"of all the things
i could've broken
How to love a warrior.She isn't a girl you can mess with. Her rubber band heart strikes back with twice the hurt you are capable of feeling. Her ivory rib cage will protect her and break every protruding knuckle in your fist if you try to reach her when she doesn't want you to. She can stand alone at the end of the world. Don’t let her broken glasses fool you.
She can save herself.
She won’t need you to wait on her, hand and foot. She won’t need you to save her from the monsters underneath her bed. She slayed them when she was seven. She will carve the remains of your closet skeletons out of your chest where they learnt to hide and she'll frame them on your bedroom wall as a constant reminder of the time she was your knight in shining armor.
She won’t need you. But you'll need her. And she'll want you to.
She'll want you to need her the way she will learn to need you. With every breath in her lungs, she will breathe you in. She will batter your body's tin roof with sarcasm, heavy as
Butterflies.You said, “Yellow brick roads never led home.” For a long while, I chose to believe they didn’t. For a long while, I let your definitions define me so even if just for a while, I could have meaning. You said, ‘You can’t paint roses red, that’s not how color works,’ but I hadn’t seen much color as a child so I let you give me your monochromatic sight. You said, ‘Rabbits weren’t meant for waistcoats,’ so I let him go, hoping. Hoping, he wouldn’t be late.
You said, today could start with Once-upon-a-time but Ever-Afters had no guarantees. You said you could be the prince but I had to be Cinderella in shard shoes. You said dwarves had standards.
You said the Magic Mirror had never heard of me. You said I couldn’t name the colors of the wind. You said the ‘Dragons be here,’ on optimistic maps was wrong. You said I had no place in fairytales because they were lies with paperback wings.
Let me tell you a
Untitled.sing to me
in your ocean tide voice.
crash into me. hurtle your stones
and sea shells
against my skin and make me sway.
hold on to me
with your straying grasp. collide
your runaway train into mine.
don't end the sentence of my existence
with a question mark.
sleep with me.
give me space-time-synesthesia
so i can see the clock encircle me,
the calender sheets.
so i can recall what you have to do last tuesday
and did tomorrow.
when i see you
i really see you
walk with me.
slip your twitching fingers into the spaces
between mine. we may not fit 'perfect'
but we fit 'all right.'
dance for me.
bend your body in
skeletal origami. take me by the hand
and fold me a paper crane.
peel me away, layer after layer
till i am too light to fly,
blow in between my folds and set me
your thunderclouds and make me
sway. sway, to the breeze of your
starry night meadow. silence your oceans
and still flinch at the deafening roar.
hush my hurricanes, hush.
Can't phrase a sentence right.i have always wanted to write. writing, it’s, it’s one of those things that strips you of race, gender and culture and the only thing you’re judged on is the way that your words glide through the air, planting a kiss on every corner of the room when you say them. writing is one of those things that can be so moving when said that even the crevices in cracking plaster walls smile and whisper, “hey, that was beautiful.”
