square peg, no hole
that won’t be my voice
and those
won’t be my words—
wavefolded then
gradually
turned down to a whisper
and stuffed in a crack
in your wall,
my grails discarded
for some pyrrhic victory,
left contorting, forcing
any space for me—
I don’t want to die anymore.
it’s lonelier, you know,
sitting with you
in this cemetery,
than it’s ever been
alone. oh, sweet darling,
tell me,
if the rain
waters our grave,
do you think it will sprout nepenthes,
or weeds?
beautiful, either way.
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the feminine, the masculine, the artistic urge to stare at the paintings until they make you hallucinate, to read poems until they seep inside your soul, to write such words that hold the power to shatter a person's heart and fill the void at the same time.
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I wished you would've stayed in love with me
by laurenmaerie, love always leaves
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i'm never a priority
i'm never someone's reason for waking up
the giver, never the taker
never the taker, always the asker
i ask for time
i ask for patience
i ask for comfort
i'm never a priority
never the taker
never the reason
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I absolutly LOVE Mr Keating, but if he did that impromtu poem scene to me I would never ever forgive him, no matter how good a teacher he might be, I definitely would've start crying on the spot.
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That feminine urge this, masculine urge that ….
Yeah, okay , cool
But what about the Lunar urge to ritualistically disappear every couple of weeks ?
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Waking Nightmares:
I am prone
To dreaming at day
To fantasizing
In the daylight hours
But lately I find
A peculiar case
Where once my reverie brought only
A quaint satisfaction
It now torments me
With torches and pitchforks
Implements of torture
Crafted bespoke by my own mind
Turned against me
When I close my eyes
Even at times when they are wide open
I see us
In a future that will never be
Doing things you cannot do
And I'm happy
And you make me so
How real it seems
Real as the steel against me
This paradise
Of human connection
And experienced closeness
Yet
Then I am awakened
For even in the midst
Of such a convincing and pleasant display
The falsity of it all
Wakes me violently
The pain of a future that will never be
Twists a fanciful thought
Into a poison that's slowly
So slowly
Killing me
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dead poets society changed my life because john keating is so right. i read and write poetry because i’m a member of the human race. i do need to seize the day. words and ideas do change the world. i am filled with passion.
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a snapshot of something
those moments, that ripe fruit
falling from trees we didn’t know
we were planting then, smashing
open on the hard earth
met with giggles and sly glances
and juice still dripping down our chins:
our private spectacle.
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handwritten letters, old libraries, vintage aesthetic, neck kisses, coffee shops, rainy days, annotated books, unorganised bookshelf, fictional crushes, sleep deprived eyes, love poems for moon
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Quotable quotes.
"Among thousands of daily thoughts and words, be grateful to the one who thinks of you".
— Juan Francisco Palencia.
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