towritepoems

It is terrifying to think that one day you will trust somebody enough to let them see you naked. You will undress and remind them that you’ve stretch marks and birth marks and scars from having chicken pox when you were little and scars from all of the other things now. You will blush thousands of shades of red, painting yourself as a rose losing its petals. And that person - that person will take it all in. And I wonder if they will reassure you. But mostly, I wonder if they will even see anything worth reassuring you about. I hope they see each freckle on your back as if it’s a star and you are the whole universe to them.
—  K.P.K
We were composed of the most beautiful symphonies. He would say I love you like it was an easier concept than to breathe. It all just flowed naturally. So for the longest time, I thought it was him that I needed but it was me. And I have experienced storms far greater than the ones he has blown my way. In the distance I can see a calm sea. I know maybe not now but really soon that I will be okay.
Butterflies
  • Butterflies
  • Jackie Rose
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Butterflies. 

A poem by Karys, (towritepoems here on tumblr,) now a song by me. Everybody go follow her blog, her poetry is lovely. ♥

butterflies died in my stomach
and turned into heavy stones
and I will lay in my bed forever
and make dust piles from my bones

oh god I can’t say that I miss you 
with silence spread out like the sea
with that blank stare sketched on your face
I know you’ve not thought of me

I am tired of feeling this tired
a terribly consistent fatigue
with a heavy heart blocking my lungs
you still make it hard to breathe

oh god I can’t say that I miss you 
with silence spread out like the sea
with that blank stare sketched on your face
I know you’ve not thought of me

you have been gone for quite a while
as I count the minutes in the bricks
it will be exactly seven thousand four
hundred and twenty when I finish this

oh god I can’t say that I miss you 
with silence spread out like the sea
with that blank stare sketched on your face
I know you’re not thinking of me

A realist is psychologically referred to as a pessimist. Who wants to love a pessimist? Who would enjoy waking up to a person on sunny days that prays for rain? (and man, do pessimist love rain) Constantly in search of clouds that will turn your skies gray. Transforming into the weather on your parade that is anything other than that sunshine your parents have been feeding you on silver spoons. I don’t understand it. But I will try to. I wanted to start off clever with a “Being loved by an optimist is pretty freaking odd for a pessimist and here is why": I would have made a list of words.
Alliterations, metaphors, and similes grouped in an attempt to woe. For instance, I see the beauty in rain and my very own demise in darkness. So here it is (again): because he will tell me to look for rainbows when the sky cries and because he will tell me to pick out stars when the sun ceases to supply light. I find humor in the fact that all the things the world loathes that I like, he will buy umbrellas and I will buy night lights. Then our glasses are balanced with water and ice. Not necessarily half empty or half full but maybe just free of vice.
—  On Being Loved By An Optimist. (via jwjb )