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#heart felt poems
krutsthetic · 2 years
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The hardest battle I'm fighting is between my head and my heart.
- kruty
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i was not made to get an education and a job and exist with awareness of this increasingly nightmarish world i was made to be a little sparrow who lives behind a store sign and spends all day foraging for seeds or perhaps bugs
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The Star Market
Marie Howe
The people Jesus loved were shopping at the Star Market yesterday. An old lead-colored man standing next to me at the checkout breathed so heavily I had to step back a few steps.
Even after his bags were packed he still stood, breathing hard and hawking into his hand. The feeble, the lame, I could hardly look at them: shuffling through the aisles, they smelled of decay, as if the Star Market
had declared a day off for the able-bodied, and I had wandered in with the rest of them—sour milk, bad meat— looking for cereal and spring water.
Jesus must have been a saint, I said to myself, looking for my lost car in the parking lot later, stumbling among the people who would have been lowered into rooms by ropes, who would have crept
out of caves or crawled from the corners of public baths on their hands and knees begging for mercy.
If I touch only the hem of his garment, one woman thought, could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?
#I posted an excerpt of this poem yesterday but it felt necessary to post the whole thing today#because this poem#this darn poem#knows exactly where i live#'the feeble the lame i could hardly look at them'#i (like many of you) grew up around Christians like 85% of the time#i chose not to go to a Christian college specifically so that i could try to mitigate this part of my heart#that feels almost viscerally uncomfortable around certain types of people#i want to learn to love all my neighbors with Christ's abounding love#i know that I am no less sinful than my neighbor#but sometimes it's like there's a bee in the room and i don't know where it is#i'm set on edge by certain kinds of sin#in a way that i'm not by others#i'm sure this is true in degrees for many of us raised in the church#and this poem. this darn poem calls us out directly#it calls /me/ out directly#'The people Jesus loved were shopping at the Star Market yesterday. I could hardly look at them.'#'Jesus must have been a saint (that's the one bit i don't like-- Jesus must have been GOD) to be able to love these people'#'these people who came stumbling towards him crawling towards him lowered through the ceiling towards him'#'begging for mercy. begging with more humility than I manage on any but my best day'#'the people Jesus loved-- and i could hardly look at them'#and that last line hits you right in the solar plexus#'if I could only touch the hem of his garment could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?'#no. no i don't think i could#and yet#i imagine that look would be so so beautiful#and by the grace of God i know i CAN bear it#i and all the other people Jesus loves#Bible humans#literature makes us more human
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fr0gg13b413 · 6 months
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I fell in love with hope is holding my heart so gently while i break down in sobs. like it’s going “it’s okay, i know your heart is shattered. but broken things are okay. regardless if things are okay or not, you will be okay.”
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milkyspine · 5 months
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—the heart that flees and the heart that bites
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ordonianhero · 1 year
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“Complicated”
Wind: why doesn’t rancher speak about relationship stuff. I know he says it’s complicated. But- like does anyone actually know why?
Warriors: you know, I don’t think any of us truly know.
Time: *staying quiet and sipping his tea*
Sky: you know don’t you? *looking to Time*
Time: hm, if he wants to talk about he will or he won’t. That’s up to him.
Warriors: was it that bad?
Time: *sets his cup down* he said himself. “A princess that was so beautiful, it shattered his heart.” Friends and loved one will always come and go from our lives through time.
Legend: yeah. *sadly looking down as he carves a bird out of wood*
Time: think we all been there in some way or another.
Wind: champion do you know?
Wild: oh me, ah. Well no. But it pains me to see him look so down cast during the hour of twilight.
Twilight: *returns from patrolling* what’s with all the glum faces?
Time: *pats a seat beside him, Which twilight takes* nothing to worry bout pup. Think others are just curious about your statement you made a long while back about a certain princess.
Twilight: oh. *cough* yeah. It’s complicated. Still sorting that all out.
Four: that’s understandable, we don’t mean to pry into something you’re not ready to talk about.
Twi: *softly chuckles and sighs* yeah.
In Times journal he has written from his conversation with Twilight:
Those tears falling down his face, staining his cheeks, preventing his words,
They are not just because he is sad.
No, rather they are full of all his emotions.
The ones the words tells him to bottle up, shove down, hide away.
It’s his confidence
His desperation
His embarrassment.