writing, it just kind of asks you to lend it your heart so it can paint words that are true and as soaked in dreams and hope as your blood is. it isn’t just words on a page, no, it is so much more. it’s lyrical origami, it’s poetry that makes diamonds shrivel in distaste as they wait to reach that state of perfection, it's a song that can be read in soundless space and still be heard with music in the background. it’s line after line of nothing but a collection of letters that don’t deserve to be called words sim
Just for a heartbeat.“i will never be the hero. don’t you understand that? i will never wear a cape and fly around town, saving people. i will never get a medal from the mayor of wherever. i will never be a hero. i can’t fly or shoot beams out of my eyes. i’m not even an 'average' hero that walks to work. i’m nobody. i’m a freak and everybody knows it. i’m a freak with fake broken pieces in me because i’m so pathetic i can’t even make my self up out of anything but lies. i’m a freak and no freak was ever a 'hero'. i’m a bloody lighthouse and i can’t just become a wave crashing at the shoreline. i just can't disappear. i’m not a hero. i’ll trip over my cape and kill someone. if that’s heroism then i’m on top of the world but, by definition, that doesn’t count. i’m a screw-up that will never do things right. i’m a screwed-up freak and that doesn't count... i don't coun
As long as anywhere was far enough.instead of a prison cell, he thought of it like a bird cage. it was his bird cage. we were imprisoned in three concrete walls that laughed at us and one lined with iron bars for the others to join in until we could bear no more mockery for the teenage sins we committed. while the rest of us screamed and cursed, crying out loud for the endless laughter to stop, he did nothing. he never did anything but twist metaphors and similes into ribbons he wrapped in every heartbeat and though the bitter hated it, i couldn’t help but find it his way of coping because he saw himself as a bird. a bird with the will to fly far away from the cage it was held captive in because we all saw this world as a chessboard or a game of scales but he wanted to believe there was something more, that there was something after the king had fallen to a pawn. he wanted to believe this world was something he could fly away from. that it was something that could wait for him and slow down when the time was
We were eternal.The body attacked itself. The mind forgot things. The eyes became sightless and limbs became immobile. The heart stopped beating. The blood stopped flowing. The fingers began sh-sh-shaking. The head became weightless. The hair weakened and fell. The bones began weakening and made us fall. The tongue refused to paint words in the air. The breath froze over. The heart stopped beating. The skin receded into a shrivel. The body bent over and hid in shame. The lungs stopped breathing. The heart stopped. The blood dried up. The bones stood strong but the flesh was lost. The corpse decayed. The life was gone.
But we were eternal. But we were forever. We were matter into energy. We could not be destroyed. We could not be created. We were there. We weren't everlasting. We weren't forever. But we were eternal. But we were eternal. We were supposed to be eternal.
On lockdown“Karah. My name is Karah. I am not Alice. I am Karah. I am Karah, Karah, Alice doesn’t exist.”
In those few seconds, Alice could let herself slip into a blanket of quiet. For some time, she wasn’t Alice anymore. She wasn’t weak or alone. She wasn’t hurt or broken. She wasn’t a thousand pieces of shattered glass lying on the floor trying to mend itself to form the perfect mirror it had once been. If only for a moment, she was whole. She wasn’t a runaway train. If only for a moment, she was on the right track, zooming at high speeds, safely, not colliding, not crashing. She was beautiful. Her scarred skin shed and now, she was beautiful. Her skin was painted in a hundred colors and her eyes shone as if star dust had found safe haven among her tears. She felt for the scar beneath her eyes and found nothing. She wasn’t Alice anymore. She was Karah. She was whole. She was complete. It had been so long since she had last felt so perfectly
Colors only i could seeas a child, my world was full of colors only i could see. my whole world feels like nothing but a collection of memories i can only remember, memories i can no longer go back to in hope of escape. sleeplessness made up about half of those memories. the night was a blanket my dragon friends wrapped me into before cradling me to sleep in their wings, the sound of their conjoined heartbeats thick and dreamy against my ears. it was the sound of immortal strength and a creation i had formed from nothing. it was mine. it was all mine. it was all mine to keep.
Ajax and Aya were my warriors of choice. they were “colored in Satan’s brightest flames” , they had once said. they were majestic, they were beautiful, they were everything. he, she and i rode into the night and we kissed the stars so lightly yet so deeply that there was no such thing as “farewell”, there was only, “until next time.” when Ajax and Aya were off, Peter took me to Neverland and i s
stardust. (you're beautiful)he's
out of orbit -
dust in his
veins rise and
each word that
drips and pools
defined like the
ribcage of a
baby bird, his
were not made for
this earth but
for the stars.
some days he
fades in and
out of reality like
he never really
wanted to be there
on those days
i just think
my god, you really don't
realise how amazing you are.
Little GirlThere sits the girl with the things in her eyes
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she sits on the ground
Keeping their distance and letting her drown
In her own worries and things she won't tell
Waiting for her mind to kill her as well.
