Tag: poetry

adjustment.

My heart is a construction site.  It echoes like a drill in my chest  Slowly coming apart  I sigh deeply  Pushing back the tears that have been welling in my eyes for weeks I pace my room  Gathering courage to leave it.  Everything in here And everything out there  Makes

home.

Home is not where the heart is The heart is always fleeting  So home is always fleeting  Home is where you are now  Where you find solace for now  Where you can be the best version of you now Home is what makes you feel most yourself Exposed yet safe 

refuge.

I’ve been searching for refuge I might as well have been scratching through dustbins overflowing with waste I looked for it in in the walls of churches, in the words of friends, in the beds of lovers, in the pages of books, in the sun, in the moon, in the burnt

anxiety. 

i don’t want to be right i just want to be honest lies keep evaporating my time this home left me homeless   And i tried hiding tried finding silence swam the breadth of my heart (shit.) i almost drowned in it   and all these faces they scare me

undone.

   You feel choked  You feel like your heart cannot fathom the thought of One More  Beat You feel your whole world spinning  Constellations falling out of the skies  Waters rising from their oceans, trees collapsing starved with famished roots  Chaos  Chaos  Disaster  You feel like there are a million

prisonbreak.

   I don’t mean to overwhelm you With all my I love you’s  It’s just  I guess  My body was holding all of them in  for so long. They were pilling up in my throat cramped and breathless  And when the first one escaped… well, it turned into a prison

lonliness.

   There is a sort of freedom , a joyous childlike unbounded sense of life that comes from letting go of everything you thought you needed.  Being alone. Unsurrounded by props and spirits of people you thought you knew.  Just you. And your terrifying fears that no longer seem so

thirsty.

   Just when I think I’ve made it  That I’ve graduated from the college of loving you  That I am free You pull your reigns, and the shackles on my feet start burning  And in that moment it is as if every single well in the world has dried up 

Paper and INK

A story of a Woman

I’m a mess of a beautiful portrait An illustration of what could have been A collection of stolen secrets A chest of forgotten dreams I’m a woman without a cause A story no one wants to tell I am images of whispers Exchanged between heaven and hell I am a

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