#poetry prose

[dame-nostalgique]

Songbird, 2023 🕊️

Pieces of hope for today, tomorrow, and the days after that

[stardustthroughthecracks]

I want you to want me, damn the consequences.

[eitwrites]

Brown eyes that mirror thoughts; eyes that round up when intriqued, eyes that close to almost a slit when playful, eyes that sparkle with mischief even before the words come out of her mouth.

I play along when she has a joke in mind, she doesn't know her eyes are giving it all away. The way her lips curl up and the way her nose crinkles, the way her voice carries her intent- light and full of laughter. She doesn't know i've spent years learning her and can read her through and through.

Here she comes, those coffee powder eyes with twinkling lights beneath it. Here she comes and starts with "Hey have you heard. . ?" Here she comes and there's happiness in my blood, it's going all around.

[adornself]

5-2-24

[as-nowilove]

promoting you to me, 9/17/24

[moreorlessinsidious]

I do not want to attach to anything;

Not because I fear loss.

I witness a million deaths a day

in the spaces between us

and with those I never met.

I fear growing into the earth

and being ripped from its flesh

a clutched newborn,

still a misshapen star.

I do not fear the warmth of ruin,

only the silence I came from:

A beginning and end

without the eyes of god.

[ineedibuprofen]

cigarette daydreams, cage the elephant // pinterest //@obsob // little women // girlhood, cecily parks // @deanwinchestersfloralwallpaper // // anti-curse, boygenius

[maispeakslove]

- sapphire blue

[spoiledsunflowers]

write about your heart as if it was a haunted house (we thrived here once) // c.b.c

[stardustthroughthecracks]

I’m sorry I didn’t realize how thin the string was between you and me; how rare these ties would be.

[eitwrites]

I like you a little. A little because i'm not sure if i'm allowed to like you a lot.

We're standing around in groups but it feels like there's only you and me. You recall small things about me and my heart does a little flip because you took the time to notice those things and it flops just as quick thinking you must be that type of person; too nice to let anything pass by, too kind to not make friends with everyone.

I like you a little. A little because if I don’t keep reminding myself, everyone else might realize it's a lot.

[adornself]

unfinished rought draft

[anouchan-jpg]

One day, I fear, I will cry out so loud, howling at the walls that I will tear my lips. I will lay on the dusty ground with my mouth torn and bleeding, blood gushing out in relief. The Earth, my maker, will embrace me drop by drop and it will be enough. I will be enough. Without needing pages and pages of tears, blood and all that makes me mortal.

And I can only hope, that you'll be there to close my eyes and kiss my bloody mouth for the last time.

To bury my heart under dried wild flowers, not for the beauty but for serving the same purpose. They lasted till they could.

And that will be enough.

My cry will be enough.

And I will be free.

-Anoushka

[the-firefly-jar-system]

Nostalgic tranquil, bittersweet melancholy, blissfully alone in the darkest hours of the night. Perhaps this feeling of serenity will last forever. Perhaps I am the only one in this blissful hour.. perhaps… Is this how it feels to live in a world which is truly courteous? In the dead of night, the world seems to be docile.. almost loving…

-Nocturne🌘🎵

[nostalgicjoy]

Dear September,

I want the gray skies of your sad morning. Let’s sit together with our lipstick stained mugs and the growing pains on our shoulders from trying to appear broader and bigger. I do want something quiet and unhurried, but I find myself running after apparations of an idyllic future. I can’t stop tripping over my tired heart. Can’t stop rocking back and forth and back and forth on this wooden chair. Waiting and waiting. Waiting for something to click into place. Find something to diffuse into all my negative space. My heart a gas leak spilling out to your gloomy clouds.

Sometimes the gray looks and feels like a sunburn. Sometimes it’s just the blue light of your late night and I’m letting it sit still with me at the table. It stretches across and holds my hand like an old friend. I play pretend then. Pull my lips wide into a semblance of a grin. Sometimes it works.

Actually, I don’t want the sad skies of your gray morning. Let me grow an appetite for golden light.

[ineedibuprofen]

Silvia Plath, The Bell Jar