Hope
It has rained for days.Are the gods displeased?
Oh let this be the reign
to purge the diseased.
New poem.
April 2012
48 posts
Are the gods displeased?
Oh let this be the reign
to purge the diseased.
Winter's Grey
Winter’s grey on a winter’s day,
I shot a man in a winter’s fray.
He’s buried now at my winter stay,
Beneath the children in winter’s play.
—
This is the poem I am most proud of. It came to me suddenly one morning, and I absolutely love it.
One day, I hope to be desirable.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly. I’m a fairly good looking person. But it does get a bit old when people like your personality but drool at the “cuties” and “hunks” that walk by. And I’m left feeling as though I lack some physical quality.
Or maybe I just want to be wanted. The question is why don’t they want me. Hm.
“A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light.”
—Leonardo da Vinci (via ruineshumaines)
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”
—Bob Marley on how to love a woman (via chelseatee)
chrysalism
n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.
