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If people are such social creatures my nature, why does my existence seem to drive them away?

Haruki Murakami

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When I told you I loved you I meant it- A poem by me

When I told you I loved you,

I meant it,

So when you went ahead,

And broke me again,

I let you,

You hurt me so much the first time,

And yet I decided to try out the definition of insanity,

Just to double check,

When I told you I loved you,

I meant it,

So when I see your repost,

Talking about a girl,

After you left me in the dark,

I realised why,

And it hurt,

When I told you I loved you,

I meant it,

So after you created more lines on my wrist than I had before you,

Even then,

I stil begged for you to like me back,

I don't know how,

But you've broken something inside of me.

When I told you I loved you,

I meant it,

So why can you love others so much,

And hurt me so badly?

Why can't you see,

I would do anything to make you happy?

Why is it,

I am never going to be enough for you?

When I told you I love you,

I meant it.

[im-probably-bored]

I am an artist- A poem by me

I am an artist,

I may paint and draw,

I may sketch and colour,

So long as my creations make one's heart flutter,

Should I come to discover,

A new medium to leave me in awe,

I must try it until I master and bring light much like the summer,

To the world. 

So when it was,

That I discovered this form,

Sketching and painting,

With a utensil of silver,

And a creation of red,

I decided I must try it,

And I said,

Just once.

It became my new favourite past time,

Wasting away my hours,

And my days,

Creating the patterns wherever I go,

Finding unique beauty within each line,

Each sign,

Each design I made,

Trying it fast,

Trying it slow,

Drawing out a web of lies,

To cover for the maze,

I began to make.

Tear drops of blue,

Floating through,

Down my face,

Placing myself to blame,

As I realise this time,

Maybe I'm not all that fine,

Telling myself things will be OK,

As I go about my day,

With that stinging leftover,

From the nights past exposure,

To my new form of art,

Ripping me apart. 

I tear at the seams I call my own skin,

Watching as the drops smudge,

As I clutch,

At anything to ease the pain,

But I won't budge,

Because although this may drain,

The life from my eyes,

And the feelings from my wrists,

That euphoria I take,

I make,

And I break myself for,

As my hands begin to shake,

And the dull ache,

Settles in to create,

A pain like no other,

As I partake,

In this mistake,

Though I never cease to stop,

Because the pain in my wrist,

In my thighs,

On my stomach and my neck,

On my throat and my legs,

Is a much easier pain,

To explain,

Than the one inside my head.

[im-probably-bored]

I agree entirely, you're very wise

The prettiest names belong to the prettiest people, inside and out, the people who will make you rethink your whole life and reshape your whole ways of thinking, the people who will be nothing but positive influence and support to you. The prettiest names belong to the prettiest people, inside and out, Ella, Delilah, Niko, these are the prettiest names of all to me

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Ofc ml! I hope everything goes well with these people, unfortunately it didn't work out so well for me and my name's but they will always be names I remember

The prettiest names belong to the prettiest people, inside and out, the people who will make you rethink your whole life and reshape your whole ways of thinking, the people who will be nothing but positive influence and support to you. The prettiest names belong to the prettiest people, inside and out, Ella, Delilah, Niko, these are the prettiest names of all to me

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"The chaotic beauty of two worlds colliding" That's just so- 😍

What is love to you?

Love is beauty and pain all wrapped up into one. It is the feeling of complete content even when your life is completely fucked up, and the reason for your lack of dissatisfaction is them. Love to me is full of second chances, it can mess up the first time but that doesn't mean it is doomed. Love for me is seeing them in everything you see, looking at a cloud that looks like their initial or doodling when you're bored and it comes out looking like them, writing poetry and realising every piece is a message to or about them and looking at every star in the sky wondering if they are looking at the same sky from wherever they are. Love to me is when a person fills your entire being with a sense that everything is going to be OK, as a person who has struggled with severe mental health difficulties all her life, love is that slight reassurance that someone might actually care about me, someone might actually want the best for me, even if I can't fully believe it, the idea is enough. Love is that feeling you get when you wake up at 5am on a Sunday and you hear the heavy beating of rain and the sun is rising through the cracks of your blinds and it seems as if the whole world is at peace, it's quiet. Love is the peace within the chaos. Love is the feeling towards another human being that you truly believe you would do anything just to see them smile. Love is the sound of their laughter being the ringtone that introduces your smile because you can't help but be happy when you can see they are, no matter how bad things may be right now. It's when the feeling of the touch of their fingertips is something you crave late at night and when they pull you in for that first hug after a long time of being unable to touch them, their breath on the side of your neck and the feeling of their hands around your waist making you feel at home again. Love is listening to songs you have listened to for years and finally understanding why love songs are phrased the way they are, watching a slideshow of memories playing over in your head as you remember their eyes crinkling as they smile and that one night where you danced in their bedroom with their family in the next room but not caring because you two were the only people in the world at that time. Love is the feeling of content within a person, realising that home isn't so much of a place but more of a person, becoming friends with their family because you know all you want is one day for you to be able to call them your own family. Love is him when you lay on his lap on that bench by those woods as you stare up into his eyes as he stares down into yours, as you talk and laugh and he plays with your hair with one hand and his other hand doing the thumb thing on your cheek while you stroke his arm and tell him he is beautiful and laughing as he blushes. Love is knowing the things that fluster them and doing it anyway because you enjoy watching them crumble. It's the reminder that people are just people, living for the first time, the same as you, and they make mistakes but even the mistakes that may end up causing you pain, they are accepted because you want nothing but to be with them. Forgiveness for the hurt they may cause because you know they are trying their hardest and being proud of them because that is enough for you. Love is poetry in the rain.

