"silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence.
It was my own silence"
—Sylvia Plath

Over the years, I scattered secrets and parts of me like seeds and waited for them to take root. It wasn’t something I did on purpose. It was only when months had passed that I noticed a dozen new flowers fighting their way through the concrete, and I failed to realise they were all mine. I guess that’s what happens when you give a little bit of yourself to everyone you meet. Everyone gets a fragment. A little piece. Someone takes away your laughter on a hazy night out, blurred by vodka and too loud music, bottles it all up and keeps it to themselves. On sad days, they’ll open the bottle, eager to have it all spilling out once more and they’ll revel in the memories, thinking of a night with no rules with a smile on their face. Another one takes your first love, that boy that lived across the road from you, and they’ll see him half a lifetime later and they’ll know it’s him, though you’ve never properly introduced them. She tells him it feels like they’d known each other forever, but they never even think to mention you. A girl you meet at a concert sees the way you sing your heart out to your favourite song, and she takes that one and makes it her own. You give away your favourite food and drinks and movies and books and you change people’s lives with things that seem so small and you will never know because most of the time they are no longer around to tell you. They have already moved on. And I met someone new last month, and he told me I can’t go on living like this. Giving away parts of myself like free gifts. He told me I can’t be a friend to all. He doesn’t get that this isn’t what I want to be. Someone who gives and gives and finds traces of themselves in other people’s faces, in their lives and in the way they talk. I’ve just never known how to be any different.

I am in love with this writer...I don't know how she got to see what i hold in my heart and write it this beautifully.🖤🖤🖤

Well she actually stole it 😬

I’m sorry 😭😭

It's ok I love you and your writings anyway🖤

The beat of the song she felt was her heartbeat
The lyrics she felt was the promises he torn apart
She's always at the sea shore
Feeling the rythmn of the breeze on her skin like how the serpent snaked his hands on her innocent face and skin
Insomnia reminisces all her ill-fate
Solitude is drowning her
She feared height
Her fears are now heightened
She fears if tommorow ever comes she will be a social misfit
To escape reality she jumps from the storey.
There lies her bold-body from the ruins of her first love and her inability to stomach its pain.
-IOS

He made a puppet out of me
Tied to my body and heart were strings of lies
I danced to his tunes of illusion
My heart gloated of his being
But it was all jokes to him
Burnt the love in my heart
The bird of loyalty in my soul flew off
Silence swallowed me each day
Life flogged me with all her might
My bliss was melted into sadness
I now stand at crossroads looking for answers
I hope my ink of life doesn't finish;
For my story is still being inked with the birth and death of each day.
-IOS

At the corner of her room ;
She hid her desolate body.
She moans like she's been raped.
I guess love raped her in an unforgiving way.
Can't understand the flogs of life at her.
Her only ally is darkness.
Darkness helps her leave a pain-void life.
Her shadow hugs her in its embrace.
She melts the sorrow in her.
She makes her feel whole again.
But she still calls for her old self
But she has catapulted her old self to hell.
Now her demons are even scared of her.
She can only grow her pain
But her future has withered.
-IOS

This writer🖤🖤🖤

Just so you know a goodbye didn't take a life time.......a simple wave would have done it and now I don't even remember the last time we saw eachother let alone laughed or talked or actually said goodbye...and that hurts so much in a way which is impossible for a human to bear....
-just thought you should know-

Read for the wisdom covers our wounds, it teaches us how to bleed subtle.

Thoughts hub

They ask me my picture as though it is something that expresses who I am. As though my body tells the stories behind my eyes. As if they show my struggle. Maybe they saw the carvings i made on my wrist. Those scars know where i have been. Maybe they too have a story of me they want to whisper. Maybe they are the only thing in my body that made me me. What they would never know is that I existed more in my words than the curve my body makes or its total existence. If only they read between the lines and understood beyond their comfort of imagination they would have known that. Because I know I am nothing except who I am on the inside...except my wondering mind,my tired soul,the stitches on my heart and what created them. It's not like a man who neither sees or touches me and feel the dents of my body will ever know me. Ask me? Go ahead. Ask me? Ask me who I am? Ask me what broke my heart? Ask me what worsened my trust issues? Ask me why I hate my body? Ask me who made me hate it? Ask me why the flower besides my name is always wilting?Ask me what happened when I was 12? Ask me? Maybe in those letters i will find myself. Maybe in those letters you will find me too.
-Yeab T🥀-

Sometimes I think the loneliness inside of me is going to explode through my skin and sometimes I’m not sure if crying or screaming or laughing through the hysteria will solve anything at all. Sometimes I’m so desperate to touch, to be touched, that I’m almost certain I’m going to fall off a cliff in an alternate universe where no one will ever be able to find me

Have you retired from what hurts you or are you still waiting for it to hurt you more?