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...and i understand things better now
like that nostalgia is a filthy liar
who keeps insisting that things
than they seemed
napowrimo1. i've stopped fearing
and when i dream about
i just see your face
and get your songs in my
head and stuck in my
and i understand you now
i get it.
i get it
i get it.
2. this is the darkest timeline.
this is everything that can go wrong
this is worse than you dying
this is worse than the burning
this is worse than you overstaying your welcome.
i cant even talk to him anymore
cause it just sounds like
he's sticking his fingers in his ears
and screaming how he's
which i should have done a long time ago.
3. i try to comprehend it sometimes
cause i know that a persons life never feels
the same from the inside as it looks from the outside.
and i'm sure yours was fucking hard, cause it looked
like it would have taken anyone else and just
you still looked tough as fucking nails to me
though, and i swore, no i still swear you are some
kind of indestructble, but the kind that comes
fine, great.and lately i spend my nights staring at the growing shadows
on my ceiling, wondering who might make a better me than me.
i keep hoping that i could find myself a stunt double and then
i'm free to curl and cry every last drop of moisture out of my body,
or implode somewhere from all my self induced and sociatal pressure.
but mostly i just think i'd like someone who i can call and say
"hey, i dont think my head is capable of making it through today,
do you think you could come and be me for a day. i need to take it
off and sleep and eat and watch bad tv until something feels a little better"
aries.i spent the entirety of the trip staring at the little hula girl that was wobbling and rocking out to the radio on your dashboard, hoping that i could just ignore the conversation that just took place, and that if i ignored it enough, it wouldn't have ever existed. but the words were clogging up the front of the car, and i could taste them, and i wanted to wind down the windows and watch them get sucked out and fly backwards down the highway, and never come back. but you hated the sound the wind made, and i had never felt more trapped in my life.
it was times like this i think my crazy aunt was right, and some people really do fit their star signs. i never did, i was too messy and not impulsive enough. and she told me the first day i mentioned how you lured me into your web, that our signs weren't compatible and that we'd clash. that you'd push all my buttons and my temper would fizzle and bubble and explode. i didn't listen. apparently that was the one aspect of my stars i followed
give it up.- how to guarantee a panic attack in the next 24 hrs -
admit out loud how you think you're doing okay, you haven't had a panic attack in at
least three days, and it feels really nice to be calm and in control for once.
- how to sob violently in the cab -
drive through that one street, because yes its shorter, and yes you can
just not look out the window. but come on, did you really think that would work?
- how to sob violently at home -
kid yourself into thinking that you can handle that song/albun/movie/book.
you cant; and you shouldnt. besides, didnt you already tell yourself to toss that out?
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
On WritingWrite for today
And like it’s all
That’ll be left of you
Never write for popularity.
Write with clarity, but
‘Don’t make everything said’.
Write a million things;
An ode to the voice
Inside your head,
An elegy for the living,
A carpe diem for the dead.
Write to tell
To just keep
They’ll find a way out.
Don’t write for approval,
That way misery lies.
Poetry can’t be judged,
Not properly –
Write for yourself;
Doesn’t matter if it’s
Good enough for
You’ll never be Shakespeare.
But he’d never
Have been you;
Pour your heart into it,
That’s the best
That you can do.
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
I Fell In love Inside of a DreamI fell in love,
inside of a dream.
And woke up,
with a broken heart.
But it wasn't my heart,
that was broken.
It was his,
and I'll never see him again.
That long haired, pale skin,
blue eyed boy, will forever remain,
a figment of my imagination.
So close, yet so far away.
And I will never be able to apologize,
for my mistake.
unrealistic ideologies of an
are toxic; breathing
is a chore. there is a
in the combined effort
of necessity’s unlovliest
we are the forgotten.
we are the tangled limbs
and childhood stories for
a more sensitive future; we
are the longing, we are
we are measured
in the people we touch;
and I will love you
in the UV light of
hide and seek paranoia.
I love you in the red shimmer
of harbored dreams, I love you
in the in
ShatteredIf I found you, on your knees,
trying desperately to collect the shattered pieces of your heart-
I would kneel beside you and help you pick them up.
I would not cast a blind eye,
and pretend I had not seen you.
If I saw that your hands had been cut,
by the very shards of hope you were trying so hard to gather-
I would take your hands in mine, and hold them until the pain subsided.
Then I would kiss every wound- no matter how big or how small,
until I was sure you would be able to use your hands again.
If you were crying from the fear that you'd never be able to pick up everything,
I would hold you until your tears stopped, and I would comfort you with gentle words.
But I would not lie to you- I would never lie.
The heart is a frail thing- once shattered, it can never be fully repaired.
Parts will remain missing, and the mended hope will always bear cracks.
If we found that we'd gathered all that we were able,
and that there were a fine powder remaining of what we could not collect.
On Breaking Apart Your Dreams For a GuyTwelve months ago, we swapped rumors about
the hottest bad boys; counted the number of freckles Tanya,
the Queen Bee of Beverly High, didn't cover with her polka-dot skirt;
and discovered our favorite song on a blog we both wished
we owned. "What do you think we'll be doing this time next year?"
I asked over peanut butter cookies from a bag
and a commercial break between late night movies.
You giggled, pondering, and said, "Hanging out in our dorm room.
You'll be snuggled up to the flavor of the month--
a basketball player, no doubt, or a starving artist--
and I'll be green with jealousy, like always."
When Dirty Dancing came back on, we rocked along,
shag carpet burning streaks across bare feet.
This morning, listening to my roommate sing with the radio--
some country ballad you'd never approve of--
I remember your laugh and the dark, curling fingers of hair
at the nape of yo
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More