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t find
the god inside of yourself anymore, that
you think that you are finally
too much honeycomb and not enough human
because lately everything has been slipping
through your fingers, and you don’t know how you can
keep holding yourself together anymore.
if today is the day that you look
at the stars and you no longer
feel their burn beneath your bones,
i will show you the blanket i tried to make
when i was eight, and i will tell you all i know
about the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,
but i do know the basics,
and that’s that everything in the universe
is composed of strings that somehow
loop onto each other infinitely.
so whenever you feel like you’re
walking a tightrope without a safety
net below you, know that you are
thousands of tightropes strung together,
and one fall will not kill you.
i have never told you about the way
i can feel my pulse skitter to a stop
in my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear?
Depression isn’t true!
Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...
Just maybe not for you.
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:
I did not ask to be birthed
Into a cycle of stagnation.
I did not ask to be told,
That my dreams are achievable;
Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.
I did not ask for a failing system,
Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.
Nodding eagerly at one another,
As they wait for an inevitable death.
This I did not ask for,
And I am certain that most of you did not either.
But it is for that reason,
And for that reason alone, I say:
That it is up to us,
We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,
To create a system that is better,
Than the bitter shackles of the past.
Justice is what I long for.
Justice for MY people.
An Angel's Promise'Thou art mine,
And so thou shall remain.'
I will not let you have any other before me,
Nor can there be any after.
For it is your soul that I have shared
And it is your soul that I do take.
Your worship is the blood that flows through me.
Your praise is the heart that pumps life into my veins.
I have accepted that which is torn;
And if you are not whole before me,
Then by my will and word,
You shall be made whole.
So fear not this frigid world,
Though its cold bites deeply into your flesh.
I shall take that which has been torn from you
And weep life into it,
Until only warmth remains.
For thou art already mine,
And so thou shall remain.
To the Struggling ChristiansMy cross broke the other day,
snapped off of the chain,
and nearly rolled away.
I caught it in my hands,
though it nearly slipped through
like tiny grains of sand
I'm a college student.
I attend a public school,
Nine hours away from home
and my faith too.
There's no emphasis on Catholicism,
no morning prayers through the Saints.
No “Our Father” to guide me,
no Mary to keep me through the day.
In fact it's the opposite,
grace comes in the form of drugs.
The new morning prayers
are deadly smoke to lungs.
I've never had a problem with Sexuality,
you know me.
You can tell this by looking through my old poetry.
Though what I cannot stand
is when you feel the need,
to invalidate one's Christianity
because of your sexuality.
They're giving me reasons not to believe,
in long list like shopping recipes.
Telling me what I already know,
begging me to tell God to go.
It's not easy to keep your faith,
when people are giving you reasons
to throw it away.
Though I'm lucky I sup
it's okay to not be okaysometimes it’s okay
to sit on the floor of the bathroom stall
and let your feelings gather- it’s okay
to let them pool like a lachrymose lagoon
as the inside of your stomach does summersaults;
I know these emotions can’t be tenderly released,
they’re not soft waves kissing the expecting shore,
let them pour out of you like tidal waves-
release the tsunami from within you
and I know sometimes the tears will sodden your pillowcase,
they’ll be juggernauts- those brackish beads
cathartically-cartwheeling down your flushed cheeks;
but remember how even the clouds
may cry tempestuously today,
only to make room
for much brighter days
so I promise you, darling
it’s going to be okay.
HetaliaxDepressed!Reader:Self-Inflicted AchromaticHetalia x Scary! Depressed! Reader: Self-Inflicted Achromatic
I want to be a person just like you, don't you see?
I want to be a person who is still being "me"
A tired sigh escaped your lips. You were just so damn tired. The other countries said that you, (f/n) or (c/n), was scarier than Russia himself. But of course, you have lived 2500 years with wars and bloodshed always trailing after you. You just really want to be happy. But all those wars and blood imprinted on your mind, you really just released off a dark (a/c) aura and a stoic atmosphere.
It really would be nice but I'm paying a price
'Cause I'd really, not be me and that would not suffice
You asked yourself, "I know my face doesn't show my pain. But isn't it obvious in my eyes? I'm lonely and hurt" You rubbed your numb (s/c) wrist, yesterday's cuts still had a colorless ache to it. You picked your silver knife, twirling it around watching the others argue. The said knife is the one you also use to cut yourself.
A dream which