i love everything about you from top to bottom. i will love you no matter your struggles, and i will love you regardless of your flaws. Damn, i will love your flaws too. i will love every part of you until i reach the end of the earth
Touching the birds and the bees As they ask me about my internal disease Hanging my limbs from the trees ‘Cause I only use them when I’m starting to bleed It feels just like all of my friends Are too old to pretend That we’re still someone else The lines getting thin in between Who they really are Anymore So who am I to say That my friends have gone away?
She’s got bright red lips But I’ve got black Even though we’re kinda different We’re the same flag I refuse to forget what you did back at home She’s got bright red lips But I’ve got black Even though we’re kinda different We’re the same flag Told you that I couldn’t handle it So stop that When I looked into your eyes You stopped and laughed Just laughed at me Just laughed and laughed Just laugh at me At me
The kids are dying The kids are dying The kids are dying The kids are
In the graveyard, there’s all kinds of graves in different shapes, there’s one where it’s so covered in ivy that when the wind touches it, the constant sway of leaves makes it appear like an old woman, even though the grave was for a man.
There’s an overgrown like-pasture between the tall graves and the smaller graves, where if one were stepping across, they would be walking over more ancient, crumpling graves beneath the undergrowth.
Every grave, even though some of them look alike, has its own character, as if the remains of the faces beneath the grave, have evolved their personal mark on them.
The world of the living becomes so busy, trying to occupy the structure of life; it becomes lifeless in itself.
But when one walks through the cemetery, twisting up and down the many pathways and almost possibilities, time slows down, the sounds of the nearby traffic become distant.
And suddenly the “ancient” graveyard becomes teaming with life. It’s almost like every spirit, previously sleeping in their coffins, arises to greet visitors such as people or birds, protecting them as they pass by.
Even the railings around the cemetery - although they appear threatening on the outside - help keep out any source of danger from the outside world.
Along the pavement , there are the many graves stacked up against each other,on either side so every time a footstep is made, an inhabited spirit awakens to almost high-five the passer by.
Scraps of broken glass - which look dirty anywhere else - sparkle like precious jewels, decorating the pathway.
There’s the majestic raven cawing up-right to the sky, as if it was about to take off (to join its mate - which is on the other side of the park) until the tree crawled and cemented itself into its skin so it was frozen in its tracks.
Diagonally downwards from it, there is wise old owl, the protecter of the place - which you must bow your head to - perched politely on its throne, sleeping peacefully.
And also its grandmother that’s evovling back into the tree, along the path.
There’s the circle of wooden carved chairs (awfully graffitied by youth) inclined with the sky, where one can imagine that native people must of sat, once they cast a spell on the cemetery, to make sure, despite the spirits being chained to the graveyard, they wouldn’t be chained in their coffin, so they could breathe freely.
One can also imagine, although they possibly won’t be awake to witness it, when the padlock is placed around the great entrance at night, all of the spirits - invisible by daylight, visible by moonlight- come out and dance around each other’s graves and socialise with their family members (and some of the younger ones would play hide and seek).
It’s quite strange to think that I can feel trapped and almost suffocated with twenty people in a room; but when I’m surrounded by more than a hundred graves, I feel completely at peace, as if all the spirits offer me leftovers of some of their previous lives, to help me breathe once more.
Although as I walk through this ancient graveyard, sometimes I’m at loss because none of the names I see, would be as recognisable anymore, because no one is left alive.
And it’s chilling to think that we will all be one of those many nameless ghosts one day, worn out letters on a stone, that will eventually rub away in the distance of time.
Yet I feel happy somehow for the time I’ve been gifted; to experience a place that can allow me to be beautifully, unreservedly unhinged.
Through many battles and empty nights she travelled, following the urge of belonging. It was right then, in the middle of nothing, that she understood no matter how many countries she would visit, home was were the heart was and so home was herself.