#poetry poems flowers indie alternative grunge vintage

[nife-liberata]

To Live in the shame of our existence

And taking a breath is something to apologize for

I’m grown and still hurt like a child

For the sadness of the places i used to know

The grief of realizing they no longer exist

Maybe I never left our street,

And I’m daydreaming about things

children don’t have to worry about

the blueness of the hour

rearranging my dolls on the pavement

Waiting to be called in for dinner

world was wonderful before it is wicked

I’m petulant at coming back in

i knew I should rage at being told to stop playing.

— O. Nessuno

[natureandbeauty]

[padfootsiriusorionblackthethird]

If we wait until we are ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives.

[nife-liberata]

Don’t turn off the television

We went to war and returned at dusk, knees bloodied

Sun-perfumed skin painted with soot and dirt

Like a badge of victory, homecoming

Back to my castle of bare hollow blocks and chicken wire fence, red painted door.

I still have faith in miracles,

But much less now—unlike before

— o. nessuno

[nife-liberata]

I’ll wake up and I’m 20 tomorrow.

I remember wanting to be a teen, seeing the postcards of youth in magazines and wanting to be unapologetic and free; I thought adolescents didn’t give a fuck.

My only accolade is being reckless magical and terribly sad. Even when I didn’t realize it, I wanted to bask in the earthquakes and euphoria of being alive. The melancholia was romantic, the joys sky high, erupting from the pits of my stomach like an erratic volcano. My dreams were built on my youth; when they didn’t feel heavy— they felt possible.

I created my best work during this period. Wrote my best poems, taken my best photos. Read the books, seen the movies and listened to the records that would shape my life.

Passively all I’ve done was prepare for all this history to rest. Poring over the details, diligently transcribing every moment. Drawing a map for it, to help me find the altar I carefully crafted for the memories of this ever changing time. All I know is how to be young. I don’t know how to be anything else.

Now adulthood looms over my head like a cloud signaling rainstorm. But life doesn’t end when you stop being 19, spring comes again eventually. The flowers won’t be in the same spot. But the buds will be bigger, the ground will breathe again.

My teen self was wiser, but she didn’t know it all. She didn’t know how the world could open itself up like a petal. She did not know hearts could splinter many times and still work. For once, I will let go with grace. I won’t throw a fit, I’ll welcome this age like grass welcomes rain. There’s so much more art to make, more books to read, a world to see.

I think of getting older, I think of never laying old dreams to rest for new ones. On the day of my birth, there won’t be fireworks. Only sunshine and chirps of birds. The day will be spent in silence, just as it was when I was born. It goes on quietly, slowly.

If I close my eyes, I’m 16 again. Listening to pure heroine and making plans on the back of a notebook unused for actual schoolwork but more for lyrics and musings beyond the four corners of school. All the days in between then and now is just a long dream.

But I’ll wake up and I’m 20 tomorrow.

[natureandbeauty]

[natureandbeauty]

[nife-liberata]

“Hope can come 

even in the darkest times.

you see, even plants

survive being underwater.”

J.