Forwarded from 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡
listen girl,’ Medea says,
‘you are not the first person in the
world to suffer from a broken heart.
but i will treat you like you are.
listen girl.
he is not calling out your name.
your name to him is nothing.
it might have been before.
once, your name might have been
the only word he knew when he
was blind sad or bursting with sun.
those days are over.
your name can only exist in
your own mouth now.
say it over and over.
say it until it doesn’t sound
like a name, but just a sound.
the promises he made you are just
sounds now too.
remember that.
your hands are what will hold you together now.
and you want to be mad? be mad.
here is a plate. throw it through his window,
listen to the crack. the shatter. laugh
into the night.
call yourself the sun.
see, you will rise.
‘you are not the first person in the
world to suffer from a broken heart.
but i will treat you like you are.
listen girl.
he is not calling out your name.
your name to him is nothing.
it might have been before.
once, your name might have been
the only word he knew when he
was blind sad or bursting with sun.
those days are over.
your name can only exist in
your own mouth now.
say it over and over.
say it until it doesn’t sound
like a name, but just a sound.
the promises he made you are just
sounds now too.
remember that.
your hands are what will hold you together now.
and you want to be mad? be mad.
here is a plate. throw it through his window,
listen to the crack. the shatter. laugh
into the night.
call yourself the sun.
see, you will rise.
Forwarded from 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡
This man, I really like him for how extraordinary and visionary artist he was. And what I do love about this artist a lot is the idea that he suffered mightily with mental illness throughout his life. He was suicidal and depressed but he still managed to create some of the most well-known works of art in the western world. Starry Night, Sunflowers, The Iris
Van Gogh only managed to sell one painting in his lifetime which was The Potatoe Eaters so despite his lack of success he kept on painting and if it's not inspiring and encouraging for the hopeless souls then I don't know what is it.
Van Gogh only managed to sell one painting in his lifetime which was The Potatoe Eaters so despite his lack of success he kept on painting and if it's not inspiring and encouraging for the hopeless souls then I don't know what is it.
It took me a lot of pain to realize that I have been running miles for people who wouldn't even crawl for me.
The thought that everyone is constantly laughing at me is embedded deep in mind. “Are they laughing at me?” “Is something wrong with my clothes?” “Do they not like me?” “Why did he glance at me?” I make myself think that I don’t care what people think, that I do what I do for my own enjoyment. But deep inside, every look, every snare, every word against me, just creates a larger hole in my heart.
I loved you before I was born. It doesn’t make sense, I know. I saw your eyes before I had eyes to see. And I’ve lived longing for your every look ever since. That longing entered time as this body. And the longing grew as this body waxed. And the longing grows as this body wanes. That longing will outlive this body. I know. Long before eternity, I caught a glimpse of your neck and shoulders, your ankles and toes. And I’ve been lonely for you from that instant. I know I loved you before I was born. It makes no sense.
በመንገዴ
I loved you before I was born. It doesn’t make sense, I know. I saw your eyes before I had eyes to see. And I’ve lived longing for your every look ever since. That longing entered time as this body. And the longing grew as this body waxed. And the longing…
Love is this for me......so beautifulllll🖤🖤🖤🖤
Forwarded from 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡
but i want to ask what is wrong
with being dark and heavy
with feet firmly on soil?
with being dark and heavy
with feet firmly on soil?
Her eyes are a little swollen. She has flushed them with water after a night of crying and thinks no one will notice. But in reality everything is noticeable, so the funeral guests have left her alone. Not out of respect but out of fear, because the world is afraid of those who cry.
Forwarded from Insurmountable grief
"I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year. After all, I am alive only by accident."
-sylvia plath
-sylvia plath