i've gotten good at living on someone else's page
~ Metaphor - The Crane Wives
16K notes
Ā·
View notes
the fire didnāt kill him
but his heart was clouded by the smoke
broken angels of my heart
looking for hope in the faintest of lights
her perseverance to make it through
makes her survive infinite hells
his anger flaming in a corner of his chest
spreading forest fires for fortnights
the shine in his eyes as he looks at her
and finds his universe in someoneās life
the feelings that we choose to tuck away
forming out our stories forever
we are here now and we are here together
hold my hand and letās sync our breaths
tomorrow my dear the sun shines again
until then the only light is moon
~ shreeya.ļæ¼
25 notes
Ā·
View notes
I'm a first year psych major (undergrad). So, in this second semester, we have 7 courses (5 core courses that are of 4 credits, and 2 practicum courses that are of 2 credits).
We have one class lasting for 2 hours, and all core subjects have 2 classes every week (so that's 4 hours a week for every core course).
In one day, we either have 2 or 3 classes.
I think 3-4 hours a class sounds like a lot and 7 courses in itself is a huge number. I hope they reduce some work load for you guys!
Asking all the psychology majors out there. How many classes do you have per week? (Please reblog so as many people as possible can reply) I really need the data. Plz also include if youāre doing one or two degrees!
I need data to help persuade my university. We currently have to enroll in all 7 classes and all the classes are about 3-4 hours long. Thatās 28 hours of lectures per week and weāre not talking about group projects and assignments which are assigned weekly.
šššš
Please reblog!
@crying-is-your-latest-fashion @magnus-the-maqnificent @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @littlx-songbxrd @fair-but-wilde-messages @a-very-gay-spider @ab-cedario
61 notes
Ā·
View notes
let me weave a story in a poem
a poem of a story of a boy
that I used to be crazy about
a boy who may be oblivious
to the spotlight he held for me
I've weaved little poems for you
time and time again
but this one is of the start
which I never have penned down
I remember the day we met
I remember it all too well
I remember how little we were
and how unknown about life
and all the drama it brings
you set a place in my heart
with your pretty eyes and
your sharp witty mouth
and that place existed for
a surprisingly long time
it was such a long time
that I'm here writing a poem
about all of it, to you
which I know you'll never read
because you don't even know
about the existence of all this
eight years and counting
yes, it was eight years and more
of a million eye contacts
and of booming laughters shared
they say you look at the person
whom you're closest to in the room
while you're laughing
you remember how we looked
at each other
at the very same moment
with eyes full of laughter
and smiles that could
engulf the light of the sun
i used to love laughing with you
i used to love looking at you
i used to love your smirks
and all your many witticisms
but then you changed
something shifted and
you changed
you weren't that soft soul anymore
you became someone else
someone I barely knew
someone who was completely
different from the person
that I had grown up with
all this time, all too well
you changed and I could
still see a little light of you
of the original real you
but that light was a flicker
and rest was darkness
when I last saw you a year ago
you still were that changed person
that flicker was still there though
you still kept giving me glances
though they were hidden this time
but not hidden enough from me
and hey, guess what
I kept glancing too
because it's habit, you're habit
that's the thing, you know?
even if you aren't occupying that
place in my heart out of
adoration anymore
you're occupying it
out of habit
some habits are so hard to break up
and I have known this habit
all too well.
~ shreeya.//all too well//
44 notes
Ā·
View notes
it was a day of goodbyes
everyone wished me so
I wished them a happy life
and the evening went on
you and I saw each other
exchanged knowing looks
but never spoke as usual
when the day ended finally
and everyone was saying
the last final goodbye
you come up to me slowly
and whispered in my ear
but before I could turn around
to look at you, you leave
you leave in the moment
wherein tectonic plates
are shifting inside my heart
why'd you not let me have
the closure I've badly needed
and why is it that my heart
reacts magnificently to you
maybe you'll just be a memory
maybe we meet again in life
but the shiver that ran down
when you said those words
is gonna beguile me forever
as much as it will slay me
~ shreeya.//"hey, I love you"//
58 notes
Ā·
View notes
Orange in the middle of a table:
It isnāt enough
to walk around it
at a distance, saying
itās an orange:
nothing to do
with us, nothing
else: leave it alone
I want to pick it up
in my hand
I want to peel the
skin off; I want
more to be said to me
than just Orange:
want to be told
everything it has to say
And you, sitting across
the table, at a distance, with
your smile contained, and like the orange
in the sun: silent:
Your silence
isnāt enough for me
now, no matter with what
contentment you fold
your hands together; I want
anything you can say
in the sunlight:
stories of your various
childhoods, aimless journeyings,
your loves; your articulate
skeleton; your posturings; your lies.
