A heart is a heavy burden;
Yet none of us can let go of it.
And if you get too tired to bear it;
Stay. Breath.
The world. The moment. The race.
Can wait.
#scribble
Yet none of us can let go of it.
And if you get too tired to bear it;
Stay. Breath.
The world. The moment. The race.
Can wait.
#scribble
❤17
We were too young,
too foolish,
crying over an ending,
that never came to be.
So if you hear me now,
know that I have come to cherrish,
the pages that we wrote,
the starry sky we saw,
and the memories we made.
You would always be,
my first spring.
#scribble
too foolish,
crying over an ending,
that never came to be.
So if you hear me now,
know that I have come to cherrish,
the pages that we wrote,
the starry sky we saw,
and the memories we made.
You would always be,
my first spring.
#scribble
❤19👍1👌1
I envy you;
your freedom of thought
without guilt,
your perfect hands
not soaked in blood,
your innocuous actions
unaware of the monsters
that lurk around,
your courage to live
despite the grief.
I envy you,
you flightless bird;
How dare you, learn to smile?
How dare you, dream of the sky?
I envy you,
for being the perfect reflection of mine.
@Nyx_thinks
#scribble
your freedom of thought
without guilt,
your perfect hands
not soaked in blood,
your innocuous actions
unaware of the monsters
that lurk around,
your courage to live
despite the grief.
I envy you,
you flightless bird;
How dare you, learn to smile?
How dare you, dream of the sky?
I envy you,
for being the perfect reflection of mine.
@Nyx_thinks
#scribble
❤8👍1🏆1
A million ways to embrace,
yet all you do is pick me apart.
What's so wrong
about yearning for warmth?
#scribble
yet all you do is pick me apart.
What's so wrong
about yearning for warmth?
#scribble
❤11👍1
And dare I ask;
How do you plead with bloody hands?
How do you mourn something still alive?
_
What else can a broken thing do
but learn to love its cage
until the bars
grow familiar as ribs.
#scribble
How do you plead with bloody hands?
How do you mourn something still alive?
_
What else can a broken thing do
but learn to love its cage
until the bars
grow familiar as ribs.
#scribble
❤7🕊2💔1
❤9🤔1💯1
You told me
whispers in my ears,
repeated
like beads of a prayer;
"You are a gifted a child."
__
Now I rot
where I was crowned,
half-alive
in hallowed ground,
watching through
the stained glass glow
all the colors
I cannot know.
It's grey and blue
this world of mine,
purple bruises
branded since nine.
#scribble
whispers in my ears,
repeated
like beads of a prayer;
"You are a gifted a child."
__
Now I rot
where I was crowned,
half-alive
in hallowed ground,
watching through
the stained glass glow
all the colors
I cannot know.
It's grey and blue
this world of mine,
purple bruises
branded since nine.
#scribble
❤5💔3
She digs her thumbs into my palms,
trying to press a sunrise
into my clenched fists.
"Look," she says,
"how the light loves you."
But I’ve swallowed too many midnights
to believe in anything but their weight.
#scribble
trying to press a sunrise
into my clenched fists.
"Look," she says,
"how the light loves you."
But I’ve swallowed too many midnights
to believe in anything but their weight.
#scribble
❤11❤🔥4
One day,
you’ll stop pretending
I’m salvageable.
You’ll fold my clothes into boxes,
wash the last of me from the walls,
and finally understand:
some fires refuse to be prayed out.
#scribble
you’ll stop pretending
I’m salvageable.
You’ll fold my clothes into boxes,
wash the last of me from the walls,
and finally understand:
some fires refuse to be prayed out.
#scribble
💔7❤5
If love is a thing learned by touch,
then I am fluent in the language of your gaze—
the way it lingers like a hand on my spine,
the way it shatters like glass
when you’re angry,
the way it finds me in a crowded room
and whispers 'home'.
