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cynsyllables · 2 months

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cynsyllables · 1 year

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The question is how beneath my withering fingers my Mother's are just as trepid and exhausted as mine, the next question is how my hair withstands constantly being stripped away and at the most gets frizzy but now is coloured a red that unveils a wildfire and how my Mother's hair just falls out starting with the peppering of her hair onto the bathroom sink to the rapids assimilating clumps to drop into the drain of the shower?

The answer for both: While we are born from similar wounds we may grow differently, the doe-eyed deer caught in headlights before being hit by a car will fawn but the Phoenix upon annihilation resurrects; feisty and overwhelming all the neighbors. Nature vs nurture.

Cynthia Chapman

#words #excerpts #writing #poetry is not dead #excerpt from a book i'll never write #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #tumblr poem #spilled thoughts #poem #sylvia plath #love #wisdom #dark academia

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cynsyllables · 1 year

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"I peered into the mirror and saw our shared translucent skin that you have and our shared eyes but oddly enough an exit wound appeared on my temple that no one can see. Sometimes I wonder if now perhaps you regret not being alive"

Cynthia Chapman

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cynsyllables · 1 year

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Hello folks! I am finally published which has always been a dream. It's such an honor to have my words shared around the world. Please check it out!

#words #quotes #dark academia #poetry is not dead #soft academia #feminism #love #sylvia plath #spilled thoughts #poetry #woman #excerpts #prose #alternative #wisdom #letter

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cynsyllables · 1 year

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Hello folks! I am finally published which has always been a dream. It's such an honor to have my words shared around the world. Please check it out!

#words #excerpts #poetry is not dead #writing #writers on tumblr #spilled thoughts #poem #letter #poets on tumblr #wordpress #wisdom #excerpt from a book i'll never write #late night thoughts #philosophy #sylvia plath #tumblr poem #grief #ernest hemingway

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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"After the viewing of her body, my Brother-in-Law asked all of us if we had any last words "Before they put her away" (a child-friendly way of saying your Sister's shell is about to be burning away to ashes and bones.) I think you die twice."

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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"After you died I am stuck between two vertices. I have known over the years that suicide can be familial in combination with an environment that didn't allow or help you to flourish. I now wonder if that's how I'll die. If genetics and environment cause one a penchant to die they will. The other vertices that I am caught in and sometimes linger there a bit longer than the other is maybe you wouldn't have died if you didn't have a gun. The percentage of someone surviving a gunshot wound to the head is only 5."

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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"I asked a relative after my sister killed herself especially due to the unenviable cards my Father had been given and since his well-known response to adversities appeared to be hatred towards anything religious, he had people up and dying on him without any notice since adolescence or his own blood being stolen from him when he finally gained some back, "I wonder what he thinks of God" (I rendered "God" to be a noun, I became an atheist after a while but that's another poem.) She told me that was a good question and eerily paused, in a tone of utter dismay with a hint of empathy responded, "You know that's a good question but I think your Father believes in God and is certain that he hates him".

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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"-and I'm notoriously private oftentimes to the degree of depriving others of the opportunity of having any intimacy with me. I'm not someone you want to understand."

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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The least worst thing for me to do is to be a prostitute

but isn't that a catch-22?

When your body is a house already on fire

I essentially doused gasoline on my hands; I always feel worse in the end

this is not what I had planned

I remember certain things in my youth

and recollections are not considered proof but in classroom work I still have from grade 2, in my writings I had always cared about justice or whatever is the right thing to do

but growing up I realized that morality is subjective: please consider the context too

The least worst thing for me now is to be a prostitute

but isn't that a catch-22?

When your body is a house already on fire

I essentially doused gasoline on my hands

this is not what I had planned

I remember certains things in my youth

recollections are not considered proof but in classroom work I still have from grade 2, in my writings I had always cared about justice or whatever is the right thing to do

but growing up I realized that morality is subjective: please consider the context too

When your body is a house already on fire

I essentially doused gasoline on my hands; I always feel worse in the end please remember circumstances and assure yourself

that this is not what I had planned

cynsyllables

#words #writing #empathy #writer #poetry is not dead #writers on tumblr #spilled thoughts #literature #sylvia plath #poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #tumblr poem #excerpts #haleyincarnite

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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You grow up, you give until you bleed yourself dry thinking that everyone has the same intentions. I chalk it up to my own naivety and I'm almost certain that is synonymous with being a hopeless romantic but this doesn't just extend to significant others, even friendships too. I crave intimacy, to sit with someone in their darkness even if in utter silence, to be sad amongst others is a form of intimacy even if that sadness is not mutual and to not appreciate those moments would be shunning authenticity. I have never been afraid of the dark. Even during my youth I spent hours walking alone on the streets past midnight without any company. I exist in a world where people are drawn to the light and as much as we like the sun you get burnt by it once you get close and most people don't realize they are afraid of intimacy.

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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"It isn't totally preposterous for one who has frequently been exposed to fire to become desensitized to the flame"

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cynsyllables · 2 years

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—the question is how beneath my withering fingers my Mother's are just as trepid and exhausted as mine, the next question is how my hair withstands constantly being stripped away and at the most gets frizzy but now is coloured a red that unveils a wildfire and how my Mother's hair just falls out starting with the peppering of her hair onto the bathroom sink to the rapids assimilating clumps to drop into the drain of the shower?

The answer for both: While we are born from similar wounds we may grow differently, the doe-eyed deer caught in headlights before being hit by a car will fawn but the Phoenix upon annihilation resurrects; feisty and overwhelming all the neighbors. Nature vs nurture.

cynsyllables

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