solivagant--soul

[solivagant--soul]

The state of the world

as a humble man I own no land

The skies feel beneath my soul.

when did society decide they were more like Trump and less like me

lighting the fires under love and inequality attacking the poor to give the rich more when has our judgment lost its way

I can feel Gods tears overcoming my own overwhelming nothingness sewn into my being. what is the meaning to all this madness.

why is this beacon of light escaping my soul why do I feel like we're condemned. and heaven forsake us.

The greed of the world can't exist without the pain of the innocent. for my eyes open for all to see.

and I see the despair of my people clinging to fading hope. looking up and breathing in the clouds trying to find reprieve.

for we are creating a path to obsoletion.

for I am to bear witness to the end of us.

[solivagant--soul]

Sometimes a person doesn't even love you. They just know you're a good person and like the thought of having you.

[solivagant--soul]

| Unreturned |

I'm tired—

tired of this endless chasm,

where breath drowns

and silence screams in echoes

no one hears.

•

Things have ended,

but the trauma lingers,

a ghost with sharp claws

haunting my memory's corridors,

rushing in waves each night—

Relentless, shattering me at 3 a.m.

until tears flood my pillow

like confessions never spoken.

•

The world feels blurry now—

as if time smudged my dreams

with charcoal fingers.

I can’t see the future,

perhaps I have none,

or perhaps I won’t last

long enough to meet it.

•

I stand in an unnameable space—

Craving comfort,

yet retreating from touch.

Because I get too attached,

too easily.

And I thought I'd healed,

but even scars bleed

under the right pressure.

•

The last time I loved,

I was used.

Betrayed.

Reduced to an object

on someone’s cluttered shelf.

When I was a child,

it was ghosts that scared me.

Now— it’s people.

It’s attachment.

•

Because no one knows better than me

what it’s like to lose your mind

while they go on,

Unbothered,

Laughing,

Living.

And I’m here,

Not eating,

Not sleeping,

Drowning in thoughts

that choke.

•

When I give,

I give all—

even the parts I was meant to keep.

And when it’s time to return

to myself,

I find no one waiting.

Just echoes

and ash.

[solivagant--soul]

~ The Color I Cannot Bear ~

I hate the color PINK.

It was the hue of blossoms that crowned the Gulmohar tree in my yard—the day I met him,

A day spring dared to bloom, unaware of the storm it would birth.

PINK was the fur of the stuffed toy he placed in my hands,

a trap disguised as tenderness,

his voice sugar-laced with lies

that dripped like poison in slow motion.

It was the shade of those bitter little pills

he pressed into my trembling palm—

not with care,

but fury,

when I was just eighteen and still too soft to know

that love should never come with threats.

Oh, how I loathe this color

that painted over every chapter of my youth

in the cruelest brushstrokes.

It mirrored the blood I hid,

brushed off with a brittle smile,

“Just my period,” I’d say—

but pain has layers,

and mine ran deeper than skin.

PINK were the bruises,

tender and blooming like wilted roses

across the landscape of my body,

scars he etched without remorse.

And now, PINK

is no longer sweet,

no longer soft,

no longer love.

It lingers—

a ghost in every shade,

a suffocating stain on memories

that should have been innocent.

It is not the color of flowers.

It is the color of all the things I never wanted to remember.

[solivagant--soul]

[solivagant--soul]

[solivagant--soul]

[solivagant--soul]

You've absorbed a thousand blows from the stones they've thrown. But they'll still swear you're the monster if you return what they've sown.

J. Warren Welch

[solivagant--soul]

Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.

Andrew Boyd

[solivagant--soul]

"A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness."

--Robert Frost

[solivagant--soul]

— unknown (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[solivagant--soul]

No longer holding on to people that don’t wanna be held.

[solivagant--soul]

"When no expression or action can tell what you might have felt.., Probably this is when we start talking through poem.."

[solivagant--soul]

[solivagant--soul]