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#poetry poems
moonlightloverrr · 1 year
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I’m the sensitive one. I’m the weird one. I have a big heart. I care. If I love you, I love deeply. If I’m your friend you can trust me. I love other weirdos. I love people with big hearts. If you read this and can relate. I’m sending you a big hug, my big-hearted weird friend. Don’t change. The world needs your love. The world needs you.
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princeofprosee · 27 days
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7.18.21
I exist in between the deep breaths-
Underneath the rage or hope;
I exist in the maybes and the somedays
the nevers and the always
I come alive in the blank spaces between words
The “ands” and “ifs”
I exist in the spaces between the chords
I live freely in the memories
In the hellos and the spaces after
and in the spot where the sky meets the earth
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trustonlystars · 1 year
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And if we cross paths years from now, in a new season of our lives; you would still be the only one in the room, to know me the way you do. It would still be you who'd notice the silence between two odd words I utter. It would be you who notices the uncertanty settling in my heart. It would still be you, to see it all in one glance, just one sigh, and you'd know.
- trustonlystars | Jannie F 🍁
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pastelich · 6 months
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from dear self by patience tamarra
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malencholic-nyx · 1 year
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This endless stream of pain,
I don't know how to stop it..
I want to smile and feel the joy,
But I'm trapped in this endless rain...
I want to cry and let it all out,
But my tears are stuck and won't flow..
My mind is so fucked up that I cannot control,
Something that's taken a hold.
–Nyx
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raymundocortizoperez · 7 months
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trixiedreamspank · 1 year
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oxisimera · 2 years
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Unorthodox
I sit on a wooded bench, lost in the pages.
You pass by, quickly, mornings, same time, you barely notice.
To your presence, I pay no mind.
I can't find the grass to be comfortable, yet, lay on the armrest of a tree, no less dull.
I pay caution to surrounding eyes
There you were, quickly, staring, once upon a time, I barely noticed.
"Must be a great book, that you read it so profoundly awkward" you surprised me with your candidness
"I can't help that I am the way I am, some should be wary" my response is slow like much of my sleepy demeanor. I hardly move a touch.
Perhaps in awe, we walk away, hastily, lost in our eyes, we barely notice.
The warnings, you disregard.
But so unorthodox is desire, one must return to surrender.
And I'm walking, swiftly, to my bench, under the dogwood tree where the crow raids a mockingbird's nest
And there you were, quickly seated, "A lady would be kind to accept a seat beside me" such is your assumption.
I acquiesce a seat, "A gentleman should take much precaution to walk away, promptly, much like your morning tides".
You hold my hand inelegantly, together walk away, emotions fleeting.
Heretically, we pay attention.
(When you can't sleep and stay up all night to write some subpar poetry. It's ok. No matter what, I love to write. 😊)
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octoberloved · 8 months
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lucidloving · 7 months
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@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks
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becomingvecna · 5 months
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— David Cronenberg, Consumed
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fromdarzaitoleeza · 7 months
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{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz from diagnosis,The glimmering room}
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trustonlystars · 1 year
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There is a constant tune you keep playing, a constant hymn that the winter keeps humming. Photographs once turned old become such a warm glimpse of memories, a warm glimpse of the way seasons touched you, with the people who made life so pretty for you, the thoughts that made poetry for you. And how twinkling it all felt, how glittery it seems now, and how bliss is what those memories were. There's a tune that won't sit still, there is still an urge to bring magic back home, there is a time that is wanting to stay, and one that is wanting to walk away, so you lead to another chapter of your own book before someone else's. There is a constant tune you keep playing, a constant hymn that the winter keeps humming.
- trustonlystars | Jannie F
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typhlonectes · 7 months
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imagination (1963) - harold ordway rugg
"chekhovs cat / schrödingers razor / occams gun"
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