poetry about the truth

we lie to give you courage,
we lie to make you feel
we lie to help inspire you,
we lie to help you heal

we lie because sometimes
the truth is hard to find, or
the truth is hard to listen to, or
the truth is hard to understand, or
it’s something that could
break you in two.

but beneath
the pretty lies,
the truth still resides,
and is ready to be told
when you need to hear it
to help move on
or cope.

for the biggest reason
we lie is to try
and give you the thing
your heart probably
needs the most
at the time,

we lie to give you
hope.

— 

why storytellers are just a bunch of goddamn liars (6/23/17), thekaijusleeps

Inspired by this post.

Shout out to the mixed kids who never felt close to the cultures they come from. Shout out to the mixed kids who don’t know the native language(s) at all or fluently and get shamed for it. Shout out to the mixed kids who were never really immersed in their family culture(s) and their for don’t know anything or very little about where they come from. Shout out to the mixed kids who felt connected to one side of their culture than the other(s). Shout out to the mixed kids who get shamed for wearing or celebrating something unique to the culture(s) because they “don’t look like they’re from there/like that race”. Shout out to the mixed kids whose own family called them “fake”. Shout out to the mixed kids who never felt like they belonged.
—  To me and the “fake” mixed kids
It’ll be disappointing if this relationship doesn’t work out but I’ll be happy all the same. Happy that I got to be part of his life, even for a short period of time. Happy that he’s shown me that there are good guys out there and what I want is attainable, even if it’s not with him.
-
I used to want relationships to last forever because I couldn’t stand having a void in my heart and life every time someone left. But I’ve come to realize that that isn’t what matters. It’s the experience and lessons that matter, not their duration. The important relationships you’ll have might only last a few months but they’ll shape how you are, how you love and how you live for the rest of your life.
-
So appreciate and cherish every moment because nothing lasts forever. Don’t hold the ones you love down, let them fly away because taking away someone’s freedom is the worst thing you can do. And don’t let your heart break, let it rejoice instead, even when the story is over. You had the chance to cross paths with this person and watching someone you love live and laugh and grow is the best gift you can ever receive. So love them with all your heart and encourage them to embark on new journeys, even if that means leaving you behind.
—  With every ending comes a new beginning - Jess Amelia 
1. If he holds another while he’s flirting with you, then you must come to terms that if you were together he’d do it to you too

2. If he kisses another while he’s trying to stare into your eyes, chances are he’s just trying to find out how much he can get away with

3. The more you feed into it, the deeper the cut, the more you think about it, the deeper the hole inside of your heart

4. If you keep thinking about him and all that you’ve been meaning to be for him, where does that put you in this whole picture– where did you leave yourself?

5. It’s going to hurt, but it’s going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you continue to fall back in love with him every time he says your name with that same tone that you keep falling for

6. In truth, he’s an asshole– I can say this because I am too

7. You’re playing a dangerous game and there’s not a single button to press save or any way to refund damaged goods

8. If you have a soft spot for him, you’ve got to know that he knows this

9. So the next time you think about him, just know that he’s probably thinking about someone else

10. You probably hated reading this whole list, but that’s tough love sweetheart– it’s all that I have for you, it’s not that he doesn’t like you, he just doesn’t know how to treat you right

11. So if he doesn’t, you need to be that person for yourself

12. Who else will love you like yourself?



13. No one, not even him
—  If he’s playing with your heart, you need to read this simple truth about it.
I hate I begged you to stay
I was foolish
had you not have left
I would not be the woman I am now
beautiful, independent, free
thank you for leaving
it all makes sense
—  it’s funny how life works itself out
Things you should know before dating me

1. my heart is in a cage because was once a bird

2. I do not sing anymore

3. I once saw a time lapse of decaying food and it made me hungry

5. I will never blame my feathers. Not all birds can fly 

6. no one believes me when I say “I’m okay” 

6.5 no one asks for the truth

7. I practiced lying until it was fun

8. I am going to love you in the wrong ways

9. please do not count the feathers on the floor, I can clean up my own mess

10. I leave the door unlocked

When another's words

When another’s words
tamp down your spirit
pressing terrible shapes
into your skin, never intended,
and the incisions within
seep into your warm earth
nails digging in further still
tasting each sensation of hurt;
feel inside your emotional
skin letting criticism leech in.

