Today is the tomorrow you were worried about yesterday. Was it worth it?
Today is the tomorrow you were worried about yesterday. Was it worth it?
Someday very soon this will all seem like a thousand years ago.
You aren’t free until you try
To finally let go and be
Forget whatever else, let go
and let yourself be you
things hold you down here,
and I understand,
you are me,
and I am scared, too,
but we can, we can,
be
You made me want to go to places
I never even knew existed.
To cities or mountains or lakes or whatever
Because yeah, it’s all in the journey.
/
We’ll go far, that’s what you said
And I believed it, because you were you, my first
And I was what I said I’d never be,
Addicted to everything you say or tell or want.
/
We didn’t go far, of course we didn’t,
Well maybe we did, but in a different direction.
I was young and I cried, but I learned;
You gave me dreams but I’ll fulfill them
Sometimes and most of the time,
I just try so hard to be normal
And all I feel is only worse.
I feel trapped, locked inside,
Because whatever this is,
It isn’t me.
This is my promise to myself –
“Acceptance and tolerance
Of who you are,
what makes you you
And a burning will
To love that person.
There is only one of you
And you are unique, you are special.
You are not perfect,
Perfection doesn’t exist.
But you are the best you can be
And I love you.
You won’t care what anyone says
Or feels or thinks or does,
You are you,
And I will love you forever.”
Fuck up this game of words, I write,
I talk to you and you still don’t understand,
Because fuck, this isn’t poetry, not even prose,
Come from the same, but you speak a different language
It’s me, but you don’t know me.
Words on paper, words I say, words you hear
mean only what you want them to mean.
Far away and I’m right beside you,
Different worlds two seconds apart -
You don’t know me.
Angst / Love / Broken Heart / Depression
It’s a freezing cold, but sunny, October day, beautiful actually, scenic in its clear magnificence and she can appreciate the view from her windows, but it doesn’t touch her emotions like maybe it should. Like it would have once, less than a year ago.
It’s been four months since he left. Or rather, since he stopped coming home. Four months since she was last able to breathe properly. It’s been even longer since she was genuinely happy.
She stopped crying when summer turned to autumn, stopped hoping that he would come back, stopped living and started becoming a pathetic shadow of the person she used to be. It’s unfair, cruel even, that this is what she gets for loving someone that much (too much? no, no absolutely not).
They were always a bit of an odd couple, at least in the eyes of other people who didn’t know them. To her they made perfect sense. It was the playfulness in her wild eyes and the calm strength of his arms that had them gravitating towards each other when they first met and the uniquely different ways they loved, but in equal measures, that kept them together for as long as it did.
But it wasn’t to be. Or perhaps it was, but then life with all its temptations got in the way of fate. Fate should have fought harder for them, she thinks, they deserved to be fought for and they deserved a different kind of ending.
there are poems
sculpted under
your ribs that
i cannot touch.
(via -ihonestlydontknow)
Angst / Friendship / Youth / Mental Health Disorder
See, the thing is, she is just always so worried. Or afraid. Nervous. Or some combination of any of those emotions. It’s just a part of her – something that is always there, somewhere behind everything else she feels.
Is it difficult to hide this underlying part of everything she ever does or feels or says? No. No, it’s not. It’s not hard to hide anything that has always been a part of who you are.
She prefers it that way, too, because she wouldn’t know what to tell people anyway. It’s not as easy as a broken leg or arm, or even blindness or deafness. You can explain those and people will immediately understand you and feel sympathy or even empathy. You say “See, my arm is broken” and point to the cast on your arm, and people sign it, words of encouragement, draw a smiley face and tell you, “I’m sorry, I hope it gets better soon,” or some other variant of the same statement.
But she is broken somewhere on the inside. It’s a hurt she can’t define and she can’t point it out to people. She can’t go up to someone and say, “Look, this is broken” and point to… what? She wouldn’t even be able to explain where she is broken. She can go, “I’m just sad, I’m always sad, afraid,” and people look at her funny, tell her to get over it or that it will be over in a couple of days and she will feel better.
But she won’t. She never does. Being sad, being afraid, is a part of her personality now.
Don’t try to figure out how I came to be,
Just chat me up and you’ll soon see,
I can’t be anything but simply me.
/
There isn’t much more to say,
I just can’t be any other way.
I’ll save your discomfort for another day.
