I counted the whales as they weaved through your dreams.
Watched as their tiny shapes nuzzled your terse,
ghostly façade. Your coarse laughter growing infectious,
like the guffaw of a giant, tipping the world on
its axis. (Wouldn’t that be a feat to behold?) I hold out
my hand, but like a serpent you recoil. And with
that you are silent once more. These whispered words
wander across our unlatched bodies. We are wounded
birds, flightless—our voices clipped by muzzled awe.

the roof leaks rain into my shoes
mud and water
a sticky pudding home
for Catharine the wonder slug
I was late for school emptying her house into the garden
in a panic as I stumble in my squelching sneakers
surely everybody could hear
as I ran past into the bathroom 

I swing open a chipped door
certain I was fading from sight
I had forgotten what i looked like
in the mirror I poke at my cheeks
just to be sure.
sometimes I just can’t remember
if I’m alive.

Name: Eliza

URL: Echoes-of-Me.tumblr.com

Any other Tumblr pages: none

Do you write Poetry, Prose (including fiction), or All:
bits of all, mostly poetry, bites of thoughts, random ideas

Describe your writing in X amount of sentences:
My writing is a mess of thoughts, jumbled dreams, a diary spilling over into semipublic places. Few things are complete. Most things are unedited. Just like me, I guess.

Link up to three pieces you have written:
Dunno how to link from my cell so have some tags: #eomfave #eomft

Suggest up to 3 URLs of TWC Writers you follow and enjoy reading: acoyo thissometimepoet mason-rhett-ford

Post links to any published work:
University Magazine, unlinkable.

Create your own Breakingdownthetwcwall bio.

- open a savings account

- carry on with swedish lessons (i was doing so well in them too)

- take piano lessons

- learn to sing properly (partly for Garnet Portrait, partly for fun)

- you know what, i think im gonna take up dance. so - e-mail a dance studio

- finish Carverleigh

im gonna try and get my life back on track and out of the clutches of self doubt, procrastination and my arch nemesis, anxiety.

i know these are all only small things but they’re steps to sorting out a better and more fulfilled life for me. wish me luck…

Scrap Quilt Love

You are not a kid anymore,
and this is why you are making small talk between your parents
who are more interested in your words than what’s behind them.
The weather is turning frigid again.
Watch as their eyes light up in wonder,
that you could astutely capture such a phenomenon,
so mundane, so pure.
Do you notice the flowers beginning to wilt?
You came and left
the door wide open,
that’s a problem with us,
but not the only one.
Close the blinds to keep out the sunlight.
Snapshots litter every available surface
until, before you know it,
all that’s left are pieces,
fragments scattered over everything you once loved.
Be careful, love, they’re sharp.

what do you think guys?

i really want to take up some form of dance to keep fit as i hate everything about the gym but am becoming more and more body conscious and don’t want it to bring my anxiety back up to how bad it used to be, but i also don’t know if i’m too old or short/tall n that for it?

i had ballet in the forefront of my mind and i know it’s typically conceived as a kinda feminine form of dance and expression but mate have you seen the body of a male ballet dancer?

"It started out small, you know? Small talks. Timid hellos. Short laughs. Shy glances. And then I couldn’t get you out of my head. It’s sort of crazy how one chanced meeting turned out to be something I didn’t know I’ve been missing until it arrived - until you arrived.

And I’m glad. I’m glad you came into my life. Or maybe I stumbled into yours. It doesn’t matter really. What matters is that somewhere along the way, there was you. I don’t care that you prefer your coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar and I like mine black. Or that you snort sometimes when you laugh. Or that I embarrass myself often in front of you. Because you know what? I like the differences. The awkward and uncertainty. I like how we’re still shy when we go on dates, but we feel comfortable enough to share so many aspects of our own lives. I like that we’re different, yet similar.

You’re my person. You will always be my person.”

—  (NJ.) // excerpt from a story I want to write #5
And everyone wants to love and be loved by someone else, but no one really thinks about wanting an absolute love of oneself.
—  Drugs aren’t always enough, sweetheart

this is why i try to make positive posts like my last one about what i need to do to try and make things better for me, my life isn’t terrible but at 26 years old now is the time to be accomplishing the things i have been saying i’ve wanted to do for years e.g. learn to play the piano.
i mainly do it though because now my anxiety has come marching in and is telling me none of it will happen because everything i try to do fails and i will be laughed out and ridiculed and it all feels like it’s for nothing and that it’s better to just get by existing rather than living. i really, really hate how i think sometimes im so frustrated and annoyed with myself for trying to be positive and recognise and achieve change to then shoot myself down again 15 minutes later. i want a new brain.

Every single word I write is for you.
If it’s not about you, it’s an attempt to describe how I feel. How my brain works. How my heart works. How my weirdness works.
If I’m not saying “I love you” I’m saying “this is how I know I love you.”
I might be saying “look how much she hurt me” but I’m also saying “I’m so glad it worked out this way, just please don’t do that to me, I couldn’t take it again. I need you.”
Every word I write means “I love you more than I ever thought possible, and nobody else matters but you.”
Nobody has ever mattered as much as you.
Every word I write means “I’ve made a shit load of mistakes in my life, but I’m done with them. I know this is right, and you’re all I want.”
Because I know you’ve been in love before, and you know I’ve been in love before, but I also know neither of us have ever felt this love before.
And I still struggle to find the words to explain it.
I struggle to find the words to say “I know parts of your heart are lost to other losers, to other guys that gave up on your glory, but this loser wants the rest of you.”
This loser wants to be lit up by every single part of you, and is willing to give up everything he has left to be yours.
I would give anything to be yours forever.
I love you so much that it hurts.
And I wish I had more than just “always be mine”
but the future I have in mind for us is beyond the description of words.
—  giraffevader - Poet problems//internal war ((I wish I had more than words to explain this))

I have my mother’s trust issues and all of her anger. I bare it on my shoulders and it pulls me down like a perpetual anchor.

I have my father’s flirty eyes and all of his charm. I use them in full force, and don’t give a fuck about the consequential harm.

—  I’m a needy pissed off narcissist. [P.K, fragments, 21/03/15]