altaskye-blog

[altaskye-blog]

Everyone is trying to be okay, but what is okay? It never satisfies. It is never enough. Okay is short of simply living.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

My words burn as I swallow, quickly piling into a knot in my throat.

Alta

[altaskye-blog]

If you want to test their loyalty, ask them to exchange letters just once a week. No one who’s uncommitted can write about you week after week.

(V.L.)

[altaskye-blog]

I build my walls so high that not even I can climb over

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

We are made to whisper in world that is loud. It has become a crime to be outspoken when living in a nation where your opinion is wrong, where you will be shunned if you are not an exact replica of the person beside you. Be bold when everyone is afraid to speak. Stand in the crowd of those sitting. Don't let the harshness of society silence you.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

Recovery is not sudden. It will not happen with a smooth, calm, ease. It is sporadic. There are days where you feel on top, as if there is nothing you can not accomplish. The feeling of empowerment and strength gets you high...but just like any high, it fades. It leaves you feeling empty. To stare in the mirror with no recollection of who you are. There are days when you are drowning in your pent up emotions. You wonder if you are getting anywhere at all. You convince yourself that you are satisfied with the blanket of sorrow that swallows you whole. But deep down you know you aren't. It is undeniable. You have a fire of passion inside of you that cannot be quenched. Recovery is not simple. It requires work every waking movement, but it will always be worth it.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

My thoughts are a mess in my head, knotted together and I can't quite unravel what it is I am feeling. My heart is callused, bearing the weight of this silence. My stomach is weak, the lining ferociously being attacked by raging anxieties.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

In my darkest moments is when my soul begins to sing.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

I thought we were past this, but now I see, months later and it is still the same routine. He will never truly be mine.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

Depression does not make me weak, nor does it make me incapable. I refuse to let it restrict me, yet you insist on boxing me in, sheltering me from the outside world, including yourself. You carefully pad the corners, sanding away any rough spots. And from this angle I can no longer see you. I can no longer feel you.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

I have this greater value of equality that we shared, but was it that I was only being naive? Shall these feelings come to pass like the morning breeze?

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

I want to reach out to him. To cross this sea filled with my own longings and collections of drops of my loneliness. Yet pride grips at my throat,and when I talk, when I try to communicate, I am not really talking. Oh the longing. And I wonder why is it that I do such a thing. Push other's away. Build walls higher and higher expecting him to climb over, to pull me closer as I slip farther. Why is it that my mind fills with all these things I wish to say. Oh the longing. But stubbornness retrains me. All there is I am left with is suffocating silence. Oh the longing. I wish for him to cross this space towards me. And I wonder why is it that I do such a thing. Let selfishness sprout weeds through out my hair disguised as blossoming flowers. Why is that I chose to be ignorant pretending I am the only one. Oh the longing.

-Alta Oh the longing//Slam poetry

[altaskye-blog]

There isn't beauty in the way hands are used to silence and smiling faces can't disguise the dissimulation. There isn't beauty in the way painted on exteriors counteract the sneers of others. Yet society dresses it up and calls it beautiful loud and proud.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

He is a work of art, beautiful, misunderstood and taken for granted by those who admire his surface.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

I was once a child, innocent and pure, corrupted by the hands of those who claim to love me. Violated by the man behind the mask. He only comes out at night. Heavy breathing as I hear the stairs creaking;shadows running across the walls; muffled cried and terror in my eyes.

-Alta

[altaskye-blog]

She is a puzzle piece making up his composition.

-Alta//The X

[altaskye-blog]

We all hold parts of our past captive in the back of our minds, evoking the bitter memories from time to time in moments of happiness.

-Alta