Kings died thrashing and kicking; ran pillar to post, courted immortality incessantly- the most elusive Eve of all. And, in this gospel-defying pursuit they- Embalmed themselves in gold, Buried their bones with opulence, Tombstones sheltered by mahals, Enthusiastically ingested mercury, Exhausted all totems, Yet they're run down by obsidian oblivion. In desperate throes, the wazirs did scramble, shakily fabricated tales of the sultan's valor, to be vetted by his highness before it is pressed into a papyrus for time to unfurl. My classic literature I dote on as it turns yellower, Someday Jane Eyre will turn to dust, When John Green is the new collectible figure. But I will preserve my sari, And the way my mother massages my tummy When no medicine eases the pain. And her secret additive to each sabzi, Generations will fondly speak of these, Till Atlas' back gives out, and capitalism breaks its knees. For these princes and history-makers forget It is I, a nobody and billions of nobodies like me that will bestow the seal of immortality on their statues and relics; We pay to glance upon your tombs and forts then move on to your successors' shinier ventures, Tough audience, what can I say Capitalistic repercussions. . . . [poem, poetry, capitalism, politics, kings, monarchy, statues, fort, tombs, gold, death, immortality, time, mercury, eve, god, defiance, common folk, democracy, power, culture, customs, indian customs, saree, apocalyse, writer, poet] . . @silverleafpoetry @globalagepoetry Image by @freepik (skull with crown)
no gesture of love is wasted
sometimes people feel like home too
sometimes sitting on a rocking chair with a blanket crying, playing “mujhe tum nazar se” isn’t too bad. take that pause take care of yourself. you’re your home.❤️🩹
It seems there are many ways to fall in love with you (again). Inspired by @werenotreallystrangers post which portrays people’s love language
The noise of silence screams in this worldly din. He told me that was the cackle.... #zalimdünya #hypocrisy #globalpoets #haqeeqat #humanity
Thanks For Remembering Me...✨🌼 . . . . . . . . . . . . . Follow @theold_.me Tags: #wordgasm #writersofig #lovequotes #lovepoetry #poemsofinstagram #poets #writers #puisi #micropoetry #aesthetic #globalpoets #writerstag #poetsandwriters #poetryaddicts #positivequotes #quotestoliveby #poetryisnotdead #poems #selflove #instawriters #writer #littleinfinitepoetry #poetsandpoetryy #flowerphotography #flowers
Some of these poems were written inspired by two amazing person who always looked at me as if I was a gift to this world; my mother and my grandmother.
🖋sometimes i get lost in between ~ . . #poetry #instapoets #poetsofinstagram #words #silence #poetrycommunity #poetrysociety #poetstribe #poetsempire #streetwritersofficial #globalpoetrycult #globalpoets #wordspanda #poeticreveries_ #poetrylovers #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #writersnetwork #poetsnetwork #instawriter #thewritersturf #thewriterswarmth #follow #followback #creativewriters #tenwords #tenwordstory
something I wrote about finding comfort in art and dreams #explorepage #poetry #poems #poemsofinstagram #poemsoftheday #poemsociety #poemsofinstagram
I’ve been writing a lot about life lately. about being alive.
Networking isn’t just about making connections, it’s about making meaningful relationships. The people you meet and the conversations you have, have the power to open doors, spark ideas, and inspire growth. Don’t hesitate to reach out, make an introduction, or just say hello! You never know who you’ll meet or where the conversation might lead. ©️LOGION Writer||Spoken Word Artist||Poet #yemiwrites #globalpoets #performer #spokenwordpoet #photodump #naimh #networking #speaker #connection #poetry
i seem to remember everything i've been working on forgetting
I’m no longer a mean teenager
is that a yes?
Reflections
you’ve been kind april🤍
Caption The mirror is a little fibber, it looked into my eyes and filled them up with fallacies, like an entity from the other side, it spun fantasies in the darkness of my mind. Now whenever I pass a shard of glass, my reflection haunts me. Like a child craving candy, I now crave misery. An obsession to be poisoned over and over like horror stuck on repeat. Thoughts prickle my skin, digging graves inside my heart. For what more can make one alive than sprouting grief like wildflowers inside the calamity of their soul? Time rewinds to a coma between the breaths of my body, incinerating everything that becomes light into an eclipse. Words have been muted on my lips, and now, like winter, I too wish to hibernate like hubris. . . I like things that sully me, pretentious promises like a child playing house narrating the tale of happy endings. For a shallow phrase has capsized my sanity and into the abyss, I go searching, seeking a life that is mine to live. And like a funeral, I have buried myself, speaking sermons into the soil, planting chrysanthemums under my headstone, and chanting affirmations into my body. I do not wish to walk alongside those who have trampled upon the bones of others, those who preach goodness but taint their tongues like saints who have been banished. I am not a temple; I am simply a pebble, one that many choose to kick or skip across the lake. This melancholic malachite has crystalized my voice into an abstraction. . . There is darkness under my fingernails and I have been called forth like a wandering spirit. What is my purpose, you may ask? Perhaps the strength to survive even in the turmoils of being crushed like a diamond. These sediments of mine have stories to tell, but you shall not speak of things that may never be understood. I have become the meaning hidden in riddles, yet no one has ever been close enough to understand the way my heart beats. My tears are unable to fall, so they seep into my blood and become poetry. Is it possible for me to be a poet or just a sad soul with no place to call home? Perhaps God created poets to transform grief into prayers, a way of liberating karma. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest .
