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#poetic prose
hersurvival · 1 day
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My poor fading ember,
I ask the universe to look after you, for the Spring breeze to keep you burning until you are fed the nurturing you deserve and can burn bright once more.
You know that I would gently pick your coals from the ash, ignore the burning flesh of my palms as I raise them to my lips, and breathe my own life back into you. Down to my last, shallow breath if that is what it took.
What is love in darkness? What am I without you?
I would return you to the sun myself to refuel your essence, so long as you might become unwavering again.
Sincerely, desperately,
Your cold, shivering girl
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iambrillyant · 5 months
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“divine timing tastes sweeter than forcing something you’re not ready for into existence.”
— iambrillyant
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mythoughttherapy · 19 days
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“More love is found in grief than in love itself.”
—Lang Leav, September Love
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rony-19 · 1 year
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fromdarzaitoleeza · 1 year
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To my Milena ( ) you are abbreviations of heavens !
All the quotes are from "" letters to Milena by Franz Kafka""
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deanepoetry · 3 months
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You helped me understand.
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judas-redeemed · 5 months
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i think i am so enamored with devotion as violence, because i want someone to love me even when i am covered in blood. most days, i am more teeth than lips. more claws than hands. more desperation than gentleness. if i am to love, i want it to consume me as surely as a forest fire. when the smoke has cleared, trees will grow stronger than before. i will only let my wounds be tended to by someone unafraid of gore, and i fear softness hurts more than any double edged sword. if i am to be loved, let it be in a slaughterhouse we might make into a home. then the heartache will be holy. and i will be whole.
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heartofmuse · 1 year
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Let me tell  you over and over again how much you mean to me, how much I need you though I will not always tell you in words that come from my lips.  You are the breath of my happiness, and in this life there is nothing I yearn for more, nothing more necessary to the well being of my soul  than your presence. Minutes only feel lived when filled with you. Oh, come and know my heart for it is wide open for you. Dispel all doubt as you peek inside and see yourself entwined in every fiber, your name singing in every beat. And as you recognize yourself  and the weight of everything you are in my heart let your soul be affirmed and believe and trust once more. 
e.v.e.
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weaponizedtit · 9 months
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I’m attracted to safety. Coming home to the most beautiful person you've ever seen and you know however bad everything outside maybe, your person will be there to support you, no matter what. You know your feelings are safe as you lay your head on her lap. She listens to your vents and your sighs, all the while holding you gently in her soft, warm arms, stroking your hair. And you get to protect her just the same. There is no judgement, there is no danger, there is only love. Safety. That’s all I want. The romance of safety in my lover's arms.
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blushingxpilgrims · 1 year
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whatever i touch, i break—
not with physical force
but with emotional intensity
— midas touch: reversed, 2023
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amoxicillin-tangent · 9 months
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i am given birth to by my mother. i am brought home to a falling-apart trailer. i am fed and i am not fed enough. i am aged into a small being with opinions and some semblance of autonomy; my childhood is a video game and i am given three objectives: sit down, stay quiet, and cease to exist. i am made good at the last part; it is a god-like sort of art, and so i do. silence is suited for me as well as i am suited for silence. 
i am told, gently, by my third-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. the noun of the sentence should be the actor, the doer, the taker. i am not a taker. never the actor of my own consciousness, of my own unconsciousness, remember, now, i am ceasing to exist. 
i am uprooted like a wilting plant, no sunlight, chipped terracotta pot, placed, never planted. grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters, and i deny its case. i am made a masochist at all of eight-years-old, i am made for withering away. i am made mother, made martyr, made clever, made more, made machine. 
i am placed in a foster home and told the new rules. i will sleep at 2130 and wake at 0600. i will eat blueberries and coconut yogurt and i will make good grades. i will behave. i will sit down, i will stay quiet, and i will cease to exist. 
i am told, gently, by my ninth-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. like this, you are the subject of the sentence. i am brought home; i am subjected to my sentence. i am taught, i am created, i am embittered, i am disillusioned, i am ceasing. it is all i know how to do.
blurring letters litter the pages before me. maya angelou, oh pray my wings are gonna fit me well. oh, tell the hell-child to return to her cell. mangled beast, worthless mongrel, ceasing. perfect child, perfect victim, passive. the sentences are diagrammed by my expert hand and i am diagrammed as well, pages in a folder, problem child, trouble-maker, mentally unstable. infinitive, preposition, page-break. 
my eleventh-grade teacher is asked why was it okay for maya angelou to write in passive voice? she responds, because to write in active voice would take the focus from the corpse to the crew. i like that. i understand it. the pages aren’t so blurry anymore. i trace them with my fingertips, letter-by-letter. her bones were found//round thirty years later//when they razed//her building to//put up a parking lot. 
i am no longer still, silent, ceasing. i am no longer wilting, and no longer made, i am maker. 
grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters. i am neither the corpse nor the crew. i reach forward with trembling hands,
and i pull the cord, and the light floods through.
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heart-of-poetry · 5 months
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No, I don’t care that you’re messy and loud and sometimes annoying. I love you anyhow. Come over tonight. I will cook for you in the kitchen—it’s green tiles and the sun that peaks in through the windows. Come as you are. Leave your hair messy and your skin blank and your body cloaked in plain clothing. I find you most beautiful in that state—natural, beating, tender, alive. I will make us soup in my cleanest pot. It will be steaming and hot, but not too hot that it burns. I will love you enough for it to always keep you warm, but never in such a way that it hurts.
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iambrillyant · 8 months
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“the art of being your own muse and recreating yourself as many times as you need, adding more layers and color to your spirits canvas until you like what you see.”
— iambrillyant
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living-dead-girl515 · 11 months
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Imagine, one day it's just easy. They just come into your life and check every box, they meet every need. No games necessary, no need to wear a mask. They just sort of, waltz in, and pay attention to you, lift you up, and just, love you. Just the way you are.
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rony-19 · 1 year
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Soulmates
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fromdarzaitoleeza · 1 year
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MOM, WOULD YOU WASH MY BACK?
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