wordsarewindows

[wordsarewindows]

"if love was contagious, i might be immune to it

pain's like cold water, your brain just gets used to it."

-Noah Kahan, Pain Is Cold Water

[wordsarewindows]

watercolor

i am a watercolor painting

of everyone i've ever loved,

every book i've ever read,

every song i've ever heard,

every place i've ever been,

every word i've ever said,

every tear i've ever cried,

every bone i've broken,

every wound i've mended & still mend,

this painting is beautiful

& painful & perfect & flawed,

and it's mine.

every single stroke

contains exactly who i am.

but there are days

when i want to burn this painting

until its colors melt & mingle

into a black nothingness,

and when a voice whispers

to put down the brush,

to throw it and myself

into the flames with every fiber

of force i have.

but another voice remarks,

"what a waste of paint.

don't you want to see

who you become?"

[wordsarewindows]

hiraeth - a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.

[wordsarewindows]

I am full of love for everyone. And everything is soft and vague and very sad. It is sad, it is sad. But everything has meaning. - Virginia Woolf

[wordsarewindows]

the butterfly: part 1

the longer i lay

the worse i feel.

this cocoon is small

and i am changing,

i can feel it.

i feel myself breaking down,

i am losing my shape.

i am losing my legs,

my arms, my skin,

i am losing my heart.

i don’t know what “i” means anymore.

i am a puddle,

i am undifferentiated matter.

i am nothing,

i am everything,

i feel no world around me,

yet it is all i feel.

what am i?

where did “i” go?

i miss myself, i want me back.

[wordsarewindows]

do statues feel pain?

delicate marble,

forceful sculptor.

sharp edges,

formed from sharp strokes

across the stone.

the artist pours his anger

into his work.

which, motionless,

endures it all.

it transforms,

the chisel guiding

its new shape.

it doesnt feel pain;

at least thats what

the artist assumes.

but he wouldn’t care if it did.

[wordsarewindows]

hair-dye stained pillowcase

the memory of you stains my mind.

i dont care to wash it out.