she said she was a poet

I’m tired.” she said. “I’m tired of pretending to feel empty about everything. I’m tired of laughing at people when they assumed that I don’t feel anything at all. Because of course, I feel something. I almost feel everything that it suffocates my whole being. I feel it when someone slowly losing interest in me as if they were clouds—fading in the sky during warm summer days. As if they were colors melting their brightest shades. I feel my heart breaking when someone continuously pointing out my mistakes that it erased all the right things I’ve ever done in my whole life. As if everything went blank, and I need to start doing something again that will make them proud. I feel people’s words touching what’s deep within me. Especially when they were the people who were important to me. Especially when they were the people who I always expected to understand the real me.” she looked down at her hands catching her breath heavily. She wasn’t used on opening up her heart to someone. She wasn’t used on telling everything that’s on her mind. Yet she knew, this was the best thing she needed to do. That this can ease the burdens she’s been lifting up for too long. She sighed slowly, then she said, “I just want you to know, that even if people tried to pretend that there’s a black hole inside of them, they will always end up touching their chests and feel their heart beating.
—  ma.c.a // Can you really see me?

He scanned through the crowd with intense eyes and finally, he spotted the black haired girl at a table in the corner of the bar. Immediately, he pushed his way through the dancing crowd.

He gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, calling out to her. Slowly, she turned to him and smiled sheepishly at him. 

“You’re finally here…” her voice shook a little, “…let’s have a drink!”

“No, you drank enough,” he took the empty shot glass from her hand, grabbed her arm and started pulling her up from her seat, “so let’s get you back home now. ”

She shook her head and whined in a slurred voice. She tried to push him away but she was far too drunk. Sighing, he slung her arm over his shoulder, wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her out of the bar, all the way to his car.

He opened his car door and helped her into the front seat. He took a look at her sleeping face for a moment before leaning in to fasten her seatbelt, his fingers accidentally brushed against her side.

Her brows twitched at his touch and her lids drifted open to half-mast. She fixed her gaze on his face. The face she would find in crowds. The face she could not go on a day without thinking of. The face she could not possibly forget. Unconsciously, she gripped his shoulder and opened her mouth,

“…I love you.”

It was a mere whisper, but it was audible enough for him to hear and to freeze in place. He turned to meet and hold her gaze.

“You’re drunk.”

She tightened her grip on his shoulder and pulled him closer to her,

“And that’s exactly why I have the courage to tell you that I love you,” she said, giggling between hiccups,

“And my feelings will remain unchanged when dawn breaks,“ her voice noticeably changed, growing quieter, more serious as she spoke before she gave in to sleep’s powerful pull,

“I love you all the same, whether I am drunk or sober.”

—  Lukas W. // Forgotten Words #142 // Gently, he caressed her head with a smile, and leaned in to lay a soft kiss on her forehead.
“I love you too.”
It was just different with you…I cant explain it. Everything, the way i felt, the way i thought..” she said, her voice breaking “it was different, I’ve never felt it before.”
“Least now you know its possible.” He half smiled at her.
“No!” She yelled.
“No, you don’t get it. It was only because of you. And if it is possible with someone else…” She took a deep breath.
“I wouldn’t want it with someone else.
— 
well-thesedays-im-fine
excerpt from a book I’ll never write
I hope you’ll meet someone who will love you endlessly.” he said. Telling her everything he’s thinking for a very long time. “Someone who will wipe away all the sadness in your eyes and kiss the smiles inside your heart. I hope you’ll meet someone who will still look at you with admiration in their eyes even if they had already seen your scars.” he wanted her to know how much she deserves to feel love, more than she had before. He wanted to give her the happiness she deserves. That he’s willing to accept it even if it’s not going to be with him. He looked at her as if he’s staring at the most stunning person in the universe. As if he wanted to see this beautiful scenery forever. Then, he finally said, “I hope you’ll end up with someone who will gladly want to live in the same world with you, no matter how crazy it may seem for you.
—  ma.c.a // I hope it’s you and me
9

mythology moodboard: aphrodite, goddess of love, desire and beauty.

