I’m 25 now and this is still my favorite thing, I’ve ever written.
“And young women we are Matryoshka dolls
I’m as old as I’ve ever been,
But I’m still, 7 and afraid of the dark
I’m still 17, and afraid of myself
Will I ever be 70, in a lovers arms, unafraid of what’s next?
There are days when I can feel myself physically running back to a former version of myself,
Sometimes she feels like home,
Other times she is holding me hostage
Things my friends said at 13, still weigh on my heart,
I worry it will always know seasons deeper than my memory
I am turning 23, but I’m still 19,
Moving mountains I didn’t know existed
I am still 16,
Writing elegies about myself
I am still 14 in a room in my parents house adorned with candles and spite
I am still 12 and weary of mean girls in school
I am still 6 with bloody scrapes that don’t even hurt
I am in my mother’s arms,
In a moment, at her grave
I am right by my sister,
I haven’t spoken to her in months
I still think of you,
Even though now you are a foreign language I’ve never heard
And young women we are Matryoshka dolls
Everyone we’ve ever been,
And everyone we’ll ever hope to be
-m.n. | “Turning 23.”
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the prophecy - taylor swift
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If I don’t write about it, was it really worth it?
Jensen McRae
My Ego Dies At The End
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Mary Oliver, "When Did It Happen?", Felicity
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I didn’t but I refuse to give up the belief that I will, someday.
“And perhaps this October, I’ll find myself a lover who meets me where the spirit meets the bones.”
-m.n. | “I won’t be able to look away.”
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“I still carry so much of you with me,
I remember your secrets, like they are my own,
Do you still dislike your stepfather?
Is your father still a prosecutor?
It’s like there is a never fading photograph of you forever etched in my periphery,
I think of you on the train,
I think of you, no matter the weather
I think of you ( all the time)
I don’t know how else to say this, but it goes something like this
I fear,
The rust that has grown between our bones is no match for the garden,
I have planted with just fleeting thoughts of you
It never will be,
I’m planting new stories about us
I’m growing versions of you,
Where you always chose me,
In the end”
-m.n. | “I’m writing this poem, so I can finally put a little bit of you down, after all these years.”
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Life is much too peculiar to go at it all alone.
Amanda Montell, from Cultish
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“I think I left a piece of my heart in Washington state
I left it at the bottom of a cold lake
I left it in the way the sun feels, on a drizzly November day, when the clouds break
I left it with friends who will always be there,
In the Puget Sound
Maybe, I will always be there too
I left it with a boy, that my heart doesn’t know how to stop loving
He moved to Chicago, and became a man,
And now I can’t get it back
I left it with an old women who bought a house,
And journals,
And candles on the
Peninsula
Someday I will become some of version her,
That’s when I’ll get it back”
-m.n. | “I think I left a piece of my heart in Washington state.”
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