don't fit under beds
Six lessons on love.One. Sometimes love will move so slowlySix lessons on love. by ~trembling-knees
you will stop waiting for its arrival. You will become an
open bar and you will be drained and drained until one
day you open the door to let last night out and love has
left a calling card on the doormat.
Be patient. Let love come to you piece by piece
until you are full to the brim with it.
Two. Some days it will feel
like love has come for you with a wildfire
at its heels. Let it come; you were
meant to burn brighter than any sun or
star we care to name.
Three. Growing back after burning down
is a sign to leave old loves behind. Let them
go kindly. Wrap them up in tissue paper and
ribbon and give them a kiss goodbye. Be gentle but
Do not use maybe. Do not look back.
Four. Love can hurt and you will let it
because you are in love. It will spit venom and
throw fists until you stand up and throw
Be strong, letting love go is not
Five. Love will sometimes be too much.
It will let y
The art of self-destruction.I have spentThe art of self-destruction. by ~trembling-knees
my whole life perfecting
how to separate my
insides from the
outsides without a
scar to show.
My arms have been
weapons instead of shields
and I have built no other
walls to defend me.
I grew up in
this house of flesh
and instead of tending
to its needs I have
been letting people
set it on fire instead
of loving me.
As luck would have it.I have visited theAs luck would have it. by ~trembling-knees
halls of the mental wards
three times in this
The first time
I was driven through.
with two left feet
and a thirst for
its own blood.
The second time
I was carried through.
Cradled and cold,
a child with wax wings.
I'd flown too close
to the sun.
The third time
was by my own hand.
I was tired.
I had had enough.
I was ready to be
Anxieties of a Conflicted IntrovertI.Anxieties of a Conflicted Introvert by ~Pencil-Wolf
[i don’t want to
have to tell you i’m
lately it’s been tough.
And i’m stricken with this feeling that
maybe i’m not good enough.]
you see, somewhere out there
birds are looking for nests and birds
are finding them in the ribcages of souls but i
am tired of picking straw from my heart
and strings and hair that wrap around my fingers i’m—
[well sometimes i’m
but i never wanted to tell you that]
--tired of seeing the ball i wind from
those leftover nests grow and grow—
[and i want more, want more, but
sometimes there’s only so much my heart can hold]
my life is a tree c