Everyone has a problem with gambling until they hear you’ve won even just a bit
If these walls could talk, oh, the stories they would tell
but
why would you expect them to tell your story? To take your side?
If these walls could speak, perhaps they would speak of the material came from
of the places they were stolen from.
Although, realistically speaking, if walls could talk, they would probably be confused and say something like, “Help, I’m stuck!”
I wonder why you wonder why I defend my cowardice so bravely; but what else has kept me such long company? Bitter company like most others, yet kept me alive when even reason had failed.
The idea of loneliness too, though I’ve never been alone in my life. A poem of longing can reward me greater than all the effort I have ever given, gave.
These blessings, and silence too.
When memory feels like a fever dream-What soul is there?
When childhood feels like a story you read online or heard verbally or a show you watched-What trust is there?
When confusion is familiar in a particularly ironic way-What reason is there in proving?
What does hope for existence mean? When the future feels like trying to recycle nostalgia-
The denial of reality is doom for the mind, but never hesitate to question reality. Only the second is the path of understanding.
What she did
A monster of love, that is what she was
To teach the world to feel truly, that is what she wanted
You cannot know what love is unless you feel the pain I have to share
Every monster has an innate understanding of agony; it is like a best friend sometimes
It is a very, very special gift, to be born with a wound in your soul, perfect for sharing
Naked emotion is the smut that everyone freely creates, yet all reject
Your love will not be wanted if it comes with putrid sadness
Please, let me show you my agony, is what she said
Nothing brings us together quite like misery
In your chest, a rift; your soul, a void; your mind, confusion
Fear became as an intimate relative beyond words
And you open your eyes to see a horror, a pain like you have never known before
There was the sound of endless souls, not screaming, but crying
Tears in amounts to define the blueness of a planet
Only when it all dried up could you finally taste the flavor fresh water
Her ugly hand giving you hydration; remember what she did
another heavy handed symbolism moment: my mom has a potted sunflower in the kitchen. because it is a sunflower, it keeps turning towards the light from the window. my mother keeps rotating it so it faces inward because she wants "to see its beautiful petals and have it really brighten up the space!" . the sunflower is visibly wilting .
I’m no different than most others, to be quite fair
and most wish to be a hero.
Daydreaming of what blessing or power or gift we would use to make the world in our image.
I imagine, in moments of emotion, how I wish I could exude an aura of love and peace. I wish I could be a force for joy everywhere I go. I wish that every theater I sat in could make the movies better. I wish that no human could harm another in my presence. I wish that all around me were granted great bravery to be honest, and to cry. I wish all who walked by me took a little bit of my gift with them to spread the wish of love.
And I am reminded of a phrase I came up with when I was in high school; a time when maybe I was more, or maybe less cynical.
If you want to be something tomorrow, you must become it today.
Fiction fulfills fantasy of flying and fighting fearsome foes. Stories succeed in sharing tales from other worlds that, in all honesty, I am too cowardly to venture.
I am reminded by harsh reality that everything I truly wish for, and want and need and deserve
I must work for it. I can be all that I need to be, but I must not forget that I can be.
What beast made us this-no
How did we become this-no
When did we get tricked
-convinced to be afraid of each other?
Strangers can be friendly and open; where there is no risk, there is no threat.
Are our minds such a force that we must be wary of speaking it?
We, called family, and friends; too worried to be honest(whatever that means).
Let’s be honest, we are not a threat. When I hear gossip about one, and then one’s truth.
Imagining confrontations before they happen, and wishing they were more positive in my head, but I do not know if there is any true hate here.
Just remember years past, or maybe not so long ago, where we used words to antagonize each other, usually behind backs.
And I remember it always but,
I just want to know when we lost out human nature with the ones we used to have a home with.
Don’t let anyone take advantage of the fact that you want to do the right thing; especially when you do not know how to do the right thing.
I
Me
All
Complete
I looked down and I saw a bug
There was a speck that existed only to scream itself to death
I wondered if it knew what I was thinking
And when it was gone, it was my duty to feel the loss.
I looked up
I was the bug who spent eternity chasing and yearning to be heard, voiced in a language that would not be understood; cursed by a magic never known. I repeated myself until my throat hurt. I was born cold and wanted all the warmth; I thought I was fated to order, but I was destined to burn out. In that last moment I learned that I was an agent of chaos, of motion, of change, and of love. As I am always beneath you, the diety of nothing, and I am the ruler atop the inverted mountain. To me, my screams were a song, a beauty that you haven’t earned.
Do not mourn me, it is embarrassing
I think a lot about how we as a culture have turned “forever” into the only acceptable definition of success.
Like… if you open a coffee shop and run it for a while and it makes you happy but then stuff gets too expensive and stressful and you want to do something else so you close it, it’s a “failed” business. If you write a book or two, then decide that you don’t actually want to keep doing that, you’re a “failed” writer. If you marry someone, and that marriage is good for a while, and then stops working and you get divorced, it’s a “failed” marriage.
The only acceptable “win condition” is “you keep doing that thing forever”. A friendship that lasts for a few years but then its time is done and you move on is considered less valuable or not a “real” friendship. A hobby that you do for a while and then are done with is a “phase” - or, alternatively, a “pity” that you don’t do that thing any more. A fandom is “dying” because people have had a lot of fun with it but are now moving on to other things.
I just think that something can be good, and also end, and that thing was still good. And it’s okay to be sad that it ended, too. But the idea that anything that ends is automatically less than this hypothetical eternal state of success… I don’t think that’s doing us any good at all.
Maybe we aren’t meant to learn about an afterlife
To live after life is to cheat the purpose of death
To cheat death is to cheat the purpose of life
We aren’t destined to die: we are destined to live with limit.
She is the only one who can speak my name, beyond just the superficial sound.
I have this true name which no one knows, yet only she carries the privilege to speak the lie, and I am empowered to give such permission.
Where I am usually weak, she gives me strength by the word, like some sort of demon or angel.
There is something so divine about what the soul knows that the form does not.
Sometime love manifests in a way that the laws of the universe and language were not meant to grasp
then again, if it was so simple and so usual, then it would not be mine - be ours.
Stranger in the town I grew up in.
I cannot tell you how it feels to be told you’re suddenly speaking a different language
without ever having realized it.
As long as time exists, all endings are false. There is always more to a story greater than what you will ever know.
I find that beautiful.
I don’t necessarily agree with everything that goes on inside of my head, so if you read my mind and see something you really don’t like, that just means we have something in common.