#scribble
then I am fluent in the language of your gaze—
the way it lingers like a hand on my spine,
the way it shatters like glass
when you’re angry,
the way it finds me in a crowded room
and whispers 'home'.
#scribble
❤10
They found you rooted in thunder,
your branches braided with lightning,
your sap singing hymns
only storms could translate.
So they came with silver shears
and mouths full of 'almosts'—
"Almost perfect, almost right,
almost safe if you’d just—"
snip.
#scribble
your branches braided with lightning,
your sap singing hymns
only storms could translate.
So they came with silver shears
and mouths full of 'almosts'—
"Almost perfect, almost right,
almost safe if you’d just—"
snip.
#scribble
❤3💔3❤🔥2
I miss the girl who tripped on sidewalks,
who laughed with her whole mouth.
They buried her
under six feet of "potential"
and planted roses that never bloom.
#scribble
who laughed with her whole mouth.
They buried her
under six feet of "potential"
and planted roses that never bloom.
#scribble
❤9❤🔥4🔥1
I wore 'flawless'
like a funeral dress;
stitched too tight,
black as a starless sky,
beautiful in a way
that makes children whisper,
"A witch."
#scribble
like a funeral dress;
stitched too tight,
black as a starless sky,
beautiful in a way
that makes children whisper,
"A witch."
#scribble
❤9❤🔥4
I keep subtracting myself
from every equation—
always erasing my traces
from the walls,
one less kiss goodnight,
one more step back,
the slow erosion of a heart
trying to disappear
before it can be left.
#scribble
from every equation—
always erasing my traces
from the walls,
one less kiss goodnight,
one more step back,
the slow erosion of a heart
trying to disappear
before it can be left.
#scribble
❤10💔3
I am tired of metaphors.
I am tired of making my pain beautiful.
I want to scream in a language
that doesn’t sound like poetry.
I want to be ugly.
I want to be honest.
#scribble
I am tired of making my pain beautiful.
I want to scream in a language
that doesn’t sound like poetry.
I want to be ugly.
I want to be honest.
#scribble
❤🔥10❤4😢1
I have tried to write you something soft,
but the page bled through
where my fingers shook;
ink becoming accusation,
doubts becoming contempt,
longing bleeding into betrayal,
and the confession of love
turns to the burning question of,
"Why me?
Why would you do this to me?"
#scribble
but the page bled through
where my fingers shook;
ink becoming accusation,
doubts becoming contempt,
longing bleeding into betrayal,
and the confession of love
turns to the burning question of,
"Why me?
Why would you do this to me?"
#scribble
❤10💔2
💔16❤8
How do you sleep at night
after lighting the matches of war?
How does your chest
not cave under the weight
of thousands you buried alive,
when every breath you take
is stolen from their graves?
Does the moon not turn away,
sick with the glow of missiles
you launched at dawn?
Do the stars not bleed
in their constellations,
watching you count your gold
over a world you turned to stone?
Or do you dream in ledgers,
balance sheets of blood,
columns of the dead,
while mothers dig through
rubble with their hands,
and fathers hold the remnants
of their names like shattered glass?
#scribble
after lighting the matches of war?
How does your chest
not cave under the weight
of thousands you buried alive,
when every breath you take
is stolen from their graves?
Does the moon not turn away,
sick with the glow of missiles
you launched at dawn?
Do the stars not bleed
in their constellations,
watching you count your gold
over a world you turned to stone?
Or do you dream in ledgers,
balance sheets of blood,
columns of the dead,
while mothers dig through
rubble with their hands,
and fathers hold the remnants
of their names like shattered glass?
#scribble
❤7❤🔥5🔥2
They tell me grief softens with time.
What a beautiful lie.
It just learns to wear my skin better,
until even I forget
which screams are mine
and which ones belong to the grave.
#scribble
What a beautiful lie.
It just learns to wear my skin better,
until even I forget
which screams are mine
and which ones belong to the grave.
#scribble
❤14🔥4💔4❤🔥2
❤12💔4