And I so want to be soft, to be led, to be able to trust in the leading I’ve been surviving my whole life and I’m tired and I’m longing to learn what it is nurturing feels like.
Caption I want love to find me among the stars, to envelop me like the light of the moon, to paint green on my spine like a forest. I don't want to settle for half of a honeycomb – my soul doesn't reside in half of a word. I want to be immersed in the shades of the sky like summer. Don't keep me tied to the notion of "maybe"; love me for who I am, or let me go free. I can't seem to define this feeling beyond the semblance of mortality. There's an eruption of cosmic phenomena emanating from my heartbeat like a Phoenix rising from scattered ashes, waiting to take flight. Maybe I've been reborn in your image, a holy thing wrapped in blood, a grandeur of stardust traversing through the ether. I often wonder why I've spent my entire life chasing after illusions, loving people who've never made me feel loved, and building homes for people only to be left homeless. I often wonder about all the broken things inside of me and why they've never been worthy of being seen. I broke my own heart fixing beats in other people's chests. I emptied my cup pouring into every vessel I've ever met, and now I understand how unholy the crimes I have committed against myself are. Maybe I have always seen myself through a clouded lens. Perhaps it's time for me to halt my pursuit, sit with myself, and consider all the things that make me enough. Maybe it's time to uncheck the boxes, untangle the knots, and find the path that leads me to the oasis where my thoughts have drowned themselves in petulance. I don't want to be pitied for my kindness. I've tasted bitter things as holy offerings. I now know the strength it takes to put myself on trial, replaying each portrait of my life, bingeing on emotions that were caused by my own actions. How can I know love if I'm unknown to myself? How can I be loved if I allow everyone to pluck me like a flower only to leave me withered in an expensive vase? Love and I have been playing hide and seek my entire life, or maybe love has been teaching me how to value my own footsteps. Perhaps I've been chasing a figment only to find myself amid tolerance's rottenness. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest . Follow @ink_of_insanity For more.
Caption Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Tingling. Hyperventilating. Choking on air, mind distracted, disconnected, disoriented. Limbs numb, throat dry. Tick, tick, tick. Life palpitates, visions blurry, words slurred. Dead, alive, alive, why? I am okay, I am here. This is not real. Shadows danced upon the windows, branches swayed back and forth. Nothing is amiss. Pinching, biting, tapping, turning, hardly breathing, crashing, psychosis. There is a light, it's calling, summoning spirits, beyond the grave, shallow steps, loud banging. Stop. I can't breathe, I'm dying, thirsty, purging, candlelight dinner, last supper. The disparity has no friends. Panic has maimed my lungs and taken control, tugging strings like a ragdoll. . . Inhale, exhale, senses alert, one, two, three, ten-second counts. This misery has captured me in a roundabout, circling, penetrating, dizziness, drunken stupor, losing grip, profound, poignant, nagging reality below my chest. These near-death experiences have touched me deeply, leaving me feeling needy. I have been impounded, pressed in, and pressured to collapse. Yet, my heart stands in the cyclone, beating at one hundred beats per second, like a blizzard inside my being, churning grief into melodies. And I have seen the sky split in two, demons descend upon the earth, inducing a coma in my liver. This war is consuming, like a zombie tethering its claws to my memories. Make it stop. I can't anymore. Please. I beg of you. In and out, just keep breathing. . . My boat has holes and cracks in its bow, sirens, and capsized logs, and I am in the middle of nowhere without a sail. I am not a sailor, but I must paddle forward. If the scale tips over, I may lose myself, strapped in a straightjacket as shrapnel flies acid in my face. There was no gun, but the trigger was pulled, launching me into a battle for survival. The flares have set me off and like a lantern, my flames keep bouncing through a forest, wreaking havoc. Is it the placebo effect or am I just a human caught in a net, fluttering like a fish, waiting for fate to let me go? I am no longer in control of my body, and now I am just a corpse, a victim of anxiety. .
Caption Why are you wasting your time trying to fit into everyone else's ideas of you? You're not too much, too sensitive, or too anything. You are allowed a space to be your authentic self, and if people can't vibe with that, then they are not your people. By dimming your light, you're preventing yourself from experiencing the life you were meant to live. If someone has a problem with how bright or loud you shine, let them go. Life is not short, but life is too precious to give others access to every door in your life and permit them to interfere with your well-being. Certain individuals will keep you at your lowest point because it gives them a sense of fulfillment that they have never experienced. They will continue to run and force you to chase them because it gives them a sense of significance. I'm not convinced that you chose to be here as a product to smooth over their egos and edges. People will rev you up like a car and express their displeasure if you become too loud. Narcissists will prioritize their own benefits over your emotions and feelings. Stop allowing people to pollute your life, stifle your aura, and make you feel small. Don't allow generational conditioning to cripple your eyesight and cause you to become ignorant of ill-treatment, believing it to be normal or your fault. Stop giving people the benefit of the doubt and begin to cleanse your life of them. You don't deserve to be hit back and forth for anyone's entertainment like a ball on a ping pong table. Isn't it time for you to stop fighting with yourself? Is it okay to punish yourself for things that are out of your control? Aren't you convinced that it's time for you to start your journey, experience life, and do things that fill your skin with bliss? Are you not of the opinion that it's time to burn those bridges, close those doors, and start anew? What obstacles are currently preventing you from creating a beautiful life for yourself? You're not living other people's lives, darling. You're living your own. Stop comparing your progress with everyone and appreciate how far you have come. Express gratitude for all the small accomplishments you have made, and recognize your efforts.
trust yourself.