Hail force winds, resounding tears-
let them out, feel the power
of disappointment, disapproval
anger, sadness.

Then–close the jar!

You have done your part,
withstood the truths of
another’s limited
determination
of what comprises
you.

But, my love, remember,
you are not the summation
of others’ thoughts or words;
your worth is in the magic
of the truths held far deeper.

Your worth is not confined
to your past;
nor as finite as a simple mistake.
Oh, love, your value
is rich as ermine
shrouded in silk folds;
your wealth made greater
for the wisdom you hold
of who you are today and will grow
into becoming.

Dear, you are always, always enough.

–Rhapsodyinblue45


“You have to find a mother inside yourself. We all do. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.” (The Secret Life of Bees)

I heard a poet say the other day about how easy it was to write with a mask on, to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, if I hide the words good enough and toss away the keys to this lock, could you still find yourself if it’s so deep inside of my flaws? You love it when people write about you, especially if I’m doing the writing it seems. I don’t write about you much, so here I am. One last poem. And I give your eyes a solid peek with every letter, a silent whisper that says nothing, but if you pay attention to my lips it mouths an I love you each and every time when you catch me staring at you and I look away. I wonder when I see you staring, do you do the same when I turn away my head? I love to write, but you’ll wonder if it’s about you, you, you, you, you or her, her, her, her, her or her. It’s about you. This is about you. You know who you are. In the first conversation we ever had, you asked if my favorite color was red before even getting into my head. And those eyes that peer, that leer, that steer straight into mine, we haven’t met, we have met, we haven’t loved, we have loved, we haven’t fallen, we have fallen, we haven’t fucked, we have fucked, we haven’t broken into, we have broken into, we haven’t written, we have written, we haven’t been, we have been, we haven’t talked, we have talked, we speak for five minutes and I feel like I’ve known you for several lifetimes and attention is such a trickling thing as it falls from my eyes and into yours– we haven’t been anything before these five minutes, but I’ve made love to your every way before we knew, before you knew, before I knew, we were kinda fucked. We made sure to not get too close, we made sure that it never happened, it stays as it stays, it says as it says, and one day, we’ll never be. She says I could never date a writer. And as ironic as it is, we’re both writers, so as enamored and as pulled to one another as we are, we’ll think about it when the sun decides to go for another eternal nap, and when the moon finally decides to give those love letters back with different people holding each cloud up, with separate lovers holding us, we’ll think about it until it hurts. And we’ll do it for the sake of falling in love, the art of the what if’s while you’re young and stupid, it goes like this. You are something that casts more deadly spells than a dark lord’s wand, that bends more trees than the wind during hurricane season, that breaks more often than a sidewalk during the heat of summer love, that admires more deeply than artists comparing themselves to Van Gogh, that swells more quickly than a mosquito bite because you forgot bug spray although it never works because they too find you irresistible from blood type to skin, that itches worse than eating something you’re allergic too, it’s often our favorite foods too, that stretches more than the horizon when the sun asks the moon to come out and play always, always, slow dance to that one song from now on, that sings as beautiful as the Mona Lisa when we try to figure out her smile, that still to this day, I choose to not talk to you because yes it’s true, I’m a little in love with you, and yes it’s true, we won’t ever exist at the same time, too many obstacles and yes it’s true, we live for poetics the modern romantics trying to be antiques inside of a masterpiece, we never knew how to love properly, so we tried to pave way inside of a kaleidoscope– if we ever fell in love, it would be a bad trip, like overdosing on lsd because you thought that you were a cactus and spines started to grow out of you, yeah that kind of fucked up. We would be messed up, but I think in some lowkey happy offset universe, we would’ve been happy about it. She talks to me about