of its existence every other day.

Dried blood turns the body numb,

casts a shadow over figure of speech.

What is it that resuscitated me?

I saw a flash. Before my eyes.

A future that I have no way of making mine.

A past muddled with pity, poverty, pestilence, and pleas.

A voice that I have no conscience of.

A shoulder that will never be there to cry on.

A form that does not exist without breath.

And the breath cannot breath without my blood to pump it through my lungs.

Forgive me.

For all the time I quieted your voice,

filled you up inside just to leave you void,

turned your words into spells that floated down the river of time,

toyed with your heart and wasted your life.

I am sorry.

I did not know what I did.

I had no concept of truth.

And no image to even misconstrue it.

Complacency wasted me,

left me feeble in my search.

I feel no further than a babe,

dropped off at a church.

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thestuffiammadeof · 8 months

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The summer I lost my ego was an easy one.

I stood in the hot air brushing horses manes. No thought passed through my brain as the caked dirt let way to well oiled locks and a happy snicker. I couldn’t remember who I’d been before that. Couldn’t remember why I did anything. I just lived as if I never had before.

But the year crept on as I realized how unprepared I was. How much the ego does for your future. The little ambition that gripped me before disintegrated on the floor. I just don’t care for it anymore. I almost wish I had jammed my way into the doors I walked by before so that I could live comfortably as my ego death gives way to the spiritual apathy of equilibrium in the cosmos of me.

But alas,

this summer,

I plunged into financial ruin, my soul ever the happier for it.

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thestuffiammadeof · 8 months

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She sat there,

hands folded across her lap,

small and hunched,

looking about at the giant pit she found herself in.

Crumbled towers of pedestals from long ago

on every side.

She finally realized she had created one for everyone

but herself.

The deepest attention seeker of all,

basking in shadows.

Misfortune was too simple a word to describe

her current situation.

Her life.

What could she do now?

Everything had culminated into this moment.

The moment where nothing was left

but herself.

She looked down.

And cried.

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thestuffiammadeof · 9 months

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What do you do when your calling takes a break for the summer?

When it doesn’t pay all the bills?

What do you do when you’re bad at it?

And then get worse?

How should you navigate how you feel?

What do you do when your calling is all that you want?

So much so that there’s not room for anything else?

What do you do when care flies out the window?

And your dogs eat better than you do?

What do you do when you have all the answers?

But they don’t fit right in your shoes?

What do you do when repetition isn’t enough?

Because you didn’t let it last long enough to pay all those bills?

What do you do when there’s only a month left?

But in that month everything falls apart?

What do you do with the answer?

That your calling requires more than just heart?

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thestuffiammadeof · 10 months

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What’s changed? She asked herself.

I once sat for hours writing my pain away. Asked hard questions.

Thought about it for days.

Amassed a fury of gentility and genius.

Now, I just think about how to get out of it.

Why not to pick up the pen.

How comfortable my bed is.

Though this twisted shoulder would say different.

My poetry all sounds the same now.

I suppose because I have not continued the pursuit. I used to cling to tradition.

Now I turn my head when the sun brightens my sill too long.

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thestuffiammadeof · 1 year

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thestuffiammadeof · 1 year

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What’s “too complicated” and for a reason to be tossed to the side?

That’s up for you to decide

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thestuffiammadeof · 1 year

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Too complicated.

People want easy.

So to the side I am tossed,

the bitter wind cold.

Wondering who is at a loss.

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thestuffiammadeof · 1 year

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I am the teacher,

I am the mother,

I am the friend,

I am the therapist,

I am the organizer,

I am the manager,

I am the helper,

I am the collaborator,

I am the elder,

I am the lover,

I am the sister,

I am the listener,

I am the follower,

I am the leader,

I am the healer,

I am the counselor,

I am the family member,

I am the giver,

I am the reliever,

I am the storyteller,

I am the builder,

I am the laborer,

I am the fighter,

I am the pathway,

the light I wished I had.

For myself .

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thestuffiammadeof · 2 years

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I used to feel like I got hit by a train

every morning.

Now there’s just some pain

from the residual effects of loving.

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thestuffiammadeof · 2 years

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My tears fall simply because I cannot keep yours at bay.

#spilled thoughts #spilled ink #spilled writing #self care #self love #self discovery #spiritual #understanding #writers #writing #existentialism #love poem #love #spilled tears

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thestuffiammadeof · 2 years

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“People are people and sometimes we change our minds.”

— Taylor Swift / Breathe (via bnmxfld)

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thestuffiammadeof · 2 years

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It was an act of love.

To leave you.

To let you be free to want what you want.

If I had tried to compromise it would have chained us both to a religion we had not signed up for.

Instead I allowed freedom to bless us both,

and yet still, you curse me.

An act stained with prejudice, anger, insecurity.

Love. Never ending, ever changing. Love.

Unconditional.

For if I had kept you near me, conditions would fall hard and break much of this superfluity.

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thestuffiammadeof · 2 years

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There’s a little kid in my head.

I don’t know where he came from,

he just walked in the door one day.

No matter which room I move him to,

I trip over his face.

On weekends, I’m glad I don’t have to see him,

but I still wake up at 3 am making sure he’s ok.

If I could, I would tell him about aliens,

fossils, and trees.

The dark shapes, culture, futile things.

But I’ve a hint that he knows all this already,

for you see, he’s in my head,

and my head is a home to everything.

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