[im-probably-bored]

OFC It's beautiful ❤️

oh the summer-winter day

have you ever imagined, a day between? something not one, not two, not three—neither a decimal, something free?

it's impossible, or at least i cannot; i am stuck between this fiery distraught that, to my sorrow, has me caught.

but somewhere i can retreat, a solace of light, of peace

this place, it is nowhere to be found—it is my mind, the bright parts on the ground!

many see their headspace

as places full of mistakes

of pain, of sorrow—something distinct, a place of burden

but mine? it is a place of dreams; it is a place of nobility and somewhere i can breathe

of course, i will admit, that just like anything else, this dreamscape is not immune to the weather,

for sometimes, whether the weather is weathered or the weather is wetter, it is always a choice of grace

to take a step out of the place

into the grass, into the haste

somewhere i can inhale,

that sweet, sweet air,

that gives me its grace.

@nosebleedclub Jun 21, "sweet air"

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I didn't loosen my grip on my humanity because my love for the world lacked, my interlocked fingers only uncrossed from their aconian grasp because they longed for the world around them to show a minute longing for them too.

~ Me

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I'm so happy I discovered my love for poetry this year

isnt it amazing we live in a world where theres poetry. why is nobody else going insane about it

[im-probably-bored]

This is gorgeous

oh the summer-winter day

have you ever imagined, a day between? something not one, not two, not three—neither a decimal, something free?

it's impossible, or at least i cannot; i am stuck between this fiery distraught that, to my sorrow, has me caught.

but somewhere i can retreat, a solace of light, of peace

this place, it is nowhere to be found—it is my mind, the bright parts on the ground!

many see their headspace

as places full of mistakes

of pain, of sorrow—something distinct, a place of burden

but mine? it is a place of dreams; it is a place of nobility and somewhere i can breathe

of course, i will admit, that just like anything else, this dreamscape is not immune to the weather,

for sometimes, whether the weather is weathered or the weather is wetter, it is always a choice of grace

to take a step out of the place

into the grass, into the haste

somewhere i can inhale,

that sweet, sweet air,

that gives me its grace.

@nosebleedclub Jun 21, "sweet air"

[im-probably-bored]

What is love to you?

Love is beauty and pain all wrapped up into one. It is the feeling of complete content even when your life is completely fucked up, and the reason for your lack of dissatisfaction is them. Love to me is full of second chances, it can mess up the first time but that doesn't mean it is doomed. Love for me is seeing them in everything you see, looking at a cloud that looks like their initial or doodling when you're bored and it comes out looking like them, writing poetry and realising every piece is a message to or about them and looking at every star in the sky wondering if they are looking at the same sky from wherever they are. Love to me is when a person fills your entire being with a sense that everything is going to be OK, as a person who has struggled with severe mental health difficulties all her life, love is that slight reassurance that someone might actually care about me, someone might actually want the best for me, even if I can't fully believe it, the idea is enough. Love is that feeling you get when you wake up at 5am on a Sunday and you hear the heavy beating of rain and the sun is rising through the cracks of your blinds and it seems as if the whole world is at peace, it's quiet. Love is the peace within the chaos. Love is the feeling towards another human being that you truly believe you would do anything just to see them smile. Love is the sound of their laughter being the ringtone that introduces your smile because you can't help but be happy when you can see they are, no matter how bad things may be right now. It's when the feeling of the touch of their fingertips is something you crave late at night and when they pull you in for that first hug after a long time of being unable to touch them, their breath on the side of your neck and the feeling of their hands around your waist making you feel at home again. Love is listening to songs you have listened to for years and finally understanding why love songs are phrased the way they are, watching a slideshow of memories playing over in your head as you remember their eyes crinkling as they smile and that one night where you danced in their bedroom with their family in the next room but not caring because you two were the only people in the world at that time. Love is the feeling of content within a person, realising that home isn't so much of a place but more of a person, becoming friends with their family because you know all you want is one day for you to be able to call them your own family. Love is him when you lay on his lap on that bench by those woods as you stare up into his eyes as he stares down into yours, as you talk and laugh and he plays with your hair with one hand and his other hand doing the thumb thing on your cheek while you stroke his arm and tell him he is beautiful and laughing as he blushes. Love is knowing the things that fluster them and doing it anyway because you enjoy watching them crumble. It's the reminder that people are just people, living for the first time, the same as you, and they make mistakes but even the mistakes that may end up causing you pain, they are accepted because you want nothing but to be with them. Forgiveness for the hurt they may cause because you know they are trying their hardest and being proud of them because that is enough for you. Love is poetry in the rain.

[im-probably-bored]

Real

I write, because I talked to people and they belittled my feelings.

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Should I make a SoundCloud where I read my poetry?

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The titles of all the poetry I have currently written (first to most recent):

- You told me you were different.

- The Ross and Rachel Effect.

- Daddy are you there?

- Such a sensitive girl.

- Bad for me.

- The hardship and difficulties of my ginger hair.

- I wish.

- The first time I tried to cut myself.

- He hurt me, I let him.

- Does being in love really have to acquaint to so much pain?

- Once upon a time.

- Authors and artists.

- I love you, even though I may not show it.

- We understand your struggles.

I want to try that exercise where I think of a title of the poem first and THEN actually write it but idk what the title should be.

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[im-probably-bored]

I don't sleep to rest, I sleep to escape.

- Unknown

🦋💖💌

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