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heartofmuse · 2 days ago
Love has
A heart of gentleness,
A heart that soothes, ever careful of your hurts and wounds.
A heart of companionship,
A heart that seeks, that holds your hand and listens without judgment.
Love has a heart that is humble,
A heart that is ever learning, ever ready to ask for forgiveness or to grant it.
Love has heart of compassion,
A heart where empathy reigns, ready to lend a helping hand, encouragement blooms on its lips like a sweet kiss.
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dg-fragments · 4 months ago
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A night of full moon illustrated tranquility,
with the sea, there was a certain serendipity,
perhaps a mediocre calm before the storm,
or an apparently chaotic mind left forlorn,
and yet the seemingly quiet waves were hissing,
that there was indeed something missing,
but amid the uncertainties lying within our way,
the moon was still beautiful, wouldn't you say?
- DG
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death-born-aphrodite · 11 months ago
When you’re 21, you’re not the same person you were when you were 14, or 16, or even 18. You still have evenings where you fall apart but you’ve learnt to put yourself back together numerous times, even if all the pieces still don’t fit. You still have one too many cups of coffee throughout the day, but coffee is better than alcohol and you rather have your hands shake then vomit up all your anxieties. You still hate winters, but you have a newfound appreciation for the harsh winds because at least they remind you that you’re alive. You still long for the summers when you were a kid because back then it was okay if things didn’t make sense and the only thing you worried about was if there was a monster under your bed. You still get sad but it’s more of a melancholy afternoon rather than a hurricane. You feel like somethings missing, but you just can’t quite put your finger on it. You still see the world through blue colored glasses instead of rose but sometimes you’ll lay in bed after a long day and see your cat curled up next to you sleeping peacefully and you’ll realize; maybe you’re not fine, maybe you haven’t been fine for a while now, but you know you’ll be okay.
-maybe therapy really did teach me something
Via (death-born-aphrodite)
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poetbitesback · a month ago
an ancient forest god hides in the body of the smallest little girl you’ve ever seen. with every step the ground shakes as roots split the earth deep, settling her claim further. we are all her’s and we just don’t know it yet. hidden behind a toothy grin and tangle of pigtails is a fury that could rival the sea. have you ever tried to cut down kudzu only to find that it has devoured your shears and driveway and childhood trauma and last nights chicken bones come morning? that’s her. she spreads endlessly. it’s more than a little unfair, the way she reaches out with tiny flowered-fingers to hold our every hurt and still we can’t find a way to worship in return. every god a girl hearing the prayers and problems that perhaps they shouldn’t have to.
— unworthy of a gods favor // Olivia Larson
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pol-ar-ity · 2 months ago
It’s really over.
I realize it at 11 pm on a Friday.
You are gone. We are done. This is goodbye.
Please know you are the love of my life. You always will be. And I’ve learned that when you find your person, you want them to be happy. Even if it’s not with you, you want them to be desperately, crazily happy.
I realized we’d never be anything again at 11 pm on a Friday.
Someday I’ll come to grips with that. I just don’t know when. But we said goodbye on a Friday, and that’s how it is.
And I hope you’re happy. And you’re my person. And I’m madly in love with you. And you deserve all the good in the world.
I just wish it could have been with me.
“Zoë pt. II”
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endlesswordsonapage · 3 months ago
I feel like I’m drowning
and yet somehow,
with the force of a mountain,
with the will of fragile steel,
I push my way to the surface,
to sip
a precious breath of air,
only to lose my grip
once more
and fall
to the silent depths,
drowning again.
- Life, on repeat
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prasannawrites · a month ago
The Diffusion of a Past
With the waning light of the moon stripping flesh from my bones, puddling into blackened grief – I wonder, do you carry any blame as the flashpoint to all of this? You betrayed your bestowed promise, your words drive over me like the sun ceasing dawn’s solace. Do you feed your guilt with what’s left of me? Is there any sweetness left that you can still savour? You take the night sky, soaking it in silence, gently pressing the sepia out of it and leave it to air dry on a clothesline – Have you lost your tolerance for the nostalgia of what once was? Did you bury me beneath the fireflies grave? Or did you capture me in infrared light? [...] Are you still there?
collab with @sha-ms
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waadtariq · 8 months ago
there’s an aching in my bones
that fits the shape of your hands
it throbs to the lilt of your name on my lips
and it’s a burning that you leave
a longing that won’t cease
relentless for skin to skin to skin
for you to touch me again
for you to touch me in the aching
to dip into these hollow bones
all soft and yours for the taking
for you to fill this cavernous body
raw and wanting and tender
for a sliver of your warm skin
for my name on your lips
for your hands to heal this open wound
and linger
to leave their heat on me and last
stay and soothe what calls for you
for i want your warmth, not your wake
for i want you on me
i want you on me lasting
all i want
is for you to just touch me in the aching
— there’s nothing in me that doesn’t ache for you | wt.
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heartofmuse · a day ago
I do not wish to live or die with regret. Today I want not to let the day pass without uttering all the words of love that for you holds my heart. I do not wish to let today become yesterday without telling you I love you, without telling you how important you are, how pivotal in my life. I do not wish to lose the opportunity I have today of kissing you with both my lips and heart. I wish to take advantage of every chance I have to hold your hand, to hug you close, so close I feel your heartbeat and your warmth. I want to make the most of every second to pour myself into you. This time that I have, that feels mine, this present, not the past I no longer hold in my hands or the future who in my palms is but a dream of mist, let me use it to make you feel all my love, even if life is not ideal, even if our time with each other is so brutally limited, I will use every precious minute to show you nothing limits the love in my heart.
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anastasiasyah · 9 months ago
You can love someone and still choose not to speak to them because they're toxic for your well-being.
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dg-fragments · 3 months ago
Have you visited old ancient libraries, places that give you feelings of being haunted, like sending a chill running down your spine?
There you would find all kinds of books; some new, some old. All kinds of people would come to borrow all kinds of books. Yet, some books remain untouched, as if waiting, carrying dust and cobwebs, that is, until someone bold enough comes along to wipe off the dust and lose themselves within that book.
Like books like people too.
- DG
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death-born-aphrodite · 3 months ago
And life is still beautiful but the trees aren’t as green as they were that day you went to that concert when you were fifteen and the sky doesn’t seem as blue as it did when you were seven and snow doesn’t look as bright as it did when you were sitting in the backseat of your moms car when you were twelve. when you were in high school you thought by now that things would make sense but you’re just as confused and alone as ever and nothing matters anymore and everything matters and you wish you could go back to that one day when you were fifteen but you can’t because it’s over and time moves forward whether you want it to or not.
- I wish I was 15 again (via death-born-aphrodite)
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justscribbledwords · 9 months ago
you don’t always need to start from scratch. you are allowed to have certain unbroken parts of yourself, even if the rest is unbelievably broken. don’t break everything just because you want to make something new and better of yourself. self help doesn’t necessarily needs to start from self hate.
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adornself · 8 months ago
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prasannawrites · a month ago
There’s too much blood here, too much blood to be used in any meaningful way – I spill poetry, and it ends with that. I will die in a sea of poems, and that’s all you will remember. On a pleasant July evening, in the far future you’ll casually mention about the boy who wrote you scores of poetry to your daughter, and she’ll ask you which poem was your favourite. You’ll linger for a moment and lose yourself in thought and realize there was no particular poem that had resonated with you – it was just the fact that for a moment in time, a well-meaning boy had written you a sea of poetry, and that was enough.
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