Caption If a heart shatters and no one is there to hear it, does it become a familiar part of the forest, like a tree? When a heart breaks, does it forget how to be loved or does it keep seeking love from those who hurt it? How long does a heart continue to bleed before life shows mercy and the body thaws the numbness to resuscitate the straight line of a heartbeat? How many doses of CPR does one need to revive the spark between the dimness of a ribcage? People may betray a heart, but a heartbeat will never betray the air that pumps through the lungs. Yet, in silence, many greet death with a firm handshake of heartbroken syndrome. How can we blame something so strong for being so fragile? . . I stay up each night with the stars, wondering if they too have experienced the pain of listening to their hearts shatter over and over again. Perhaps beyond the burning clump of gas, there exists a tender life. Maybe stars are just souls shimmering far away. I often view myself outside of my own body, picking and plucking at things that bewilder me. My lips feel soft between the skin of my fingers as if they are waiting to be tortured or possibly pleasured. As humans, can we survive without love? I have tried to dull the sharpness of emotions into an ice tray and watch as they freeze without remorse, yet somehow they become an ode to love. It reminds me of the games I used to play as a child with the moon. No matter how fast I ran, she was always there, right beside me. . . We write poems for people who confuse us, but rarely do we write poems about ourselves. Can the poet not be his own muse? Can I not serenade myself as I relish in the downpour of life, while I etch soft words into the marrow of my being? Can I not talk to the moon about myself, and how deeply I have fallen in love with the words under my spine? What is life without love? Perhaps we may never know, because no matter how stern and detached we may think we are, we all want to be illuminated by love, to be pleasured by it. To die in the arms of it while we cherish memories and moments and lovers. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest . Follow @ink_of_insanity For more.
Cartes postales de Paris. 🇫🇷💌🧁🥐🥖✨ . . . #writer #poetryisnotdead #poeticprose #poetrycommunity #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #poetrylovers #womenwhowrite #poets #writersnetwork #poetryofinstagram #poetrygram #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writersnetwork #globalpoetry #globalpoets #poet #poetess #instapoets #societyofpoetry #writers #memoirsofamoroccan #explore #amazigh #arab #moroccan #dutch #paris #france
Caption Life is not restricted to a chapter or a paragraph, my love. Life is the entire book. Don't let a bad chapter prevent you from using the pen. You own the pages and they are waiting for your words to touch them. I understand that there are times when it's too dark and you want to lay under the covers and rest the book under your pillow. It's fine, but know that the lines will gladly accept your cursive writing when you are ready. You don't need to be a best-selling author or a prolific poet, all you need is to allow your heart and mind to guide your desires onto the pages. The paradox of possessing limitless magic is that there will always be uncertainty between the metaphors. . . Even though you have challenging days, you still glow with life and it's impressive to see your strength and bravery. While I admire your compassion, empathy, and kindness, I have a concern. You don't allow yourself to breathe, you are too focused on your efforts, and your lack of gratitude for who you are is a little upsetting. I hope one day you will see how magnificent you truly are and stop wearing the opinions of others on your sleeve. Don't you think it is time for you to allow yourself the privilege of blooming, watering your garden, and trimming the weeds that have taken up so much space that they are stealing the fragrance from your flowers? Your gentleness towards others is a contrast to your callousness towards yourself. Unlearning the personalities that have been fueling your mind with self-hatred is necessary. . . I am certain that you have observed the way people treat you and the way you beg for the simplest things from them when you have been selfless towards those who need your help. I understand it hurts you, but you show up for everyone without any expectation of anything in return. You also need to be swept off your feet, to feel appreciated, understood, and cared for. You are also a person with emotions and needs. Your book is yours to write, and you can decide when to change your story. You have that power. But to do that, you must know that you are deserving of happiness. You are deserving of love, never question that.