Aphrodite is the Olympian goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, procreation and eternal youth. She was also a protectress of sailors. The poet Hesiod said that Aphrodite was born from sea-foam. Homer, on the other hand, said that she was the daughter of Zeus and Dione.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?” he asked her. “Do you really hate me that much?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her. It was more like the tenth, and she was beginning to grow tired of it.

“I don’t hate you!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “Okay? I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all.”

“Then why avoid me? Why ignore me?” he persisted.

“Because,” she sighed, “being around you makes me sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yes, sad,” she said. “Because it’s like being at a funeral. You were a part of my life that I loved, but now it’s gone. I will always love it, but being around you is almost like getting a constant reminder that your grandma is dead.” She shook her head, looking away from him. “You just.. You make me sad.”

—  excerpt from an unfinished book #145

HeyO! This was a bit of something I’ve wanted to do for awhile. Had it in my mind to do an Irish/Celtic/Gaelic/Welsh/Scottishwhathaveyou guide for awhile. Finally got around to it, at the very tail end of summer. So here goes.

Aos Sí: Irish term meaning “people of the mound”, they’re comparatively your faeries and elves of Irish mythology. Some believe they are the living survivors of the Tuatha Dé Danann. They’re fiercely territorial of their little mound homes and can either be really, really pretty or really, really ugly. They’re often referred to not by name, but as “Fair Folk” or “Good Neighbors”. Never, ever piss them off.

Cat Sidhe: Cat Sidhe are faerie cats, often black with white spots on their chests. They haunted Scotland, but a few Irish tales tell of witches who could turn into these cats a total of nine times (nine lives?). The Cat Sidhe were large as dogs and were believed to be able to steal souls by passing over a dead body before burial. Irusan was a cat sidhe the size of an ox, and once took a satirical poet for a wild ride before Saint Ciaran killed it with a hot poker.

Badb: Part of the trio of war goddesses called Morrígna with sisters Macha and Morrígan, Badb, meaning “crow”, was responsible for cleaning bodies up after battle. Her appearance meant imminent bloodshed, death of an important person, and/or mass confusion in soldiers that she would use to turn victories in her favor. She and her sisters fought the Battles of Mag Tuired, driving away the Fir Bolg army and the Formorians. In short: total badass.

Merrow: The Irish mermaid. They were said to be very benevolent, charming, modest and affectionate, capable of attachment and companionship with humans. It is believed that they wore caps or capes that would allow them to live underwater, and taking a cap/cape of a merrow would render them unable to return to the sea. Merrow, unlike regular mermaids, were also capable of “shedding” their skin to become more beautiful beings. They also like to sing.

Púca: Also called a phooka, these are the chaotic neutral creatures of the Irish mythos world. They were known to rot fruit and also offer great advice. They are primarily shapeshifters, taking a variety of forms both scary as heck and really really pretty. The forms they took are always said to be dark in color. Púcas are partial to equine forms and have known to entice riders onto its back for a wild but friendly romp, unlike the Kelpie, which just eats its riders after drowning them.

Faoladh: My all-time favorite Irish creature. Faoladh are Irish werewolves. Unlike their english neighbors, Faoladh weren’t seen as cursed and could change into wolves at will. Faoladh of Ossory (Kilkenny) were known to operate in male/female pairs and would spend several years in wolf form before returning to human life together, replaced in work by a younger couple. They are the guardians and protectors of children, wounded men, and lost people. They weren’t above killing sheep or cattle while in wolf form for a meal, and the evidence remained quite plainly on them in human form. Later on, the story of an Irish King being cursed by God made the Faoladh a little less reputable.

Dullahan: Dullahan are headless riders, often carrying their decapitated cranium beneath one arm. They are said to have wild eyes and a grin that goes from ear to ear, and they use the spine of a human skeleton as a whip (What the WHAT). Their carriages were made of dismembered body parts and general darkness. Where they stop riding is where a person is doomed to die, and when they say the human’s name, that person dies instantly.

Gancanagh: An Irish male faerie known as the “Love-Talker”. He’s a dirty little devil related to the Leprechaun that likes seducing human women. Apparently the sex was great, but ultimately the woman would fall into some sort of ruin, whether it be financial or scandal or generally having their lives turn out awful. He was always carrying a dudeen—Irish pipe—and was a pretty chill guy personality-wise. You just don’t ever want to meet him—it’s really bad luck. 

