Latest Posts by moonlitmirror - Page 3

summer’s end scrapes me up

I know I'm turning ugly

A turpentine tree trunk

Twisted as the shadows

Lengthen and silhouettes

Soften, someone show me

How to make anything but

A fist— I bruise, I burn, I

Hold on to everything

That wants to let me go

I am growing stunted with

The skillet slant of the sun

Playing hide-and-seek

I have lost or I am losing

And the ink in my veins

Falls in splotches insensible

In this eternal, internal rain

I have a mouth made for

Despair, I have learned to

Chew the air before my

Weary lungs can swallow

Fill me with desire, I've been parched these last hundred years, died too young, left my heart out on a bookcase then forgotten, I forgot to want myself and everything I grew into.

I forgot to write and love it.

I forgot to love the darkness inside of me, the shadows that held my jaw and pulled me into you.

I forgot that you held everything I ever wanted and feared, that I traded love for fear.

My desire has not completely left, I still want everything that I lost and will feel again.

I still want you.

I ache for the world and I run away from it

And when the night falls, and darkness lays beside me, I don't want to fall in love, I want to be in your arms and forgotten as the mist touches the hills...................

everytimeyousaygoodbye ©

Be kind to yourself, you are deserving of love ♡

“Accept how you feel but don’t let feelings rule you. You are in control. You are not their slave.”

— Unknown

I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.

My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay pot, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the colour you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.

But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

I was a gifted child once. I was the golden girl. And one day, I burned out.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

when I say “everyone’s on their own timeline”, I mean it.

there’s no right age to learn something by. there’s no right age to be settled down, to move out of home, or to start your own family. there’s no right age to start working, if you work at all. there’s no right age to graduate.

life isn’t a series of boxes you need to tick. do things at your own pace. slow down if you need to. it’s okay.

I fought so hard to remain unseen, merely a shadow on the wall that could go unnoticed when I fell over my own two feet and into words that dropped like pebbles.

And now I fight myself to be seen again, pulling myself in from currents that I found first instead of drowning myself in shadows.

“We cannot solve problems with the kind of thinking we employed when we came up with them.” — Albert Einstein

It was true love felt, never true love given

   —  Anna Akhmatova, "The Sentence," from The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova, translated by Judith Hemschemeyer

[text ID: Today I have so much to do: / I must kill memory once and for all, / I must turn my soul to stone, / I must learn to live again—]

“The moon is honey on the mouths of madmen”

— Guillaume Apollinaire, from Claire de Lune; Alcools: Poems (tr. by Donald Revell), 1913

“Death is woven in with the violets…”

— Virginia Woolf, from ‘The Waves’

Portrait of María Hahn - Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta

there is no force of nature that says “come here” like the ocean

We have lived and will live again in these moments, precious to every blink and eye that beat as one

ocean vuong | richard siken

poetically aligned; beneath these opal sunken twilit skies.

Melissa Febos, Abandon Me

I am half finished, incomplete as the moon in it's phases, yet still I am curved into a crescent smiling at my shadowed half

untitled

and one fine morning, i float away; drifting into that azure emptiness

I am more a fool for thinking, wiser for feeling, as if my head had ever the chance of hiding this from me 

Heinrich Heine, from “The rose and the lily, the sun and the dove” (tr. by Hal Draper)

Sometimes I read books that I only want to keep to myself as if the whole world would conquer the magic I felt in a few simple moments