Collaborate in real-time with fellow wordsmiths and thinkers, crafting poetry, sharing thoughts, and co-authoring quotes together. Our app enables seamless collaboration, allowing you to write together with people from around the world, fostering creativity and camaraderie like never before. Start writing together and building connections that transcend borders! #PoetryApp #WritingCommunity #GlobalPoets #ExpressiveWriting #ThoughtfulWriting #CreativeVerse #QuoteApp #CollaborativePoetry #PoetryCollab #InspiredThoughts #VerseSharing #PoetryConnection #GlobalWriters #CommunityWriting #CollaborativeWriting #PoetryCommunity #ExpressiveThoughts #WorldOfWords #CreativeExpression #PoetryCollaboration #WriteTogether #PoetrySharing #ThoughtfulVerse #QuotesSharing #GlobalExpression #CreativeCommunity #PoetryInspiration #ThoughtsExchange #QuoteExchange #CreativeCollaboration
Caption Upon the end of the dream and the opening of my eyes, I sat alone. My eyes dripped as my mind came into being. It wasn't going to last, was it? The emotions that had emerged within me blossomed with a diverse array of hues, but none carried my fragrance. I am not sure which frightened me more, the illusion or the reality, but I stood there wet in sweat and trying to grasp the semblance of sanity. There have never been any moments where my dreams didn't slip out of my fingers and land on someone's lips, or where I vanished into the background as the scenery infused those who were fortunate enough to intertwine with the thread of life. . . Was I the supporting actor, the substitute who filled in for the lead as life brought them up to speed? Did I just act as an umbrella until the rain stopped its meditation? Was I a cloud that blocked the sun for a few minutes until the land regained visibility? Was it just a typo in a story that was retracted? So many questions sit on the flesh of my tongue, unwilling to be swallowed back down. The irony of being a punchline evokes a shiver on the cusp of my throat. Do I have the option to laugh, cry, or bury myself in the weeping willow tree? Maybe I am akin to God, where one's hand is folded only when life gets tough, but once the sail is fixed and the sea becomes smooth, prayers are lost in the waves until they are needed again. I can't help but smirk at the thought of being told I deserved the world, yet many refused to provide me with a grain of rice to quell my hunger. . . I don't want the world. I am not that gluttonous. Maybe I just want a little bit of space, a place where I don't have to ponder if someone is dishonest. Maybe I am looking for something genuine, that stings my bones and liberates me from the tyranny of hope that gradually deteriorates my inner being. Perhaps I just want to be loved, and not betrayed. Love? Like a salesperson in my sleep, it enters my mind and fills it with fantasies, but it disintegrates as soon as the sun rises. The sound of my heart breaking like ice falling to the ground in the most beautiful sonnet seems wonderful. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest .
✨☁️🌜We own nothing and no one.🌛☁️✨ . . . (📸: by Yours Truly taken at @maisonladuree 🫶🏼) . . . My debut poetry collection "Cherry Blossom Season" is now available on Amazon, link in bio.🌸 . . . #writer #poetryisnotdead #poeticprose #poetrycommunity #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #poetrylovers #womenwhowrite #poets #writersnetwork #poetryofinstagram #poetrygram #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writersnetwork #globalpoetry #globalpoets #poet #poetess #instapoets #memoirsofamoroccan #explore #societyofpoetry #writers
[I homely fall in love with just the ordinary you] I hope you know that I put down every word here for you, and also your little things, like how you always laugh at repeated jokes, it makes your tears come out, and how it made your face turn into red like tomatoes. How you always know good songs, and it will always be my favorite, even though everyone knows you are the last person who’s willing to sing. You are also a good listener; you are a friend at 3 am, and you literally talk about everything, like what if tomorrow is raining and you don’t have a coat, and it will always be me, telling you that you could just pray, because what I know is this earth seems to like ordinary people with little things inside them, it will make sure the skies are blue tomorrow — Then I understand that home is where the people you love are (also a feeling).
Caption Have the audacity to choose yourself. Fight for yourself, set your table with all the delicious foods you love, and only allow those who inspire you to shine brighter in your space. Be brave enough to love yourself, with the kind of love you desire from a partner – flowers, long walks, and movie nights with blankets and red wine. Give yourself time, space, and patience to bloom. Growth isn't something that comes easy; it takes a strong dose of reality to fully wake us up. Your life is a celebration, darling. Why are you standing in a corner while others change the soundtrack? Be faithful to yourself. You owe yourself commitment and loyalty. Our bodies react to our thoughts, and what we think about ourselves will manifest in our stories. It's important to let go of the ways you were raised. The sky is yours to paint, the clouds pour on your command, and nature nurtures you like a mother. Sit with her and listen to everything she says. Take deep breaths, breathe in self-love, and let go of all the negative energies you are hoarding from others. Negative energies can cause indigestion and cramping in your stomach. Release them with love, light, and forgiveness into the earth. Your life is not a mistake. You are not a mistake. The universe doesn't make mistakes. You are here because here is where you're meant to be. We are trapped in a prison of insecurities by the notion of not being enough, but aren't we all enough because we possess an infinite soul in the flesh of our beings? Stop seeking validation from individuals who are unable to see themselves in the mirror. This trend of perfection has clouded our perception of important things. Social media has created the perfect fallacy to manipulate and judge individuals, emphasizing their flaws as if they were supposed to be blemish-free. Even the moon has scars, but it still shines like a goddess. If you are incapable of loving, accepting, and respecting yourself for who you are, you will always attract people who treat you like an option. Love yourself loud, make it roar, ignore what others think, and focus on what you're creating. You have only one life, make it a masterpiece. . 📸PINTEREST
Caption It was to be, but it never was, and each second the clock chimes upon the hour my mind tries to rein its frivolity. It has to be, wasn't that the quandary that squanders the sway of the peacock? It is not where I left it. From where shall I look? Like a lost deer, wondering in the brittle glare of headlights, was it a savior or a messenger from beyond? Please tell me you have made a copy, don't make me look in places I am trying to forgo. I have never tasted the honey from a ripened peach, but I have smelt the fragrance. Oh, dear me, my memory beseeched me, upon a parched porch rocking in the view of a freshly baked pumpkin pie. Should I dip my finger and lick the hunger from my flesh, would my morals allow it? . . The stairwell seemed endless as I trampled upon the creaking, lecherous floorboards. Silence is required; noise is not allowed, otherwise, the weary dread of being mistaken will make love to my empty bones. If it's not a quest, why must I be questioned? My fragile cup barely holds anything, it's half empty and half nothingness. The twitch of my eyes brings into my vision a supernatural premonition. Golly, I'm one of them. Another tab of bad luck is stacked on the banister. My limbs have lost their willingness to trek, but I must paddle this body to the top else what will folks say? The gossipers have gathered around the bonfire like a cult, calling forth a seance from the great abyss, whispering spells and whatnots as if they had been given the gift of clairvoyance. Foolish people allow their tongues to indulge in debauchery. . . Is it here or there? What is this despair of searching for a string of hay in a bag of needles? If I prick my fingers, I wonder what my blood will taste like. For I shall not waste this barrel of conundrum counting flabbergasted pronunciation of things I have no inkling of. I am hung and sprung into a tale so peculiar that it is akin to the emblem of a spider's web. Oh, jolly, I have remembered where I had hidden said keepsake. Silly me, it has been here all along staring mischievously into my eyes. By God, if I could, I would make love to myself over and over. This attire of peace has turned me irresistible.