But most of all-
Those tears are his anger.
He knows what he wants to say, what he wants to shout.
His mouth just will not form the words, no matter how hard he tries.
His tears are full of unspoken phases, evidence of his broken heart and the anger he holds inside.
Ones I know far to well. When someone we love and care about leave. With no return in sight. To be left wondering, “what if” and grieving that loss.
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winesandtulips · 9 months
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At the same time
It's an open book And a filled quill Yet an empty page stares
How can I even begin to word what I feel How can I even imagine to word what I feel
For its emptiness and overbrimming at the same time For its longing and knowing boundaries at the same time For its liberation and fear at the same For its anger And acceptance at the same time For its a crying heart And a strict mind at the same time For its closed throat And dried eyes at the same time For its ambition And carelessness at the same time For its regret And hopelessness at the sane time
For its hidden
And obvious at the same time
For its love and Loss at the same time
Because what if I'm stuck? In between and nowhere at the same time
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dailyeca · 6 months
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sometimes i think that i should be putting him in more complex compositions and dynamic poses and cool outfits and color palettes and pretty rendering and detailed backgrounds and more characters and story-driven comics and personal meaning
and then im like. that's the fucking devil talking. dailyeca is and always was supposed to be a low maintenance blog where i draw an eca a day and this eca can be the most scribbled motherfucker in da world but as long as there's a daily eca then i've succeeded. when i have time to add cool shit i can absolutely do that but even if he's just a sketched up bust shot at 11:59, i'm doing enough because that's just dailyeca babey.
#eca orichird#daily eca#we do what we can. i am doing enough.#for a lot of other things i always feel the need to make masterpieces; art larger than myself and my scope; something with heart and soul.#dailyeca is truly like. not everything has to be perfect. this is my grimy grumpy little asshat and i can do whatever the fuck i want.#(including cursing because goddamnit i am no one's pure little angel baby anymore. i am not here for your judgement anymore.)#im not trying to impress anyone here. dailyeca has always been art for me first. i never truly announced this blog in the beginning.#if no one looked i'd still do it. i draw this angry lonely boy for me. if other people want to see i appreciate it but that's secondary.#that one tumblr poem post. ''you say 'it’s my villain era''' by ridinkskinned. sometimes i feel like making eca was my villain era.#what i mean is that sometimes people hate things when they hit too close to home. what i mean is when i first made eca i felt repulsed.#i can be angry and rude and imperfect and alone. i don't need to facade or fawn or listen at all times and be the perfect little nobody.#i can be flawed and i can still be important and i can still have a happy ending and have people love me without need to change me.#i wrote that i wanted to draw ecas with more personal meaning but every eca posted is a personal meaning in of itself.#you get it. (you probably don't. but that's fine. that's secondary.) i should work on creator and creation again.
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grandma-course · 9 days
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One day, the church decided to open the window
i'm a writer. sometimes i even write things. when they're not very good, i put them on tumblr. read, my children, read.
Is there anything I would not give to have you well, my heart? You think I pile on the praise because I am expecting a reward. Can't you see it? Haven't you ever caught that smile in a mirror? You are here already. Now I only need to keep on being worthy of you. It is so often viewed as a desperate effort. Nothing about loving you is hard. I have been told only the falsity is easy, the surface, the self-gain. I have found you the most yielding thing to hold in a universe of possibilities and I do not think I'm missing anything. Maybe I can't see the hard parts because for me, the joy's in the labor. I am ecstatic to do the work. If you need me to carry you, that's just more time spent with you in my arms. In what world would that be taxing? What version of my heart could ever say no? You are a dear little lamb and with care I lead you away from the slaughter. I don't forbid you glancing back. There's things worth seeing amongst all the rubble and bodies. Love once resided there. Now it has moved. We are walking towards its new house with no hurry in our steps. For all my care, I trust you. You are breakable. I've put you together before. Fragile never meant a thing in need of locking away. Cages are harsh. My hands are soft, around your throat they remain soft, they are warm, they are all you know of the new world. They are all you need to. All love ultimately corrupts, makes you fight against what is palatable, what comforts and what sells the lies. If I love you in a broken world and I'm tired, that does not place a duty on you to start being kissed by the splinters. It is on me to heal the earth, to mold the clay into something that will not wound what I am bored of tending to. Could you trust me if I told you there is more in your heart to attract the butterflies that carry you through this all? Be not afraid. The cocoon is a bed to melt into. The wings weigh air. Metamorphosis only hurts if you kick. Come back for me before you fly off, well-loved dove. Promise me a soft resurrection. Promise me you will not cut yourself on every shard of stained glass. The martyr needs blood, you say. The martyr has plenty of his own. Shed your tears, whether crystal or crimson, on a softer kingdom. I can swear on all kinds of tomorrows. I can swear on one that will not see you afraid. On a hundred that will see you happy. On any and every that will see you loved.