It’s funny, isn’t it?” she said, smiling lightly. “I ignored him like he doesn’t exist. But, I am also craving for his attention. Damn, I am waiting to see him walking towards me and say hello. I wanted him to notice me. I wanted him to really look at me. To talk to me. I wanted to hear everything he’s going to say. I wanted him, more than anything else.” she realized, that no matter what she said, she’s always ending up with the same conclusion. As if she’s stuck in the same place all over again. As if she’s been hitting the same button, hoping it will change. With heavy sigh, she said, “Yet I just can’t. I just can’t be with him, when his heart already belongs to someone else.
—  ma.c.a // Wrong Arrow
my hand itches
to feel her skin beneath my fingertips
her cheeks flush pink
as the lips i long to kiss
i want to reach out
and brush a strand of her hair behind her ear
i want to look into her eyes
and see everything i’ve never seen before
sometimes
our shoulders brush as we walk together
her hand grazes back as she walks by
our fingers touch when i go to give her something
each and every time
it feels as though there is lightning inside of me
electricity spreads through my veins
and lights up in my chest
each and every time
we both linger for a second too long
i try not to think about it
but all i can do is think about it
all i can do is think about her
she is so
beautiful
  it is almost as if
she isn’t real
how can something so ethereal
and precious
and soft
exist in a world so harsh and ugly?
and how did i
get so lucky
to exist in the same world as she?

she is a princess
and i, a dragon
my only hope
is that i don’t scare her away from me
—  cafegirlfeelings said: Can you write a poem about falling in love with a girl for the first time? 
(cc, 2017)
your childhood best friend sits across from you
at the kitchen table, nodding out with a cigarette
in his hands and all you can think about is your
father and why you know at twenty-two what
heroin looks like in another person’s body. you
remember your mother telling you that you can’t
make anybody stop doing what they want to do.

the people who get clean are the people who
want to get clean, she said. and you know
it’s what she’ll say again.

you won’t cry on the phone, but your voice
crunches like gravel on the line when you call her.
there’s blood in your mouth and all you can think
about are skinned knees, all those games of tag
that led to this moment. there is a tree still in
your grandparents’ front yard that always used to
be the safe zone. you wish you could go back to it
right now and press your whole body against it.
—  WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS by Trista Mateer

“If you could only use one word to describe me,” she said, “what would it be?”

He thought for a moment, and opened his mouth to give his answer.

“Selfish.”

“Selfish?” She raised her brows in obvious surprise. “Why?”

“Because you won’t allow anyone to share the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“Especially when it is pain,” he continued,

“You just keep it all to yourself.”