Caption The brown in your eyes has become the canvas of my soul, for each time you look at me, I bloom a little more. I count the seconds every day, how many more moons will be needed to close the distance between us? I long to breathe you in, to kiss the scars on your knuckles, and run my fingers through the black of your hair. I have never loved and longed for a touch, one that spreads with the essence of you like a gentle drizzle of rain upon the soil. Although I may stumble with my words, as butterflies flutter inside me when you call, each pulse of mine is yours to caress. You and I are the same. Seas bend into a river of sentiments, like words to a song piercing each broken piece of yours into the warmth of mine. . . And if one day you ever question if my love for you is true, just rest your head on my chest and listen to how each beat of my heart craves the presence of you. My love, not even the cold of October can freeze the reverie of you between seasons, for we were written into the stars before our bodies were carved. And I know of all the ways you think you're not enough, but allow me to press my lips into the flesh of yours and taste the way your breath tangles with mine. I see you in all the ways you have yet to see yourself, and each day I fall a little more, hoping that one day it will be your arms that I fall in. I love you more than I can ever write poems to express, more than words spoken by tongues into shallow puddles, more than prayers carried on the blanket of clouds to the heavens. . . It is my wish to be immersed in every moment of this life with you. To hold you through each storm, to shelter you from every thought, and to touch you in ways that soothe your limbs. For how blessed am I to be able to call myself yours, to have a home in the beating of your chest? Your love has penetrated the depths of my being and it is there that I wish to stay, for without you I am just a mere word seeking a definition. I believe love is a gift, one that is meant to be cherished, appreciated, and hugged like a lullaby, a softness that creates a bond between two bodies as they merge into a beautiful story. I will seek you out, forever.
Une pétite marocaine à Paris. 👽🌍🌜🌹☁️✨ . . . #writer #poetryisnotdead #poeticprose #poetrycommunity #poetry #writing #writingcommunity #poetrylovers #womenwhowrite #poets #writersnetwork #poetryofinstagram #poetrygram #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writersnetwork #globalpoetry #globalpoets #poet #poetess #instapoets #societyofpoetry #writers #memoirsofamoroccan #explore #amazigh #arab #moroccan #dutch #paris #france
Caption There is an ode rolling on the skin of my tongue, and each time it threatens to spill, I force myself to swallow its meaning. The litany of my past has infused me like a grape, and over time, I have lost the ability to taste anything new. These mournful woes fill the air of my morning like freshly ground coffee, and now I have become a barista for my fate. My heart, a peasant yearning for a few drops, dreams of a shimmering softness it has never felt. I have foreseen the weight of this musing, as it has swiveled like a bird perched on a broken branch. Unbecoming the folklore that has confined me, prickled the pores of my soul, for how do I exist in a world I have not yet known? . . Life's gal has serendipitously sprouted roots in the chambers of my heart where many once danced, but for now, it has become desolate. Not many will celebrate your woes as they celebrate your happiness. These hands of mine shiver from the coldness of abandon, a parchment of subtle nuances. Oh, how breathtaking it is to feel so much and so little at the same time. To adorn your spirit with numbness while words perforate layers of your flesh like iodine. Brokenness has held me in its grasp, and I have once surrendered to the fire. Isn't that the essence of burning, to be born anew from the ashes of what you once were? Alone has never tasted bitter to me, as I have been accustomed to relishing in the acoustic of my voice. . . The animosity of prayers lost in a breath of sigh beseeches me to erode the cavity of my emotions. I have tried many times to flip the switch, turn off the lights, and sit still in the darkness. How do I pluck my feelings like thorns from my limbs? I have a strange urge to disappear, to remove all the layers from myself until there is nothing left. I will be aloof like a comet floating in the ether of space without any direction. The smell of my insanity permeates my being, and the finality of its cessation tingles in my stomach, like a flaming torch leading a sinking ship to the surface. It's possible that I've lost my way in the figment or that I've become untangled and found myself in a mess. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸Pinterest .
