I’ll know it’s love not when
we share the same interests,
but when you sacrifice time
for me because I am more
precious than the limited ticks
on the looming clock.
I’ll know it’s love not when
I shiver from your deft fingers,
lust mistaken for young love,
but when “I love you” is not
just three words strung
together for my reassurance.
I’ll know it’s love not when
plastered smiles are forced
rather than from your heart,
but when I am intellectually
challenged and where you don’t
have to agree with all I say.
I’ll know when I’m in love
and that is not now.
-
"True – nervous – very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses – not destroyed – not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad?"The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe
-
-
I was baptised in fire and confirmed in ice.
The frozen hell dusted snowflakes on my lashes
and the flames stained ash on my fingertips.
Death didn’t wear its confusion well when I stepped
through the threshold unscathed. Or perhaps I mistook
its confusion for fear, for it breathed,
“You should not be alive.” -
People told her that the door of opportunity was always open; you just had to go through it. But when she realised she couldn’t get out the door, she wrapped a piece of cloth around her fist and smashed the glass of a nearby window. Sure it hurt, but you know what else people say? No pain, no gain.
Can’t go through the door? Make your own. -
You get used to the empty silence
after a while
and the dull ache for solace
fades away.
The darkness consumes you
and you doubt you’ll ever see the light again.
But if you think about it
the darkness is merely the absense
of light.
Is it possible to have positives and negatives
or is the world merely full of
things and the absence of that thing
and everything in-between? -
-
Merging with Mother Earth
And I wondered… What if I continued
to lie on the ground? Would my veins
entwine with the grass? Would I grow
roots in order to secure my position -
my future - in place?
Perhaps my flesh would meld into the
cold, comforting grass, becoming one
with a living, breathing entity; the Earth.
I would grow a tree from my heart
that would extend its branches to
the homeless birds. I would stand tall
in the biting winter wind, providing
shelter and warmth and love.
I would be imbedded into nature forever.
And that isn’t such a bad thought, now is it? -
-
Underneath the Performance
I’ve always thought you were a brilliant actress. You took drama since Year 9. You’ve got this wonderful charisma about you, and you can make almost anyone laugh no matter what the circumstance. You’re a lot like me in some ways: we both write, we both seek greater truths, we both love to have fun and make others smile, and we both leave a nice and quiet sort of first impression (when in fact we make a good show of hiding how insane we really are inside).
But for all of the years I’ve known you I’ve slowly been able to take away the outer layer you put up for everyone else to see. I’m decoding you like matching jigsaw puzzles in reverse, or sifting sand barefoot at the beach until all I have is leftover stone and gravelly parts and seashells and gems. I’m sure I’m not the only one. There must be others who notice your careless indifference if a friend takes one of your things without your permission, irking you just slightly. To notice the sadness in your eyes because the news of death still echoes in your mind, even though it’s been weeks now. To notice the stress of exams and fearing disappointing those you love.
Life isn’t a performance in which you are the sole actor, left by yourself to shout soliloquies into the void. I notice these things, dear, I do. And you don’t have to go it alone. -
"Because paper has more patience than people."Anne Frank (via hiddenpolaris)