—  Lukas W. // Forgotten Words #123 // Let me bear all of your pain and burdens with you
“I got a chance to have a small conversation with her.”. She said. “She’s indeed nice. And she’s an interesting person.”. She continued, as she smiled a little. She knew what she has to say. She needed to let him go, and she knew only one person who could take care of him more than anyone else. Of course it will hurt her so much but some things never lasts the way we wanted it to. “I know you weren’t mine anymore. Or maybe you were never even mine from the very start. The moment I saw the two of you together, I knew then that I lost you already even if you haven’t told me about it yet. You know it hurts, but you have no idea how much it would affect me and my damn heart. Because it’s me, who will have to fight these feelings of mine, just to make you happy. Just to see you smile, I need to hide every little tear that’s going to come out. But don’t worry about it, I can do that—for you. Anything for you. I always do that, right? ”. She smiled as if she can’t feel any pain inside her. She wasn’t mad at him. She wasn’t mad at anyone else. She was just so sad she thinks she can’t say any word anymore. But in the end, she told him one thing she hoped he would do. She gently grabbed his hands and said, “Please do me one last favor. Please be happy. This time, please be really happy—do it for me. Will you? ”. Without waiting for an answer, she let go of his hands and walked away—without looking back. But with the acceptance that things between them will never be the same anymore.
—  ma.c.a // Love and Understanding
It is so easy to starve yourself
in the same way she starved you of love.
It is so easy to withhold nourishment from your body
in the way she withheld nourishment from your soul.
It
is
so
easy
because that feeling of emptiness, of nothing inside 
is all
you have ever known
and so to feel full is so frightening, so unfamiliar
and apparently you are undeserving of that sensation
for how else can you defend her deprivation?
How else can you explain the fact
that the same woman who brought you into the world
the same woman who was your world
is the same woman who brought it crashing down around you?
How else can you explain that
if not by diminishing your own worth?
But darling,
what I wish you would realize 
what I wish you would open your eyes wide enough to see
is that none of
this
is your fault
but rather hers, 
rather due to her own inability to peer beyond her own demons
and see the angel that you are.
Darling, this is not your war
and your body is not a battlefield
nor are calories a crime.
Self-starvation is not your salvation
for it only continues the cycle she set
in motion.
The only one who can save you now
is you
and the only way out is to eat,
to fight through each tearful bite and merciless meal
to fight back against the urges and her voice shouting in your head,
to feed yourself and fight this sickness,
not the other way around.
Stop punishing your beautiful self for the cruelties she committed - 
the soul that should be serving time is hers and hers alone.
Darling, you are so much more 
than the unmothered child 
and
the unwanted daughter.
If you want to define yourself as un-anything,
be unbound, unleashed and uninhibited -
be more than the perfect puppet she wanted you to be.
Somewhere beneath the lies she laid upon you
and the criticisms and insults she said make up who you are,
somewhere beneath it all is YOU.
There is an innocent little girl and a powerful young woman
waiting to be released.
So darling, take a breath and unchain her,
darling, set yourself free once and for all.
Stop waiting for her to give a love she is incapable of ever giving
and learn to love
yourself
instead.
—  on overcoming an abusive mother, S.R.N.
If one thing must be said about my heart, it is this; She has felt the weight of gravity disappear, the fall without a parachute, she’s hit the ground and splintered over and over again. She’s foolish and gullible. But she’s persistent. She gets up everytime.
—  g.e. // May 3rd
The Signs as Michael Faudet Poems

Aries:

My Girl Who Writes

I watch you write,
my love, my life,
my start of everything.

Each little sigh,
a pen run day,
another painful page
begins.

Your fingers bleed,
I do concede,
for a sentence
of your making.

To which you say,
on sunshine days,
it is for words
my heart is breaking.

Taurus:

Kindness

Do you know what really turns me on?
What I find incredibly sexy? Kindness.

Gemini:

Pressed Flowers

To the quiet one,
the coy,
the wallflower.

Her dark circled eyes
buried in a book.

Hard little nipples,
dusty pink,
beneath a tatty
black singlet.

Those restless legs,
sprawled across
a squeaky bed.

Her secrets kept,
like pressed daisies
hidden by
pages read.

Cancer:

Spring

She wore the scent
of early spring
on her delicate neck
and every kiss I stole
tasted of bright yellow flowers
and buzzing bees.

Leo:

Airplanes

She rode on airplanes and fell asleep in hotel beds. Dreaming of faraway places– writing poetry with her sunset eyes.

Libra:

Stillness

There is a certain stillness, when even the gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wing feels like a hurricane.

The moment when crashing waves fall asleep, peaceful, lost to the serenity of salty dreams.

When tall tees stand to attention and every leaf pauses, takes a deep breath and holds it.

It is here, beneath the maddening silence I hear your name.

An echo of you.

Virgo:

The Gift

Her eyes were beautifully gift wrapped;
long black lashes of velvet ribbon–
and every time she opened them,
it felt like Christmas.

Scorpio:

The Mermaid

She came from the ocean,
this wild girl from the sea,
her hair flowing southwards,
she walked towards me.

A west to east smile,
with eyes steely grey,
like a storm in the distance,
rolling in from the bay.

We kissed with the sunrise,
made love when it set,
a promise by moonlight,
came dawn, my regret.

He left for the ocean,
this boy from the land,
his spirit soars northward,
his heart in her hands.

Sagittarius:

Pen Portrait

I watched as you reached for the ice cream.

Standing naked, body pressed up against the humming fridge.

A wispy trail of bluish grey smoke spiraling up from a dying cigarette.