Caption And if one day I should lose my memory, I will remember you by your scent, your touch, and the way your lips curve into my life, like a rainbow bent across the equator. My mind may dwindle in your thoughts as I try to piece your portrait back together, but my eyes will always be etched in your imagery. Your name may fade from my voice, but each syllable will continue to beat in the corner of my heart. Love is more than just a four-letter word; it's the breath of one soul that gives life to another. And when I write about such a feeling, my fingers soothe around each verse like a candle dancing on top of a flame. The longing may stray, but it will always return to you in reverie. . . Even though I can forget the entire world and become a stranger again, I will never forget the way you tasted in my mouth, like a prayer reaching the gates of heaven. I will always find you, between each metaphor, in the songs of nature and the pitter-patter of rain cascading along the roof. My memory may fade, but the thoughts of you are safely tucked in the ocean of my consciousness. Love can liberate even the vilest of creatures, and I have completely surrendered to its gentleness. Like a flower anew I give my fragrance to you, along the allure of your skin and into the hues of your soul. I cannot stop the cursive of my pen from touching the paper, for they too have fallen in love with each other. Each time they touch, they give birth to poetry. The ink stains the paper delicately, never stepping over its lines in respect. . . You and I are like pen and paper. We complete each other in a way that goes beyond the flesh of life. For words never die, they become immortal on the lips that recite their stanza. Permit me to inscribe you on the lines of my palm, for I have never known a life without you in it. Where shall I build a home if not in the warmth of your arms as they wrap around me tightly? And with each passing day, I count the stars seeking their blessings. I know the time is near for us to collide into a celestial union. And if there should come a time when I lose my memory, I'll chant your name and forget mine. . ©@ink_of_insanity
A Letter to a Long-Lost Friend . . . . . . . . . . . . Follow @theold_.me Tags: #igpoets #igpoetry #poetrygram #wordgasm #writersofig #poemsofinstagram #poets #writers #puisi #micropoetry #aesthetic #globalpoets #writerstag #poetsandwriters #poetryaddicts #positivequotes #quotestoliveb #poetryisnotdead #selflove #instawriters #writer #poetsandpoetryy #flowerphotography #foryoupage
Caption And I shall die. In this breath, I will drown myself in the sea. This tiring life has once again mocked me. And I will plant lilacs between the bones of my frail body, paint my headstone in the color beige, and trample upon the soil before I lower my carcass into the warm dirt. I shall sing a song and recite my eulogy as ravens caw over my head. Life has poisoned me to sleep like a prick on my fingers with grief, and here lies a body that no one wishes to kiss awake. I will walk among the dead and cry between the living as I stand witness to sorrow and its many faces of disparity. Perhaps death doesn't seem scary at all. Where one lays to rest, flowers bloom around rough edges without the need to smooth over their sharpness. If death is liberation, then maybe life is imprisonment. . . The shadows carry their whimsical gossip as bodies unearth themselves in the cemetery, stretching their barely attached legs as their heads spin around like a kaleidoscope. And there I stood, relishing in the stench of the afterlife without fear in my eyes as I was welcomed. The desire to remain here is gnawing at my bones. There is no judgment, no masks, just a celebration of a new beginning. Darkness doesn't have an evil definition as one puts it. The world isn't upside down in opinions, and people don't spit vile words at each other. They embrace the end of a journey as they share stories of once upon a time. . . And how I wish to dance among the weeds as they wrap me in thorns, for they feel more like home than the roses ever did. I reverberate in the grace of chaos; happiness is just a visitor like a dream from God long forgotten as my eyes awaken from their slumber. In a world where positivity is the norm, I feel like an outsider with my melancholic words and dripping depression. Perhaps I have found my home in the middle, a place where my eyes are clear enough to prevent fog from obscuring my perception. I long to bloom once more in another existence, where cruelty doesn't scar my skin and love consumes me as much as poets consume words. Maybe if I die, I will know all the ways people loved me, as their tears stain the fabric of my body. . ©@ink_of_insanity
Caption I yearn for you between the grains of the desert and the droplets of the ocean, in the rays of sunbeams and glares of the moon, in the alignment of stars and stories written from my hopeful heart. Through the intertwining of fingers, the warmth of a hug, tender lips, and soft words. In the breath of the whimsical wind, the scent of the earth, and the colors of petals. Like spring, I am waiting for you, melting away from the snowflakes and slipping into the roots of flowers as I eagerly anticipate their blooming. This erratic mind of mine yearns to be caressed slowly, intimately, and with intense passion. I want to be immersed in your colors, etched into your heartbeat, and sheltered by your soul like a rainbow across the sky. . . On my knees I pray for love, a bouquet of grace, to be infused in a story that allows me the privilege to traverse each line as if they have been poured out from my blood. These hands have vowed to change the destiny that has repressed me, to free my heart from captivity and observe its delicate beating in the syllables of romance. Perhaps love will provide me with a single rose as I stand on its shore and reflect my desires beyond the horizon, for one day I shall be worthy of its piousness. Maybe I yearn for a place that I have never visited, to glance into eyes that I have never seen, to feel the essence of someone familiar, to lay beside the warmth of another as safety cushions me to sleep. I have been starving for so long that I have forgotten the taste of food. . . And I yearn for you, not knowing your name, the poem of your face, or the way your smile paints on the canvas of your eyes. Would I be able to recognize your voice if you ever spoke my name? Will my tingle be ignited in your presence? Will I always look for you in a crowd? My soul may be aware of your presence as time ticks away and the world comes to a halt. Love will know, love will understand, love will see itself, like a scent calling one home. And if you're waiting for me too, know that this body of mine is a vessel filled with love only for you. Is it foolish to be hopeful or should I bury myself among the weeds of hopelessness? . ©@ink_of_insanity .
