I’m longing for home. Scared that I’ll never get there.

LG

Q: What kind of girl are you?

A: I am the kind of girl who will love you endlessly.
I’m sure you would find this pleasing.
Do not daze off quite yet.
Listen closely.

I am the kind of girl
whose love is not uniform.
Falling in love with you
means I want to share
my heart with you,
but my heart is not yours to take.

You must know that
pieces of my heart
are scattered throughout this world.
Some are in the sea,
others in a café,
or carried out with the tide,
stuck in five years time.

I love and love, and love some more.
Parts of me will not let go of
the who’s or the what’s.
The where’s are engraved in cement.
I am in the foundation,
which holds my head high.
I do not want those pieces back.

The loveliest beaches are picked over
by my hungry eyes, in search of smooth glass,
colorful memories of green and blue.
Some folks glance over
with shameful looks and crude snarls,
for stealing from nature is a sin,
is it not?

Those whose souls search for beauty
may keep it with them,
in glass jars and memory boxes,
or on dusty windowsills.
Those who look past the rows and crowds
stare deeply into the sky
and wonder why in the world those
small pieces of glass mean more
after having been lost at sea.
It must be danger, the reclamation of safety.
It changes everything.

I like to imagine this,
that sea glass is not born from the sea,
and we are all but flowers
whose petals will fall and shower
the plains with dewy blossoms,
and wash away into dusty winds.
My hands hold onto the parcels of sea glass,
and I smile back at them
as I, too, have journeyed the seas.

—the answer you weren’t looking for

a.l.w (via aud-renaline)

“something about everything we’ve been through together, you’ve made a mess of things you know. all our special moments we shared or could have shared. i loved you a little too much, perhaps you even knew. sometimes i wonder what went through your head if you knew i love you.”

– kind of wish i could stop thinking about him (@thethoughtsofthelonely)

I recently came out. I’ve never felt more like myself. 💕

January 28, 2020

You can’t stop your thoughts.

But you can acknowledge them

And choose not to follow them.

Sometimes it’s impossible

To hold someone to lower standards

But there’s so much more going on.

Yes, it’s frustrating,

But sometimes you’ll have to sympathize.

Hello little bat,

Can you not sleep?

It must all seem so new…

Does the counting drive you mad?

Does your reflection anger you?

May I ask, little bat,

Do you miss the sun upon your skin?

Or the warmth of someone’s touch?

Are these the things that you lack?

Do you miss them just as much?

I hate to press, little bat,

Has the world lost it’s charm?

It’s hard to call the sky your friend…

The stakes they drive through your heart,

Do they stick them end to end?

each step I take

feels one foot deeper in the soil

So these books need no introduction and neither does Rupi Kaur because she is a legend, truly the Greatest of All Time! I’m in love with her, her art, and how she channels her artistry into healing. To me, her art was such a gift to the world and I’m so happy and inspired by how brave she was to want to share it with us all. Her books and poetry have a story to them; the flow comes with such ease and rarely does a poetry collection book do that to the level that Rupi Kaur does. In her books she explores her story of surviving trauma, her immigrant background, and the overall journey to grow. I personally favour the prose pieces where it for most parts run-on sentences, yet the flow is not as disorganised and rampant, it still has a powerful flow and message which I really appreciate! I remember purchasing her first book and my friends didn’t know who she was, I was also just starting to know her through social media so I was intrigued enough to go buy her book when I saw it at the store. Then Rupi Kaur the Artist, Poet, Performer, Writer, Influencer blew up and everyone would quickly come to know her story and success. I could go on and on about how much of an inspiration she is to me, honestly! If you haven’t already (though I’m pretty sure you have!) please go and read some of Rupi Kaur’s poems because they are amazing. These are books for people who are healing from wounds that can’t be seen by the naked eye. You see her go to some dark places and it’s quite scary, but then she manages to pull herself out of those dark places and into the light where there’s eternal hope.

Безвременье

Безвременье, ветер весенний среди зимы,

коридор, где забытые ищут второго шанса —

под конец декабря им так хочется слышать «мы», досказать, долюбить, прикоснуться и надышаться.

Южный ветер среди зимы — знак всегда один, на прощание он так ласков, как будто прежний.

Кто забьётся в груди, тот ещё проживет в груди, остальных коридор зимы превращает в нежить.

Раньше я проводила тебя через этот мир: ты дышал на ветру, становился им, продолжался.

Но на этот раз я оставляю нас быть людьми.

Никакой ворожбы.

Никакого второго шанса.

Лина /ЛиС/ Сальникова

Even eternity ends, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

The sun wasn’t made for me. I need something fiercer. 

There is no deciphering the fragile rapture of living things, 

even as I deconstruct my own worship of water. 

Devotion is a desert, and speaks its own language, 

soft meditations on the nature of solitude, surgical. 

Split lipped sidhe, the unforgiveness of land, 

grief reincarnated as a waiting grave. 

I treat time as technicality, 

cracking the sepulcher of sleepless nights 

like communion drywall in places you called home. 

Shrine unsheathed, cordate, a tower of identical dead, 

a murder of moths as omen for the end. 

I know something lived here once.

We loaded them into the ute.

Dozens of them.

Pale pink and blue caps of icing

Regimented in trays on the back seat.

Another on the floor.

The stood together inside a chamber of tinny raindrops

Through the cool autumn night.

We slept on as the sun rose,

Warming the morning.

Forgotten, they broke ranks

As the icing cracked,

Slipped and fell.

I am filled

Filled with emptiness

It spills forth to overflow before me

My most deepest treasure fodder for a world of blasphemy

It is covered in the hope I spent so carelessly

It smells of the joy that lived between you and me

But empty is all I know

It is my comfort

It spreads its wings and embraces me in softness

Why should I cry for this unique gift

Devoid of lifes obsenity

Without the absurdity of false bliss

I know nothing of joy felt only skin deep

My emptiness is truth and grace

And now it spreads before me searching for more space

Should I open up and allow in more and more

Should I be thankful for what I have

Too much of anything surely has to be bad

What will I do if it all flows from me

Who will I be

Is this the test we must all go through

Defining the things we thought we knew

I have a hat made especially for me

Red

Purple

Blue

Green

What is the point of decoration

Joy knows only liberation

Confine me to spaces dark and musty

Give me books to read as my fingers bleed to see

It is all a mystery

Words will not lead you to the truth here

The emptiness has destroyed their spell

Gaze deeply but don’t believe

It searches

It hunts

It consumes all things

My emptiness is mesmerizing

Un “NO” no es la única manera de denegar algo.

En ocaciones el silencio basta.

Sadgyalsclub starts off less sad, more willful, resolute, and poignant (and preoccupied with death)

i’m an actor at best

hiding my emotions with an exterior

so fake you’d be surprised about who

i hide beneath the surface

i don’t strip down for most

i don’t like going through the trouble

of picking up the pieces that shatter

but i wanted to break for you

to bend and collapse with you

you left me in pieces, yes

and i wasn’t warranted, no

but i don’t blame you

often times i wish i could thank you

you opened me up // kira malibu

“A”
Fiend Hid In Thy Sighs
Was Offered To See Another So Tom
What The Sleep Grave Arise
Virgin Shrouded In Thy Songs Of Altom

Ancient Tree And I Must Seek
Thee Such Thing And Fallen
Began To Please And Can Bleak
Slumbrous Mass And So He An