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our-summer-is-winter · 2 months
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Damn I always feel so nervous when I publish my writing. Won't sleep tonight for sure
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thebirdandhersong · 1 year
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songbird's season of general sadness/first real grief/sorrow is coming to an end: (in chronological/journeying order) songs and poetry that helped my heart a lot these past few months :)
Always Good, Andrew Peterson / Marjorie, Andrew Osenga / Ask Polly article I read on a whim: 'My Boyfriend Refuses to Change' / You're On Your Own, Kid, Taylor Swift / One Foot in Front of the Other, Griff / Heavy, Mary Oliver / Monday by @madamescarlette / The Letter, Linda Gregg / Summer's Retrospective by @madamescarlette / Ode to Some Lyric Poets, Gregory Orr
(bonus--from the scraps of writing that came out of this chapter of life, which are slowly being assembled into a more coherent story:)
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#yknow i felt so alone at so many points but i really really wasn't#i had such good friends (here and in my church community) who held my hand so gently#and God used the things i understood best to show me His incredible love at just the right moments#still an ongoing journey but i am so so grateful for the secondhand heart-strength given to me and the tenderness that was extended when i#when i was really at my lowest and saddest and most oversensitive and easily provoked to impatience or anger or depressive spirals#anyway i can't remember who sent me marjorie but thank you so much for that it was such a comfort. it continues to be#and thank you eden for sharing your beautiful poetry!!!! it continues to refresh and encourage my soul#mmmm it's hard to put into words what everything (and by everything i mean: the songs here and on my playlists#and the poetry here and the books i've read during the summer and into the autumn#from cyrano de bergerac to tolstoy to rilke's poems and dorothy sayers and dostoevsky and st therese & st teresa and madeleine l'engle#not to mention the night walks and morning prayers and the wonderful times i've had with the other dorm girls!#suddenly quite overwhelmed by the abundance of love and blessing#immensely immensely grateful for everything. i can be such a little wretch sometimes and wallow awfully for days#or act like a little human machine and try to Rid Myself of all emotional surges. or just focus on all the negative things with astonishing#tunnel vision (you wouldn't BELIEVE). but God has been so gracious despite songbird being a silly goose#and every once in a while having mental breakdowns and having to learn the same lesson (surrender and humility) a bajillion times#anyway!! my heart doesn't hurt anymore!!#and i am learning to take it one day at a time and to Rejoice in all circumstances#slings and arrows of outrageous fortune in year 21#which really is so much harder than i thought at times!!!! but that makes it even more important to do so i think
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krutsthetic · 2 years
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The urge to get wet at every first rainfall of the year.
- krutsthetic
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andileighwrites · 1 year
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Sweet Poison
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Fill me with sugar. And keep my long days sweeter. Can't taste the poison.
...
Andi Leigh
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torchstelechos · 2 months
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If I love you and let you go, can you call that love? Will you come back, or is it the act of you leaving that is considered love? How can one love and not be loved by those they waited for?
Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds can pass me by while I wait for you. Sometimes it is a chest full of glass and ice that reminds me of time gone by. But sometimes it is a smile or laugh from a simple stranger that renders me mute as I realize I forgot who you were, yet you still have not come back.
Is it still love if I can not remember your face while I waited for you? Can you remember me better than I can you? I don't remember what your favourite colour was, nor can I remember the colour of your eyes. I can not remember the curve of your lips or the crinkle of your nose when you laughed. I can not remember you, but I can remember what you made me feel.
An echo of happiness, of love. I let you go and waited for your return, yet, I forgot my love for you. So tell me, is it love to let you go or is it love to remember you?
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loverofallthingssmart · 7 months
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me when math 🫣☺️🤩😩‼️⁉️🫶🏽
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jralloms · 6 months
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