🔥 Only Warmth 🔥 #brokebackpoetry #montana #raisehell #already #globalwriters #globalpoets #quotestagram #like #wordsofwisdom #poetryisnotdead #writers #motivation #poets #inspiration #worldpoetry #instapoetry #igwriters #instawriters #stories #lovepoetry #poetsofig #motivationalquotes #yourquote #poemsofinstagram #lifequotes #love #writeaway #igwritersclub #worldwidepoetry
Caption Like a prayer from heaven, grief settles between the lashes of my eyes, cascading down the arch of my face and resting on the fabric of my pillow. I have had this feeling many times before, the urge to cry, to cry until the sea in my soul dries up. No reason, no conviction, no motive, and no plea deal to calm the storm that lies within my heart. Just a moment of surrender where I surrender myself to my emotions without reservation. During those hours, my body becomes a beautiful paradoxical cloud, ushering downpours and prickles that stain my skin with colors, words, and intangible feelings. . . As if they were having a divine debate, I listen to all the voices inside, some of them ridiculous and some of them wise beyond my lifetime. The tug and churn of the ocean within me was like a clandestine wave crashing upon my bones, echoing into the walls of my mind and bouncing into the lining of my breath, suffocating me like a clogged pipe. Yet, I surrender to the feelings, to the anger of every paragraph ever written into my spine. Like a mosaic of unraveling stupor, everything seems to be out of place and cluttered with rancid ink. The silence of night refuses to allow dawn to arrive. The waiting for the sun to kiss my skin with comfort is agonizing as if time itself took a slumber lost in a dream so sweet that it has forgotten my plight. The wetness of my tears enters the cavity or mouth, urging my palate to taste its salty truths. . . Like a harp playing music serendipitously, sorrows mellow into my eyelids. My fingers and feet cover my body in a blanket of dread, taunting my flesh with graceful what-ifs. At times, memories creep up like iodine on exposed flesh, stinging the pigment of my blood into every inch of my body, and dazzling my senses with nostalgia. The lines of my palm that extend across the veil of my existence are damaged, like a molded painting left too long with the sun fading the hues. Life is similar to a song with no words, a flute being played to the deaf, portraits being shown to the blind, and the dumb being instructed to beg with stories of poverty. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸Pinterest . Follow @ink_of_insanity
safe to say i’m a virgo and you can ask me for dating/flirting/life advice. #theconstantpoetprompts by @theconstantpoet
Caption We are creatures of emotions, possessing a realm of undiscovered magic that lies within the pores of our skin, but we deprive ourselves of limbs by crawling on the floor of things that rob us of our identity. We were taught to suppress our emotions and conceal ourselves behind a smile as the world within us crumbles. We have all been infused with knowledge that paralyzes us into a shallow casing of numbness. We were not taught how to use our strength, resilience, and courage to overcome obstacles. However, the lessons of external validation and being easily brainwashed were conditioned into us the moment we understood the letters of the alphabet. Look at us now walking around with a bag of trauma, unsure of how to break cycles and patterns and let go of toxicity. . . Boys were taught not to cry and girls were taught to polish their skin and stand in a corner. Boys were conditioned to dominate and girls were conditioned to always listen and not speak. Isn't it unsettling how everyone is disconnected from themselves and their energy, running like tadpoles on concrete to reach the river before they pass? The fallacies of what makes a powerful individual aren't their ability to hide their pain and grief, but their vulnerability and softness to be expressive. Power comes from grace, where we give space and recognize that we are humans and have emotions. What are we attempting to fix and heal from? From where shall we start? In my view, we don't even know who we are. . . Who am I? What is left after I remove myself from my experiences, environment, words, and things that have happened to me, whether good or bad? Who am I when I don't have those stigmas and definitions attached to my spine? When I speak of myself, I speak of the stories that have narrated themselves into my breath, but the question remains: who am I? What is my identity? It's a shame that I'm unable to answer or reflect on the last time I recognized myself. It takes a second to cause harm, but it takes a lifetime to untangle from the trenches and resurface. Is that why we exist in this realm? To find our way out of the abyss and into the meadow? . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest .
when my card declines at therapy i go back to you. [lie cause i don’t have any card, so it can’t be declined (lame but that’s how i function)lol bye]
If you could go back in time and say anything to your younger self, what would you say?
