sunsetsprose

[sunsetsprose]

27 club

i don't want to turn 27

but i don't want to die before then

and we act like we’re together

but don’t speak in private

sometimes i wish that i could

sail away to new york

and start a new life with you

who knows how long it’ll be 

but you’re too sick to move

and i can’t find the money

and maybe if things were alright

you would still be here with me

sometimes i wish that i could

sail away to new york

and start a new life with you

but i guess it’s not meant to be

i want to die when i’m 27 

but you’re dying in front of me

wouldn’t it be cool if we were together

sailing on the new york sea

#lyrics

[sunsetsprose]

abandonment

i push people away from me because it is safe.

it makes me feel invincible to be alone

but i don’t think about other people

they must be feeling so lonely and hurt.

and i get into these moods every couple days.

i used to think it was my medication making me emotional

but then it just hits me and i start crying

and i can’t stop it.

i want to know what’s wrong with me

so badly.

i just want to be happy like i was yesterday

#mental breakdown #rant #poetry

[sunsetsprose]

cosmic accidents

what is our purpose as humans?

to build and industrialize and pave over our earth,

to create gray destruction

to live without worth?

or is it to take up a 9-to-5 job,

typing away and keeping a log

of something as meaningless as money or fame

something that will never last, a temporary gain?

it is hard to believe we have a purpose

a higher meaning or that we belong

when we are just cosmic accidents

from a piece of dust that exploded as it floated along.

but the power we hold in the way we feel,

the way we burn for tension and wholeness

is the gift we were given by nobody 

but means completion, it means solace.

if only we can breathe in the kind air

and exhale the destructive.

if only we can realize that we have power,

that we are electric, conductive.

that our emotions make us whole

we are an accident—but we are full

our veins are rushing—we do feel

we are right, we are vivid, and we are real.

[sunsetsprose]

untitled writing

i'm not quite sure why i stoped writing.

it feels like a chore.

i suppose everything feels like a chore,

when you are denying to everyone

including yourself

that your brain is tired.

how paradoxical is it that

i'm sitting here, in bed, at midnight plus 43 minutes

and complaining about tiredness?

it's just emotional tiredness, i think.

it's nicer than i assumed it would be, to write again.

maybe i just needed a place to vent

while nobody was watching or listening or judging.

i don't like these feelings. they weigh down on me and make me feel less than other people.

like maybe i don't deserve the space i'm taking up on this earth.

does that sound sad? i continue attempting to convince myself i'm fine

although, i'm not sure i want to feel okay.

i don't think i want to live like this either though.

i need some more options

[sunsetsprose]

i'll be back later

i don't feel much like writing

when my brain makes me so tired

and i can't focus on much.

i could write something if i felt sad, probably.

but this is worse.

[sunsetsprose]

gaps

falling out of love feels like

losing yourself.

becoming a bit empty

after feeling so

much.

i don't think that feeling is talked about too much.

it's so physically

painful

to fall so in love

and then realise you were so

stuck in your head

that the magic

dissapeared

while you were looking the

other way.

i hope i never get used to that feeling.

[sunsetsprose]

untitled

it is okay to feel

unmotivated

when the world seems to be

falling down around

us.

but i guess in this

situation,

we have to find reasons

to live.

because then

what would our life

be?

without a heart

rushing

or a wintery fall

night?

it's hard to ignore

the world

falling

but should we

spiral

too?

[sunsetsprose]

easier said than done

it's commonly said

that when you

love someone

you need to let

them go.

that phrase is

repeated

and has become something

mostly

obsolete.

for when you find a

home,

a person,

who doesn't feel like a

real person at all,

when you

find some being that

makes you feel

so painfully

and heartachingly

alive,

how easy is it

to return to your

previous state?

how stoic must one

simple person be

to realize that

the one who completes them

should move on?

is that not

gut-wrenchingly

and so tragically

disturbing?

and so

lonely again?

[sunsetsprose]

on saying goodbye

how difficult must it be to love someone,

whose heart isn't made to love you back?

how strong

do you have to be to

let go?

[sunsetsprose]

silent love letters

rushing to do

anything

is an underrated feeling.

it is not

a good one.

i wish i could put into

words that make sense

what my stomach

and my heart feel

when i see you.

and i would thank the sky one

thousand times

to hold the slight memory

of us, with me forever.

is that

cheesy?

we both like

cheesy,

do we not?

i do not think that you know how much

you mean

sometimes.

and i do not think that you

try to replay

the

short conversations

and the check-ins

and the hug.

i do not think that anything means much

to you

right now.

no, i know that some things

mean a lot

and you have so much room

in your heart

for love

and for emotion

and for vulnerability.

but it is easier

for me

to think of you

as emotionless

when your heart does not

hold room for me.

i guess

inside of myself

i know you do hold room

for me.

your head holds room

for me.

but your heart is more

messy i think.

in my head it feels like

we fit.

because i've seen

our messes and

our brokenness

and i have seen us falling

apart

and picking back up

and putting ourselves

together

again.

but am i really

together again,

when i was not

all together in the first place?

when i have always

been outside

and anxious to come in?

and do you remember

the first time you realized

i was broken?

and do you remember

the first time i noticed

that you were too?

and it should have just

made sense

that we complimented

each other

so beautifully.

but it turns out that there

is more than one kind

of brokenness.

and while i was

falling apart because

i didn't know if i wanted

to stay, unchanging:

an outsider on a

globe

of somehow coexisting

rain

and clouds

and sun

and cold mornings

and midnight walks

and somehow

vulnerability and a rush to be painfully alive,

or if i wanted to cease to exist.

