windstrung

[windstrung]

There is a heaviness in my chest

An anxiousness for the future

A dissatisfaction for my past

A pain in my present

I do not know how long this will last

I only know this will end

and hopefully it ends well

[windstrung]

“And when they speak of Troy, they speak of Helen who fled with Paris for love, and this inspires verse. Not Briseis, who lost all all she ever loved and was used as barter in a war that wasn’t hers. Not Cassandra, who tried to warn them but was called liar because of a Gods curse. Not Hecuba, who was forced to give all her children to this cruel beast she knew would never be satisfied. Not Andromache, who lost her beloved husband Hector to a battle he should not have had to fight, and her baby to the ruthlessness of the victors and their spite. I suppose as a woman your value in war is simply casualty if your face isn’t synonymous with devastating beauty, that powerful men wish to possess and claim so much, that they will launch a thousand ships in their own misplaced honour, yet blame it on your name.”

— Nikita Gill, Woman of Troy

[windstrung]

[windstrung]

The worms

In my chest

Dig deep

I keep on trying

Yet i still

Cant sleep

When the sun

Rises

The worms

All stop

Only then

Will my eyes

Start to drop

And when they do

Ill dream

of the sea

Soaring the waves

Where ill set

the worms

Free

Maybe

Theyll drown

Maybe

The fish

Will eat them

I just know

After i wake

Ill have forgotten

-L.Lane

[windstrung]

“Bare with me”

Means:

Suffer with me

Or

Suffer me.

//If that is poison you mixed in my coffee I would gladly drink it

[windstrung]

Its dark up here

But wont you come

Sit with me

I promise you

Its safe here

In the dark

-L.Lane

[windstrung]

I feel like the tree that fell when no one was around.

[windstrung]

I want to know what it takes to be loved.

[windstrung]

I feel like my soul has been stretched thin. I no longer know how to be me again.

// ive become undone

[windstrung]

Talking much about oneself can also be a means to conceal oneself.

Friedrich Nietzsche (via fyp-philosophy)

[windstrung]

That sadness that you do not speak of, that haunts you in the ache of midnight. Give it to me. I want to heal that.

Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)

[windstrung]

I am the one before the one. It’s a role I’ve learned to accept. I am the one who will overload your senses, I am far too much of everything, but you will try to encompass all that I am. I will be the one who teaches you exactly what you want from “the one.” With me you will see things as though the lights were turned too high on the dimmer so that you could only see me and the music too loud that you couldn’t quite hear anybody else. With the next girl you end up with she will shine just brightly enough that you will be able to see everything you couldn’t see with me and the volume of her music will not leave you deaf when the song ends. I will help you grow by pushing you to the extent of your limit, I will call you out when you’re wrong, I will ask you to do a little better than last time, and I will love you with a love you didn’t even know could exist. It will feel as though one hand I’ve given you to hold holds all the love in the world and the other holds the words my tongue lashes out with no filter. But with those hands you will learn both the love you deserve and how to finally not hold back how you truly feel. These hands will teach you to speak freely without fear of condemnation and condescending judgements. They will teach you to love and touch everything that you find beautiful as you pull your hands through her hair or frolic through a patch of flowers and pull the petals to your face to smell their fragrance. You see after me, you’ll learn not only how to love yourself, but love her. She will tell you that she’s never experienced a love quite like yours and you’ll never tell the secret that you learned it from me. You see, I am the one before the one. But like that scar you got from scraping your knee on the climb up your favorite mountain, you won’t forget me. When pieces of her emanate me, I will be present in the breath you hold in just a second too long at the memory of me, the sharp feeling on your tongue as you bite down as my name starts to slip through your mouth, the butterflies in your stomach as you remember the way my eyes lit up at your presence. Her smooth edges that represent who she is will often remind you of my jagged edges, the ones that cut you but you still loved to climb. And for all those moments you’re reminded of me, you’ll touch your knee and realize you hadn’t climbed your favorite mountain to your favorite view in a while. You’ll wonder if instead of the common smooth edged rock you’d found on the ground, the one you could buy for five dollars at your local farmers market, you could’ve had a fine cut diamond with jagged edges. And as you look into her eyes and see your reflection you’ll wonder if the pressure of my love could’ve made you a diamond as well.

I am the one before the one (via the-homie-sexual)