Held precariously in the other hand, ash falling to the floor.

A just fucked wetness between your legs.

Your little smile captured in grainy black and white.

By the click of a camera.

Capricorn:

Some Days

Some days we spoke about life, other days, we discussed the weather– and whenever we laughed, it was the best sex ever.

Aquarius:

Stars

Magic tumbled from her pretty lips and when she poke the language of the universe– the stars sighed in unison.

Pisces:

The Apple Orchard

He floated upon a gentle sea of rippling green.

When little yellow butterflies danced drunk pirouettes on the windy stage.

Reading the words written by fluffy white poets who wrote ever changing prose across and endless blue page.

‘Apples are funny things,’ he said. ‘You can never be sure of what you are getting until you take that first bite.’

His hand reaches slowly for the half empty vodka bottle.

‘This afternoon I discovered an apple so wonderfully perfect, I wouldn’t be surprised if it came from the outstretched hand of a wicked old witch.’

She pulled up her white cotton panties, brushing an ant from a grass stained knee.

‘I’ve been called many things before but never an apple,’ she laughed.

None of these poems are mine. I borrowed them all from Michael’s book Dirty Pretty Things. Go check it out!

This will never cease to strike my heart…

Once the Prophet (pbuh) was sitting in a room with Aisha (RA) and fixing his shoes. It was very warm, and Aisha looked to his blessed forehead and noticed that there were beads of sweat on it. She became overwhelmed by the majesty of that sight and was staring at him long enough for him to notice.

He said, “What’s the matter?” She replied, “If Abu Bukair Al-Huthali, the poet, saw you, he would know that his poem was written for you.” The Prophet (pbuh) asked, “What did he say?” She replied, “Abu Bukair said that if you looked to the majesty of the moon, it twinkles and lights up the world for everybody to see.” So the Prophet (pbuh) got up, walked to Aisha, kissed her between the eyes, and said, “Wallahi ya Aisha, you are like that to me and more.”

(Narrated in Dala'el Al-Nubuwa for Imam Abu Nu'aim with isnad including Imam Bukhari and Imam Ibn Khuzaina)

“I just love her so much,” he smiled, his eyes reflecting the sun “and I would do everything for her. Do you understand? Anything! I would tear this whole world apart for her if she asked me to. I would take down every star in this damn sky if it meant that she would give me a single chance, no matter how tiny. I would wait my whole life if that’s what I had to do so I could have her even only for a single day.”
She nodded, trying to hold back her tears while looking at the only person in this universe that she knew she would ever love. “I’m glad.” she said quietly and hoped that he wouldn’t hear the tears. “I’m glad that you’ve found love. Something like that is quite rare, you know? Knowing that you will never be able to love anyone else because this is your person. I’m glad that you’re happy.”
“I am. Love is such a beautiful thing, do you know that? It’s the most beautiful thing the world has to offer. And once you’ve loved, you know what it feels like to be alive. And I have loved. I do love. More than anything.” he looked at her and her breath hitched in her throat, hoping that despite everything he had just said, maybe there was a tiny chance he would see that the person in front of him was someone that was ready to love him more than anyone else. “I hope that you’ll be able to experience the same one day.”
So she put all the energy she had left into forming one last tiny smile before he turned around and started walking towards the car. And she watched the boy of her dreams drive off to the girl he loved more than anything else.
—  I wish this was fiction
e.e.

Theirs is said to be a marriage of tragedy. They call him deformed, warped, a presence that insulted the heavens; while she was the epitome of beauty, of love.


The poets misspoke.


He is not ugly, though not handsome either, but those eyes. Hard on the world, yet tender on her. His form is something chiseled, stone, a reminder that art is not meant to be beautiful.


She abandons obvious passion for something more alluring. She abandons war in favor of fire.


He holds her gently, long fingers that can glide a breath away from her skin, rendering her paralyzed. He makes. He makes and creates beauty in his hands that doesn’t exist in his face. He makes her calm. He makes her quiet.


She bends to kiss his calloused hands and begs him. Show me your scars. Show me your ash. So he answers in return.


Show me your stars.
Show me your love.

—  L.H.Z // Maybe Aphrodite loved her husband