my brokenness was one that

you were unfamiliar with.

it was one where

i was, one day so strikingly important,

a main character in my story.

and the next day, i could not

find myself

even when someone circled me

in red pen and highliter.

my brokenness, you did not know how to fix.

but i do not think you realize that you did,

at least for a while,

fix it.

why was it that for an entire rotation

around the sun,

i did not realize you were the only thing

picking me up?

maybe i was too broken

to see that you had picked up

my pieces.

maybe we were

different.

no, i don't think

that this is the time to use the word

"maybe".

i did know.

but i did not process that

you were the one that

picked me up.

i knew because

i thought of you

again

and again.

and i knew you picked me up

because i would

so silently

yell to the world about you.

i don't know who

i was talking to.

probably the stars

and sky

because you always reminded

me of them.

you are the stars and the sky

to me.

at least.

i guess

i don't want to address your brokenness.

it's not that i don't want

you to be broken.

if i searched the

hidden corners of the earth

i could not find one person

or being

that is not broken.

when i saw the inside of you

for the first time,

you began taking up

more and more room

in my cloudy head.

i believed

i still sometimes try to believe

that our

broken selves

would fit together

so perfectly

and just

never end.

i want to believe so bad that we

are infinite.

but i know that what broke you

could never fit with what

fixed

me.

because someone else broke you

and you were

the only one,

quietly there

to fix me.

did you even know?

i ask myself this

every day when

the stars come out.

do the stars come out,

or are they quietly there

too?

maybe they just wait

for darkness

and bring a bit of light.

is it not strange to you that even stars die?

that being infinite is not

ever

possible?

sometimes painful questions

hurt me too. i hate

thinking anything would

change.

i guess for now the unknowing

and the pain

will have to do.

because you made me feel

all of it.

all of it.

and sad love letters aren't painful when nobody will read them. not to me at least.

[sunsetsprose]

on living

sometimes

i feel it is hard to ignore

the past

and the future and

live.

living,

a strange concept,

don't you think?

people tell us to

live.

but are we not living?

sometimes i do not feel

as if

what i'm doing here

is living.

but what then,

is the difference between

living

and feeling alive?

and being

alive?

for being alive is a

given.

i guess,

until it is not.

being alive

and then

not being alive.

well, how do you say it?

not being alive.

what does that mean?

does one simply

cease to exist? or do we

live?

why do i believe i can answer

a question that has been asked

so many

times?

[sunsetsprose]

perhaps

i don't really understand.

the first two were a sort of

easy.

i didn't know.

and i did not speak,

and so they did not

know.

but now i need to

know.

and i need to tell her.

because she is my

sunset.

and i am the waves

beneath her.

colliding in a certain way where

the light

hits just right.

but then again,

i suppose she is,

in a way,

the sand.

the golden silky

smooth sand on a coast

and i suppose i am,

in a way,

just the waves

crashing.

and i suppose i am,

in a way,

completely vulnerable to her

movement.

and perhaps she is

the moon.

when i am the

tide.

and perhaps

she doesn't really know that

me

i

am changed by her

and i suppose

i would just

crash and burn

if it was not for her creating

night

and then day

perhaps she does not even understand

that she creates

light.

but then again

do we ever understand the power

of the moon?

do any of us

underestimate

this ethereal

glowing

figure

that gives us such a life?

but then again

then again. i suppose that

oceans,

waves,

the tide.

it cannot just

crash and burn.

can it?

and i suppose that

she is not the moon

for she could never,

really,

force some large figure to combust.

could she?

and i guess that

i am

just a girl

whose emotions are drawn to

another girl's.

and is that not a normal happening?

should it not feel so

natural?

there must be something

different

about the waves.

because the waves are not aware.

aware? of how a red orange sky can change

every person's perception and

draw every person's eye in.

and the waves are not aware

of their

vulnerability

to the sand.

the way they fall to the small

crushed glass mixed with salt.

and the waves are not aware

of the way that the moon changes them

until it makes them larger

and more powerful

and until the moon makes them feel so deeply

they think they might implode.

waves, imploding.

what a concept, droplets of water

droplets that put out fire

suddenly feeling so deeply

they fall to it,

instead?

how does that work? i ask myself

sometimes.

but it is not a hard concept to understand

when the moon is so

strange and beautiful.

and the waves are a bit

weak.

not weak- the waves are certainly

not weak.

but when the waves are strong,

and feel deeply,

and don't look two steps in front of them,

and can't predict who will take their life by

surprise, (surprise? was it a surprise? or were the

waves

choosing not to look ahead?

but either way),

then it becomes easy.

easy to understand.

and hard to ignore.

and then suddenly a girl thinks that

she is a wave

or plural.

a girl suddenly thinks that she is

the

ocean.

and that another girl is

a sunset

and sand

and the moon

all at once?

i suppose that she is stuck

in a cycle.

does she want to be,

constantly,

trapped under water?

an ocean burning?

or is she starving to know

that someone completes her

in a way that a piece of green and brown land,

of earth,

never did?

perhaps she will always wonder.

and perhaps she will let the moon know

of it's vitality.

but it's really not up to anyone, is it?

the waves will wander

and sometimes crash.

and perhaps

that is how it is all

supposed to end.

unknowing.

perhaps,

a burning ocean is just as

okay

as a calm one.

[sunsetsprose]

welcome

i guess there's not much of an introduction to give, considering i don't really want followers here. i'm posting poetry mostly probably so that i can share it anonymously :)