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She was beautifully broken. She broke a little each day Leaving the pieces with everyone she met. She broke so quietly The pieces falling on the floor Never making a sound Leaving a part of herself behind. No one even knew she was broken But you knew, didn’t you? The moment you looked into her eyes Her sad and haunted eyes You knew how beautifully broken she was. You knew, because you were broken too. You didn’t glue her pieces together Instead you seeped into her soul Into all the places where the cracks had been Until the jagged edges of your soul Fit perfectly with hers. She was beautifully broken And you’re the only one who knew. -Rupali Jeganathan

@whisperinglillies (via whisperinglillies)

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But for me, it is the change of the tide. When the lip of a wave curls churlishly Then lunges back toward the throat of fear Capsizing upon tender fate Drowning me in the frigid force of burning words Salting my well-oiled wounds For me, it is the start of a present that has both a past and a future. I am trapped in the riptide of faded decisions I tiptoed in one shimmering night when the sea’s warmth found me drifting with jellyfish and the swish of seaweed as blood in the capillaries is bound in the lungs by the heart tickling my naked skin with the sacred breath of innocence Now I linger too long after twilight beneath the full blood moon Feverishly diving beneath each thundering wave Rapidly breathing Half deceiving myself That youth’s possession is In reclamation of my hungering intensity This oceanic dance with darkness For the first time in my life I am anticipating each wave Enduring each painful pleasure And basking in the aftermath These tenacious remnants of sand are trapped between my toes The thrilling sensation the omniscient reflection of the sea whose voice I’ve learned to harness within my mariner’s soul

Undertow//Rhapsodyinblue45.

9/6/2017

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Some days the only music our life dances on is the beats of a bruised heart and the spaces left in between breaths is the only way to know love has been put in all the right places. The pages that bleed the most are the ones our eyes stare too long to mistaken it for a star falling only to make sure there is everything our dreams breath the nights into. May be the door isn’t locked, may be there is a window waiting for us to look hard enough. And sometimes the story that makes us is what breathing is all about.

@denmysterywoman

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...with my soul

Smile, when the pain comes torrential horrors which the soul abhors All the while barely holding on bloody, broken in two rent, spent, bent what do I do Smile as I fall apart biting down, hard on the promise of new life nothing seems to make sense It is well with my soul It is well It is well with My soul

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when night cloaks my mind in silence and the world softly drifts into slumber you reach for me through the pages of our liquid verse - pouring your honest words into my calligraphy my pen sharing twin hearts as it scripts a love as vibrant as our imagination where shall we venture tonight with our stained glass hearts moonlight playing through the Spanish moss and our minds lit from within you speak thoughts through my tongue and I’ve only half a mind without your ventriloquy to hold my fingers softly as I write you tell me you see beauty in my night oh love, you illuminate me spreading your warmth through my limbs and I - I bloom for you in night jasmine permeating the room you breathe me in holding me in your lungs drenching yourself in my petals silver with moonlight

Translucent// Rhapsodyinblue45. 9/6/17 Image: Lux Magazine

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I could say I lost it Could tell you hope is fleeting A peripheral view of things not here Mere glints of rays, Resembling castles in air Hope begins in pasts And mine emerged from hell I could say it can’t grow there But it’s always nearby A fist punch to my gut Saying you can take more, get up! Animal unconscious wants You won’t / punch / believe this is all I could say it’s lost But I’m still holding on Buried underground Gripping hope like bull riders I’ve lasted past 8 seconds It’s a kind of victory, isn’t it? Just to hold on

©Katrinnac

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“Hourglass”

Things we put off for later, Who knows what time we have. Things we let them be, thinking, We’ll do them afterwards, But the time never comes. Nothing haunts us like the things, We didn’t do, or say. Losing their meaning, No longer any point, In doing the thing after its time. Significance is distinguished, As things are not done, yet. The time is ticking, Doesn’t stop, oh no. Just an hourglass, Turned on it’s head, Will you take heed then, For the passed time, Will never come back.

- AA

Picture courtesy: @sumptua

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Don't get ahead of yourself

Be still my racing heart It may be just a conversation but it's a start Don't jump ahead of yourself You know nothing I know you can't help But imagine it's something. Regardless of what may or may not happen It could be a love you can't even phathom.  You played it cool Even afterwards there was no drool. Stolen glances towards her And yet she knows nothing It makes my insides feel As if they was honey. She's a beautiful thing this amber girl I know you can see her becoming your whole world. But one step at a time That's all you can do To make this woman mine with a love so true. In the chaos that is my day A stolen glance used to be enough But now I have found a way To talk to her about stuff. Stolen glances will be a thing no more Not when you can talk to the woman you adore Her voice, like a whisper in the wind Resonates through my soul To her my love I will send Cause she has softened my heart like coal. They say coal produces diamonds with enough pressure. But my heart aches, it yearns for more of her. But don't get ahead of yourself. You know nothing. I know you can't help Imagine it's something.

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Love

Love is a manufactured process. Something we are told we can't live without. It's a complicated fickle monster That makes me want to shout. See love comes and goes as it pleases On and off again without reason. But love is so much more than tv shows or movies. Love isn't something to be said it's to be proven. Love is so overused by everyone That when you say those words they can't be undone. But to be in love oh what a feeling. You're floating up and up till you hit the ceiling. Apparently covered in knives Pops your bubble and you dive Back to where you started, square one. Searching and searching but it's gone. Love is an addiction created by the masses. But they don't talk about the hurt and the crashes The emptiness you feel when it's gone And to not be in love then your wrong.