i gave myself to you for years so young, so naive so certain that i could trust i know i'm the one who fucked it up i know i'm the one in the wrong i know i'm the one who should give up and that's why i did my best to move on and did my best not to think of you i gave myself to none i found it hard to trust i couldn't trust anyone because i couldn't even trust myself i cried, i screamed, i wrote, i drank i did everything i could to forget i spent time with someone when i thought of you i had to keep trying to give up and from that, too, i moved on now i have someone who values me and i find it hard sometimes to have that but i do my best to talk it out i do my best to give a chance to myself, to them to realize it was never my fuck up, but yours, it was always yours it was always you in the wrong and now, for myself, for them, for us i do my best to be good to them now, i realise when i'm with them i don't spend a moment thinking of you it was today i realized something vital i'm
my fittonia has a new leaf by CelestialRibbon, literature
Literature
my fittonia has a new leaf
The world around us Up and down, another round Restrictions again In finding hobbies To pass the hours and stay safe I have turned to plants But I do not mind My fittonia has new leaf Small and green and pink It's really just a Good indicator that life Always finds a way
the words you left
our sweet nothings come
to mind, my dreams
will never be enough
maybe we can start again
my whole being yearns
to admire
savor
adore
everything about you
and relinquish my all
we couldn't stay there
those times are lost to us
we took different paths
and can't turn back
heart burst forth from driftwood ribs
bygone secrets now laid bare
condolences crushed by mortar, pestle
apply liberally and forget it's there
don cloak and arms once more
prepare for thy chagrin
grin and bear it yet again
silence, yes, has spurned
the cliche raven is thy banner?
that bird suits you ill
duality and idealism best portrayed
by kite of twinned tail
spun from heartache by CelestialRibbon, literature
Literature
spun from heartache
Your art isn't words on a page
Your art is one of words, to be sure,
But your art is thought, stanza, verse
Torn from your heart
Or perhaps just from the bottle you hide yourself in
Another moment I spend with my mouse
Yet again hovering
Lingering over the title of your newest work
Realizing how in love I am with your heart
And the threads of poetry it has spun
Your work tears my heart open each time
You prick your finger as you sew your pain into a metaphor
Or some thickly veiled verse
It would lift my heart to see you
Spinning golden threads of joy
Despite it all
You, my dear, truly are poetic
Age is like a dust bunny
Hidden under the bed
It's an unrelatable issue
For those older than you
People who understand the world
Out of sight, out of mind
Age is like a mosquito
A mild annoyance
"Cut that out"
A wave of the hand shoos it away
And it is forgotten
Age is like a deer in the headlights
There's no getting out of the way in time
You know it's too late to go back
There's no second try
You missed your chance to live
i gave myself to you for years so young, so naive so certain that i could trust i know i'm the one who fucked it up i know i'm the one in the wrong i know i'm the one who should give up and that's why i did my best to move on and did my best not to think of you i gave myself to none i found it hard to trust i couldn't trust anyone because i couldn't even trust myself i cried, i screamed, i wrote, i drank i did everything i could to forget i spent time with someone when i thought of you i had to keep trying to give up and from that, too, i moved on now i have someone who values me and i find it hard sometimes to have that but i do my best to talk it out i do my best to give a chance to myself, to them to realize it was never my fuck up, but yours, it was always yours it was always you in the wrong and now, for myself, for them, for us i do my best to be good to them now, i realise when i'm with them i don't spend a moment thinking of you it was today i realized something vital i'm
my fittonia has a new leaf by CelestialRibbon, literature
Literature
my fittonia has a new leaf
The world around us Up and down, another round Restrictions again In finding hobbies To pass the hours and stay safe I have turned to plants But I do not mind My fittonia has new leaf Small and green and pink It's really just a Good indicator that life Always finds a way
the words you left
our sweet nothings come
to mind, my dreams
will never be enough
maybe we can start again
my whole being yearns
to admire
savor
adore
everything about you
and relinquish my all
we couldn't stay there
those times are lost to us
we took different paths
and can't turn back
heart burst forth from driftwood ribs
bygone secrets now laid bare
condolences crushed by mortar, pestle
apply liberally and forget it's there
don cloak and arms once more
prepare for thy chagrin
grin and bear it yet again
silence, yes, has spurned
the cliche raven is thy banner?
that bird suits you ill
duality and idealism best portrayed
by kite of twinned tail
spun from heartache by CelestialRibbon, literature
Literature
spun from heartache
Your art isn't words on a page
Your art is one of words, to be sure,
But your art is thought, stanza, verse
Torn from your heart
Or perhaps just from the bottle you hide yourself in
Another moment I spend with my mouse
Yet again hovering
Lingering over the title of your newest work
Realizing how in love I am with your heart
And the threads of poetry it has spun
Your work tears my heart open each time
You prick your finger as you sew your pain into a metaphor
Or some thickly veiled verse
It would lift my heart to see you
Spinning golden threads of joy
Despite it all
You, my dear, truly are poetic
Age is like a dust bunny
Hidden under the bed
It's an unrelatable issue
For those older than you
People who understand the world
Out of sight, out of mind
Age is like a mosquito
A mild annoyance
"Cut that out"
A wave of the hand shoos it away
And it is forgotten
Age is like a deer in the headlights
There's no getting out of the way in time
You know it's too late to go back
There's no second try
You missed your chance to live
I used to walk to the bus stop
just before 6am in the morning
during my middle school years
even in the 50 degree early morning
Floridian 'winter', if
that is what it could be called,
nose empinkened
as the wind bit with razors
and ears tingling as my still-wet hair
brushed against them
the walk was long for
a girl aged 12 or so-
nine-tenths of a mile
and then a ten minute wait
I would often relinquish
myself to my thoughts
to contemplate things or
watch the stars
but about three-quarters
of the way there,
if I was lucky,
I would catch the scent of
some sort of aromatic-
a plant somewhere, I'd always guess
it smelled like home
not home i
Favorite genre of music: Progressive metal Favorite style of art: Anything that shows creativity and skill, especially digital paintings and thrown pottery