chapfallenpoet

[chapfallenpoet]

Not friends or lovers but a secret third thing; something too difficult to name, too hard to describe. Too intimate to be platonic, too scared to cross the line into lovers. But the line is a circle, and it always lead them back to each other.

[chapfallenpoet]

Pinch Your Nose

Pinch your nose

whenever you must form uncertain

or negative thoughts.

A good thought in a funny voice

sounds silly but inviting,

a bad thought in a funny voice

just sounds ridiculous,

and you'll know not to think of it again.

So pinch your nose

and let it lead the way.

[chapfallenpoet]

The Clothes of a Man on my Back

G&C_VER. 1

4 March 2025 | 0914 | Tuesday

What am I doing,

sitting in an empty classroom

in the clothes of a man

who lends them to me carelessly?

Wherefore must he linger so stubbornly

on a fabric which has slept in my closet

for a few moons,

with such a powerful lull

to put me to sleep?

Why must I learn now,

when I finally have retrieved myself

from all the mess and turmoil,

that I would find myself so peaceful,

should I make his shirt my pillowcase?

I haven't had to take my medication for days.

I haven't had troubles sleeping for weeks.

I haven't felt how clear my mind has been,

how light my shoulders are,

for so long

that I had almost forgotten.

Do you know how that troubles me?

To receive this

from one who does not want me?

Twice, I have been told

to not dote on a man too carelessly,

yet it appears to be the other way around,

where your doting has liquefied me,

and I push myself

to get rid of my softened state

but you show up so often

in life,

in text,

in my mind's eye,

and in my closet,

that I cannot bear the coldness I begged for.

Many a time I have been made your muse,

do you know what that does to me?

You photograph me with ease,

write my name on your language studies

like I am the first person you thought to introduce in a different tongue,

and tell me that I am an aspiration,

with not an ounce of hesitation.

So often in a day do you sing my praise,

find comfort in my ferocious mind,

do you know how that weakens me?

When I fall silent,

you find companionship in my quietude.

When you study,

you think to sit next to me in silence,

without your headphones

because you tell me that

you liked my presence over the silence.

Too soon did you make me realise that,

despite everything that happened,

I still love like an untamed Hedera —

climbing, and

clawing, and

wrapping lithely around the hem of your shirt,

too fearful to get closer,

yet more terrified to lose you —

and so I pray that you never learn my mind,

for this piece of vulnerability

is a liable rift between us.

I am so simple;

so simple to love,

so difficult to raise,

and yet so stubborn in my own right.

Please, whichever god you claim

to have placed me in your life,

lay this heart to rest softly,

for this one —

this one,

I can never bear to lose.

Please,

God,

let my affections for this man rest.

Let this horrifying joke see an end,

for I refuse to want a man who fears love,

for I rebuff the thought

of stitching up my own forsaken heart

yet again,

just because I couldn't understand it,

just because,

yet again,

I have come to want something

that will break me more than make me,

that weighs just about as heavy

as the clothes of a man on my back.

[chapfallenpoet]

Don’t ask her where the warmth went after you put out her fire.

Angel Lindberg Vazquez

[chapfallenpoet]

“I’m homesick all the time … I just don’t know where home is. There’s this promise of happiness out there. I know it. I even feel it sometimes. But it’s like chasing the moon - just when I think I have it, it disappears into the horizon.”

— Sarah Addison Allen

[chapfallenpoet]

I'm not friends with you because you serve a purpose to me, I'm friends with you because I just like you. That is to say, there is no one who can do what you do for me because what you do for me is just be you

[chapfallenpoet]

“Never make fun of someone’s passion because that’s the thing that saves them from the world.”

— Unknown

[chapfallenpoet]

Emery Allen, "Soft Human"

[chapfallenpoet]

“The prettier the garden, the dirtier the hands of the gardener.”

— B. E. Barnes, Put in work.

[chapfallenpoet]

“There will always be someone who can’t see your worth. Don’t let it be you.”

— Unknown

[chapfallenpoet]

“Just remember that sometimes, the way that you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are.”

— John Green, Paper Towns

[chapfallenpoet]

i am a failure in both, excellence and mediocrity. not good enough for excellence nor mediocrity. i fail at everything, even failure.

[chapfallenpoet]

What a terrible painful feeling it is to love someone and not be able to trust them. It is nothing but a tragedy unfolding.

-Sleepless thoughts, Chelsea MT

[chapfallenpoet]

“Continue to share your heart with people even if it’s broken.”

— Amy Poehler

[chapfallenpoet]

Vulnerability is scary, but pure. In it you can find bravery.

Raquel Franco

[chapfallenpoet]

If you must be an artefact so scarce of love, find a historian who will study you — your beauty, your rawness and your cracks.

[chapfallenpoet]

Love is a Beast

Love is a beast.

I do not think of it as an angel or a saving grace.

It is the kind that gets beaten, pummeled into dust and gravel. The kind that rises from the ground up to spit a tooth in the sink, to rinse its mouth that tastes of iron.

Love is a beast.

It is not a monster, but it will fight like one.

I have seen it swallow punch after punch, kick after kick, and — to the annoyance of those who disapprove of it — survive with a most stubborn breath, too large and too alive to fit any casket.

I've had it steal my breath, break my ribs, curse my heart and fail my nerves; it however will not leave me to die. It will tide you like a Newman Tango Two-step; a ferocious competitor, seasoned with time and a veteran of making you bleed nostalgia.

Love is a beast.

It is warfare, it is mercy.

It allows grief.

I have never experienced it without pain, and I will take the pain over numbness. Pain is a mercy that I embrace gratefully, for it does not leave me behind, limbless and unmoving.

Love is a beast, and I will always return to it.

I will return to it before it returns to me, because I am never prepared.

There is no preparing for the recipient, but the one who gives or seeks always has a clearer view.

Love is a beast.

It still has a heart. It still is vulnerable. It still begs to be beautiful as it stands, striped with crooked scars, decorated with fresh gaping wounds and burdened with ambiguous morality — so simple, yet so misunderstood. And I will always give to it, for even the strongest must feel weak, and weakness is a strength that deserves a kindness and a compassion.

It is worn, and rugged, and quiet.

And, for the briefest moment, before our heads find their pillows, we understand it, for we are all but the same.

We have always understood it,

for we are all just the same.