poetry like I invented it, the truth is I write to feel something, isn’t that why we do anything? These words have been written before, I’m just following footsteps, I’m just another person trying to write down my wrongs, am I wrong for it? And it was one of those days, some strange scene from an anime when the sun is setting and they’re walking across a metal bridge as friends and he comments on the days that go by without a second thought, and the water is running and she says that you can’t skateboard down slopes because you’d get in trouble, rules were meant to be broken, and if you don’t break them, you can bend them just right. And it’s that kind of day, where bookstores mean more to us than clubs. Neon soul, would you care to stay here as you are for just a little while longer? She speaks about poetry like it’s the only thing that matters. He utters back wildfire spreads wildfire. I don’t know why he said it, but it just felt right, right? And the day will end, but not before you walked us through two art museums and there’s always a juicy secret near the end of us whispering to each other about other people and what they’re up to. In this fairy tale, they don’t fall in love. In this poem, they don’t get together. In this life, they’re just friends. In this heart, they’ll be just two lost souls stuck on a bench, I’m a little tired, I’ll just rest my head on those shoulders, and I must tell you, that you look better without make up. There will a day when this is just a faded gem you’ll find in your brain. There will be a brief moment when you’ll remember those five hours, and it all started because of those five minutes when you asked if we have met before, and I know that I write long pieces with very shitty grammar and not enough elaborate metaphors, but the thing about my writing and why it’s so damn relatable may be because I write with a cold heart that just wants to feel warm, we all need that day. That day, that’ll indefinitely change us in ways that we may not be able to comprehend today, tomorrow or even by next year. A day that explains, a day that demands to be listened to and just like how a chest needs a careful set of ears to listen to its heartbeat, I’m glad that I gave a listen to yours. And maybe I’ll move out of this city where people do the same shit every fucking day and pretend that it’s okay, that this is it. We’ll work until we’re grey, get that 401k go on vacations while we’re fragile with an old passion for pastries, cheap hotels and some famous beach that all of the old people go to. There’s got to be more to life, you mentioned that a few times. This was just a glimpse to what could be with someone else, and I’m always holding onto your hands just a little too tight because I don’t want you to let go and it’s okay because today will end, but not in this memory. In this memory, we’re young forever. In this memory, we’re breaking every rule just a little bit. In this memory, I write down every little detail because I don’t give a fuck. In this memory, I play a slow dance with you until the moon finally explains itself to us in entirety. I’m full because of you, I’m empty because of you. In this memory, the metaphors never run out and the poetry isn’t just about love, it’s not about sadness anymore, it’s about clawing my way out of my thoughts and back into a moment where I’m not so depressed and I’m cracking jokes right next to you all the way down Central Park and in this memory, there’s a small chance that you could’ve been more than just someone who showed my heart around New Orleans. In this memory, I remember you as my pretty crimson. And if this memory shall ever fade, I’ll fade with it too because the more we write, the more we are, if I am what I eat and I am what I do, I’ll eat the yellow paint and write until it’s dark and if I’m ever blind and no longer the person that I was when I walked across that bridge with you– at least it’s an ending that I can dwell on. Poets write poetry, clouds use rain as a disguise, but this writer is just wearing another mask and tomorrow isn’t any different. I am the wildfire, and I’ll spread in many directions. I just hope that we never burn down together and if we do, that wouldn’t be so bad, right?
You’re lonely,” they say,
but it doesn’t scare me
anymore
for it teaches me,
and maybe that’s the biggest win from these years:
I don’t need anyone else to distract me from myself anymore,
like I always thought I would…

I can finally stand myself,
and I never thought I would.
—  Charlotte Eriksson, You’re Doing Just Fine