"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
Your feelings are validI once read
that a teaspoon of matter
from a black hole
can weigh thousands of tons
so think about that
when someone tells you
your problem is no big deal
it may not look
like I have the weight of the world
upon my shoulders
but it sure can feel like it.
FarewellThe sudden void into the unhinged mind of a demented soul,
The rapture of a lucid dream, falling into an obliterated consciousness
The devastating coma of a genius protagonist, completing the epic tale of a life
It was all but a dream, a chimera, an excruciating lie.
The nothingness digging its claws into a cryptic vision,
The finality of a banal, vain existence
Never to be remembered, nor praised for its perpetual battle against agony.
There is nothing,
Nothing but the sharp sound of shattering glass,
Nothing but a hollow shell on the edge of the world.
This is where I depart, this is where I bow down,
This is where my crude hatred vanishes with my existence
There is nothing but a vague memory, of a silent soldier walking against the wind,
The pallid remembrance of a once scintillating simper
Good fortune to you all, for my path lies beneath the river
And with it, a single breathe to be released upon all as a somber farewell.
Fairy Tale GirlFairy tale little girl.
She wears a crown upon her head,
And befriends the monsters under her bed.
She sings songs to birds.
But no one ever heard
Her cries when the castle walls came tumbling down.
Real world little girl.
She weaves herself a fantasy inside her mind.
Hoping to find
The same peace from when she was young.
And she's like water colors.
So soft, and easily washed away.
She is the soft blues in the morning of a new day.
I found her hiding within her tower.
Far above the real world below.
She is so broken but never lets it show,
So desperate for some fairy tale ending.
She asked me quietly one day,
'Do you think the world will ever be like my story books?'
I thought for a moment before replying,
'In order to survive there are some bad things you have to overlook.'
'The world is grey.'
I heard her say one day.
As if accepting the odd mixture of good and bad.
Her voice sounded happy and sad,
All at once.
As she ripped away the last page
In her story book.
beautiful.i hate my stretchmarks
the vertical the horizontal the ones running miles down my arms
stripes on a circus tent
my body is a freak show
75 cents a ticket
they are the bars on a cage
trapping me inside this prison cell of flesh
(not letting me run away
from all i once was)
reminding me that i am
still that little girl who
was told that she had too
much weight in her stomach
and in her thighs
to be called beautiful
my stretchmarks are the debris from when i tried to collapse upon myself
tried taking up less space
because beautiful is small beautiful is skinny
diets upon diets
because i've been told that
i am only worth the sharpness of my collarbone
Between life and death
again and again on my knees
broken by those who should help me stand
not sad nor happy in this life
and getting up
again and again
after every fall
more determined to keep standing
more desperate to avoid another
depression doesn´t hurt
it´s beyond limits of sadness
beyond any other feeling known by mam
being alive is too hard
there are easier ways around
why to stand up after fall?
stubbornly holding on worthless things
patiently crying when no one hears
broken pieces glued together
effort testing limits of strength
buying time to find more will
forgetting to smile
what did it feel like
for the last time?
Why I DanceI dance as if I am sick,
And the movement is medication.
As if getting up in the morning just to practice is the only motivation
To stay awake.
Because well- worn soft shoes
Feel like home.
The world is cold, and lonely.
But when I dance, there is a fire inside my heart, warm and lively.
I feel like a bird,
Like I am able to fly as high as I want.
Gravity, I taunt
As I laugh in its face.
Because the Earth was never a place
Because leaping across dance floors,
Allows me to soar
Higher than I could in my dreams.
Hard shoe dances make me feel powerful.
Like a raging storm at sea.
My stamps, and clicks are crashing waves.
But I am also the sea breeze.
Strong and graceful.
When I dance I feel like I am trading
Secrets with the universe.
My head is clear,
And my will power is strong.
I am a force to be feared.
On bad days,
The rhythms of hard shoes sound like a heart- beat.
A life line.
And I’ll dance until my feet bleed
Just to feel something.
Because dancing is the only thing
A Letter to the Girl who Hates her BodyA letter to the girl who hates her body.
A letter to that girl
Who scrolls through tumblr.
Admiring all of those models.
With thigh gaps that look cute with skirts.
And a waist that you can barely see.
A letter to the girl
Who looks at models,
For their curves.
The way their hips go outwards
And their size D cup breasts.
Please don't look in the mirror,
And hate the girl you see.
That girl is you
And she should be loved unconditionally.
Because you deserve love.
And how much love is not determined on your waist size,
Whether you're chubby or skinny
You're still so very pretty.
You're so perfect.
So for every time you look in that mirror.
And tell yourself you aren't worth it.
That you're arms are too big,
Your hips aren't big enough.
I am a woman.
I am strong.
I have a body like a castle.
A kingdom made just for me.
And I will not destroy that castle,
By trying to starve myself.
By taking brick by brick and dismantling it
Dear Homophobic ParentsDear homophobic parents,
How the fuck do you think it makes me feel
When you walk out of the room crying
Because you can’t stand the thought of something I can’t control.
I’ll tell you that it makes my insides burn.
The living room feels like a closet.
Suffocating, and yet I can breathe fine.
I am choking on the air,
Polluted by your homophobic slurs.
Making uneducated guesses about things you know nothing about.
Someone ought to teach you to look shit up
Before you go about, shouting your false claims to the world.
My very existence is an error.
Some messed up chemical defect that went wrong,
I don’t belong
I am the Titanic,
To you I am supposed to be perfect
I am supposed to be straight, and happy, and fine.
But I am so very far from fine,
When my lungs are filling up with water,
Your words are an ice berg,
And I am sinking fast.
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondly
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.