These orange silences
(sunlight and hidden smile)
make me want to
wrench you into saying;
now Iād crack your skull
like a walnut, split it like a pumpkin
to make you talk, or get
a look inside
But quietly:
if I take the orange
with care enough and hold it
gently
I may find
an egg
a sun
an orange moon
perhaps a skull; centre
of all energy
resting in my hand
can change it to
whatever I desire
it to be
and you, man, orange afternoon
lover, wherever
you sit across from me
(tables, trains, buses)
if I watch
quietly enough
and long enough
at last, you will say
(maybe without speaking)
(there are mountains
inside your skull
garden and chaos, ocean
and hurricane; certain
corners of rooms, portraits
of great-grandmothers, curtains
of a particular shade;
your deserts; your private
dinosaurs; the first
woman)
all I need to know:
tell me
everything
just as it was
from the beginning
Margaret Atwood, āAgainst Still Life.ā Circle Game
580 notes
Ā·
View notes
heres something i wrote while i was on a lot of medication
5K notes
Ā·
View notes
Persephone is Buried in a Field by Joan Tierney
927 notes
Ā·
View notes
āI want to talk about what happened without mentioning how much it hurt. There has to be a way. To care for the wounds without reopening them. To name the pain without inviting it back into me.ā
ā Lora Mathis, If Thereās A Way Out Iāll Take It
(via thequotejournals)
86K notes
Ā·
View notes
Excerpt from The Complete Poems by Anne Sexton
672 notes
Ā·
View notes
Bhanu Kapil, from The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers
7K notes
Ā·
View notes
āBe confused, itās where you begin to learn new things. Be broken, itās where you begin to heal. Be frustrated, itās where you start to make more authentic decisions. Be sad, because if we are brave enough we can hear our heartās wisdom through it. Be whatever you are right now. No more hiding. You are worthy, always.ā
ā S.C. Lourie
2K notes
Ā·
View notes
HAMMOND B3 ORGAN CISTERN by GABRIELLE CALVOCORESSI
33K notes
Ā·
View notes
If I could see each path before me
Iād take the quickest route to you.
Itās selfish of me really,
to want to hoard as much
of your time on this earth as I can.
Either way Iāll crave more time.
I just wish ours had already started.
9 notes
Ā·
View notes
i donāt think you understand emptiness.Ā
a cup on the table is empty but it was still
made. hands held it, molded it, carefullyĀ
shaped it together, webbed design that looks
like that stray curl they brush from your cheek.Ā
it is empty now but ā tomorrow, when youĀ
are shoulderslumped and heavy, your handĀ
laid on the back of your neck like some errantĀ
passing of apology, it will be full. & you will be
glad. and you will be loved.Ā
now imagine the cup, gone. imagine the table.Ā
imagine the tired rug on the kitchen floor. imagine
them so completely and then erase them. paint them
in the vivid red of last nightās sunset & then vanishĀ
them, light into dark. imagine you never held the cup.Ā
imagine your curls are never brushed away byĀ
a hand that made something for you. imagine you &Ā
know that the only word that fits is nothing.Ā
you imagine. you believe. you think you know asĀ
you sit on the bathroom floor, staring at the yellowed
light and faucet that needs to be cleaned. you thinkĀ
you know. you have no cup. you have no curls. you
think you know.Ā
i donāt think you do. because i can tell you all ofĀ
this & you can put an image to each word andĀ
define it as emotion.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā & i canāt.Ā
94 notes
Ā·
View notes
this was so cute and fun, thanks for tagging me @writethatdown you're so so awesomeee!! ā¤ļøā¤ļø
here's what I made:
I love it! tagging @chirpyblues @dragonsblowingoutbirthdaycandles @aureatemoonshine and anyone else who would like to try it out! :)
starting a new tag game using this adorable picrew by @cherrybeez!
i'm tagging @simon-says-nothing @denuri @usuratonkachi-teme @ronniesssss @iamblothhundr @dickmaster420 @faeinthefog @everendb @lovefests @virtuissimo @sonofabitchinshitassmotherfucker and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!!
1K notes
Ā·
View notes
a jolt shivers through me
jolt of fear of what will be
questions start flooding
certainty becomes unsure
adept are the hands
of anxiety that take hold
take hold of my being
suffocating it to airlessness
can we somehow please
not have to go through this
and return back to moments
that our hearts called happy
maybe it won't be as bad
as my mind is assuming now
but happy tomorrow does not
mean a today with no worries
~ shreeya. //it's like the walls are caving in//
30 notes
Ā·
View notes