Daydreams

WHEN ALL MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS IN A BOOK ARE KILLED OFF

I might like a girl.

My face will flush

caused by the thought of that girl.

I might talk to the girl

get to know that girl,

Love that girl

be with that girl,

Potentially marry that girl,

spend the rest of my life with that girl

But the only thing that keeps me apart from that girl,

is knowing that people will stare.

They will care angrily.

They will fight to keep me apart from that girl,

because, I just happen to be a girl who loves another girl,

in an unapproving world.

~

Alex Delorme

I listened to Bukowski this morning, and I realized my writing is not raw enough, angry enough, drunk enough; I even drink red wine instead of cheap beer. I detest cigarettes, never served in war, or roamed the streets looking to settle on the bed of some dude’s crude floor. I’m too feminine, too much an inherent believer in the quality of people. My heart is adversely set against his heretical ways. I’ve never been stabbed in the back by love, or if I have, I pulled the prick out years ago, and time and forgiveness have sealed the scar over. I might have even forgotten where the wounds are buried. I never carved mistakes out of people, stole time in self destruction, stared into the holes of another’s deceit. I’m not modern enough to be a true angst-filled American poet. I don’t possess the tongue to squeeze lemon over my open lesions letting them ooze into a glass I pour out as charity for the masses. Come, let me sacrifice hopelessness for the voyeurs. No, I only know to write of the way his lips taste the soft worlds within my seascape, the slant of patchwork light filtering through the hallway window, jewel-toned shells that satiate my harlequin heart. I only know of simple subjects; I’ve somehow been denied the stench or overlooked the cracked places harboring broken bottles and blood-stained lips. Does that make me any less a poet, I wonder.

upon reading Bukowski//

Rhapsodyinblue45

4.8.18

Her

Poetry is when a heart aches of love, pure genuine love, an offspring of happiness. It is when tears run down your cheeks due to the amount of love one can feel. it allows you a moment of pure ecstasy, so hypnotic to the eye of one who has once felt that pure love. Poetry is art. Art that creates ethereal imagery in your heart, and mind.

28/10

“i like every person i meet. for like 17 days. after that either they expect too much or give too little. expectations and expectations and some more. it’s not like they like me indefinitely. shall i put in the effort and emotion to get to know them beyond their superficial layers and see the love and the hurt and the humanity in them when they are just going to stop caring about my existence perhaps at day 67 or 172? Shall i pacify the devil inside them when it will laugh at my attempts when they walk away at day 213? shall i? or shall i just shut up and go to sleep.”

—

"Aphrodite", I pleaded to the moon drenched night sky "Tell me"; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?" from somewhere beyond the clouds, i heard the Goddess laugh. And i knew.

Nikita Gill - Night Songs to Aphrodite

white sand, waves crashing on the shoreline, wind blowing from the west i decided to allow the sand to drown my feet as i walked across the shore appreciating the tranquility in the air, i lingered in a spot once in a while to rejoice in the breezy weather with the sound of waves splashing and the 1975’s fallingforyou

for a moment i got lost in the ocean’s ethereal beauty and i envied the moon for being able to see it everyday, i lingered there as the moon vowed its love for the ocean wishing i could do the same to you but i knew better than to break my own fragile heart like that as unfortunately the feelings aren’t reciprocal

i looked down catching the moment where the waves kissed the shore over and over again more passionately each time as if it were its last time every time and it reminded me of the endless love i had to pour all over you if only you’d let me

snapping back to reality i realized it was foolish of me to turn that euphoric moment into a melancholy one so i continued walking with you on my mind still i thought of how impeccable this moment would be with your presence just you, me and the ocean...

Gotta nip them in the bud from now on

show me the places where the others gave you scars (insp.)