my poet and me

28/06/17
5.06 pm

We are made to believe that love is a must, that we will find the person of our dreams and life will be complete.
We grow up aiming to love and to be loved but never get taught to love ourselves.
We are brainwashed into believing that we will find someone who will move mountains to be with us, who will sail oceans and travel through time and space just to be able to love us.
We grow up aiming to love and to be loved but never get taught to love ourselves.
We spend our entire lives expecting to find someone we can love but never learn that loving ourselves is just as important. We start to rely on other people’s love to feel special, to feel something, when in fact all we needed was to be taught how to love ourselves.

—  love yourself
It is different now. We don’t talk. We don’t smile at each other. And the thing is that I am happy we stopped pretending. Because things were bad for so long but we acted as if nothing was wrong. And I think we both wanted to be happy and the only way for that to be possible was if we both went our separate ways.
—  ck.writes (on Instagram) // we were both looking for happiness

dear daughter, this is for the day when you first stand in the shower, with eyes producing more water than the shower itself, and try to scrub your skin off. using all your might as if they were the chains you were once bound too and desperately need to free yourself from. firstly honey, your black is neither burden nor boundary it is a key that reveals so many treasures if you’d just persevere until you find the right doors. what are you trying to do with your caramel coloured skin of soft buttery texture that has been churned through generations of hardships to produce this fine product of supreme quality called you? don’t you know your hair is an enchanted forest, each kink and curl creating it’s own unique magic to keep your well deserved crown in place? my baby, you are royalty and ignore the white’s dictionary definition of humility, it is not stripping yourself of your crown to avoid being the subject of jealously and envy. that big, beautiful forehead of yours is filled with a lifetime of substantial knowledge and always be proud of your luscious lips that reflect the enormity of love you have to share. don’t be afraid of your already thick thighs in preparation for the day they become your own daughter’s pillow to cry into and confess all her secrets too. finally my star, have i not always showed you how bright you glow, so why did you allow them to burn you out? if i could not make you love yourself, open your eyes to see how beautiful you truly are then how could you give them permission to teach you how to hate your black then learn the lesson so well?

How much wood
could a woodchuck
chuck
if a woodchuck
could chuck
wood?

How many stories
could a storyteller
tell
if a storyteller
was given
a lifetime?

How many wishes
could a wishing well
wish
if a wishing well
could wish
wishes?

How many words
could a dictionary
hold
if the paper were
a millimetre
thick?

How much plastic
would be
recycled
everyday
if we all recycled
our plastic?

How much love
could a father
give
if a father
decided to give
love?

How many songs
wouldn’t bother to
rhyme
if it were okay
to not rhyme
songs?

scraping of knives in the silverware drawer
a howling echo from the night sky blossoms in my garden
i’m runnin’ on gas fumes & old photos of us

(never too late, never too late, that’s what i said to you
but the clouds were always too loud & my heart was silent)

there’s no sleep for the wicked & i’m starving for death
the moon winks at me as she passes by my windowsill
she reminds me of your pale smile licking my frown

(we’re out of time, we’re out of time, that’s what you told me
but i plugged my ears with vaporwave blues & the world was silent)

to the quiet ones
who are afraid
of the sound
of their voices:
write
and your words
will scream from the page


(and you will be heard).

—  to the quiet ones by shelby leigh

I’m going to push you away,

I need you to stay,

but I wouldn’t blame you if you dont

—  God help me//kayla
The worst crying is when you’re lying in bed, with your hand over your mouth so you don’t make noise. The tears are running onto your pillow and your heart’s breaking and you’re thinking of everything that made you cry, and your other hand is on your heart or stomach because they both hurt.
—  (via sturzpoesie IG)

when you write about him
remember
that ink is permanent


and he doesn’t deserve
to live on forever
in your words.

—  eternal words by shelby leigh
Don’t put your happiness in other people’s hands
They’ll drop it.
They’ll drop it every time.
—  (via sturzpoesie IG)

you never hurt me,
not physically,
but I still felt the pain
in your words

and maybe there’s no
visible bruise on my skin
but surely there’s a
scar on my heart

—  by shelby leigh
Dear love, I don’t think you understand the power you have over me. How easily you can make my day or ruin my week by a simple text. You have the power to let me grow or to tear me down and you don’t even realise
I miss her man, I miss her so much. But how the hell do I tell her that?”, my friend asked me once. It might have been the stupidest question I had ever heard because the answer was so obvious. “You do not tell her, you show her. Show her that you care and show her that her presence makes your day better.
—  It is so easy to say things but taking actions is the hardest part. // ck.writes