Caption Come sit. How do you do it? How do you stay soft in a world that tries to break you? I am aware that you have been through unimaginable experiences, a dark shadow that shakes your heart, but still, your heart is so tender and filled with compassion. I have seen many people transform these circumstances. They have recoiled and shut down, erecting walls as high as the sky. It is not to imply that they are selfish, as this world has been very unkind to kind people. I'm not sure how you manage to wake up each day with gratitude and prayers. I've seen your faith waver, but I have never seen you throw in the towel and quit. You have such a great deal of love within you that it blooms like water connecting its breath to the sea, like clouds protecting the land from intense heat, and like the wind that brings fresh seeds to life on its back. . . At times, I think it's foolish to devote myself to a world that thrives on apathy, but then I see you and the way your eyes sparkle when you make someone smile, uplift others, and give them a glimpse of their beauty through your reflection. The way you express affection and care with selflessness and evocativeness. The way you give others a space to feel safe, unload, and be themselves without fear of being defined. Your love for people is ethereal and beautiful. Your empathy is graceful, and maybe it's because you have had to take care of your emotional wellbeing by yourself, which is why you understand such a great deal about gentleness. . . Your authenticity, bluntness, and honesty, along with your passion for life and how others are being treated, are qualities I admire. Your strength, resilience, vulnerability, depth of feelings, and protectiveness of the people you love are things I admire about you. I hope you see it for yourself, not just through my words. I hope you give yourself time and space to reflect on your journey and all the battles you have fought. It is my wish that you find a balance in your life where you are conscious of what you deserve and don't settle for anything that doesn't elevate your soul into existence. You are the most beautiful fabric of life, love, and magic, and I hope you see that
Caption When you create space for grace in your life, you will connect with yourself. As humans, we often focus on external things and forget about our inner selves. We can achieve our desires only when we respect our bodies and value our hearts. Negative thoughts and emotions can poison our souls, and as such we should avoid speaking ill of ourselves. Your thoughts have the power to shape your life, always be mindful of the energy you feed into your mind for it becomes the food that nurtures your aura. We are the authors of our own stories, and we can either create a positive or negative plot depending on our thoughts. . . We all desire to have a home, a place where we can relax and unwind after a long, hard day. Sometimes, we seek this comfort in other people and set high expectations for them. When these expectations are not met, we may begin to mistreat ourselves and place blame on our own worthiness to receive love. Like a dog chasing after a ball, each of us chases after love, an external love, a love where we need a sense of validation to accept the reality of being enough. In life's turmoil, we lose parts of ourselves by reshaping and dimming our light to be accepted in a society that functions on pretense. Ironic, isn't it, how many people walk around smiling when they hate their lives so much that they become indifferent to everything? Those who have worked tirelessly to keep their heads above water often let themselves sink to the depths. . . It's not necessary to be strong every day to brave storms and stand in the shadow of thunder. Some days you can put the weight down and rest. Taking a pause doesn't mean you are weak or behind in the race to reach the top. It simply means that you respect yourself enough to give yourself a few moments to breathe. Healing is about accepting the things that happened and learning how to live with them, not forgetting them. No experience in life can be erased from our timelines; they become a part of you like a scar of conviction adorning the strength you possess to dig yourself out. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸Pinterest . Follow @ink_of_insanity
Caption Here lie the remains of my heart, charred and crushed like diamonds, with just a hint of memory. For those who speak upon the grave of heartbreak, understand the words of its eulogy. You have taken away the pulse from my heart and allowed the tides to swallow me. These limbs of mine have reached the peak of destiny and found the pathway to heaven, but a touch from you has shattered the marrow in these very bones. And how the foolishness of words has swayed me in the tango of lovers' wrath. Hell shall freeze upon the tips of my fingers as the moon kisses the breath of the sea with hope. Without guidance, I am like a compass without a destination, wandering the streets searching for an elixir to quell my throat's dryness. . . I seem to have been stitched in the fabric of your being. The harder I try to sever the thread that ties us together, the stronger it pulls me back in. Love, I beseech you to release me from this reverie, to free me from the chiming bells and tinges of sentiments that enslave me to a shadow of gloom. I no longer welcome you into my home. I am not interested in rearranging the stars, so I will remain here to contemplate the salt that flows down the length of my smile. Sullying a gentle heart in a jar of acid might seem ill-considered, and the tongue might complain about the bitterness as spectators gather on the balcony to witness the unfolding of torment, while they whistle and clap in excitement. Loneliness does poison the cure to kill you much slower. . . In a world of facetious romance, here lies the softness of a confession, buried upon the hills of lust, decomposed by the spring of fate, and forgotten in the lines of poems. Beauty lies in the gaze of the beholder, while broken things are adorned in museums, fretted upon, and dissected by opinions and definitions, as people call them art. And I am an artist of insanity, tolerance, and rage. I am a thorn of fragrance polluted by the soft petals of flowers, and while I am shunned, another plucks the scent. Yet, love holds me in its arms with grace. For where else can I go if not into the flames of a muse? . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest . Follow @ink_of_insanity
maybe together you and I can fail up instead of down loving you is like riding a bike I was never great at that I was at least 8 and all my friends were flying across the fields and all I did was stand and watch wishing I could feel what it was to fly like them feel free like them just be like everybody else but there was no one there to teach me, how to love or how to ride a bike I had to figure it out on my own but I learned then standing in my friends back garden that nothing about falling was a scary as watching life pass you by, so even now fallen as we are I’m not afraid to get back in the saddle with you. N.B. The day I did finally learn to ride a bike in the car park with my dad I also found 20 quid on the floor and came out of the situation richer in more ways than one 🙌🏼
Caption Oh, life, what a beautiful journey you are. From the edges of grief to the blossoming of happiness, from the thumping of hearts in love to the shattering of hearts in poetry, you have within your prayer a blanket of softness. Like the ocean, the sky, and even the top of mountains, my soul is ignited with waves of bliss. I have experienced turbulent narratives, but even the darkness has kissed me with grace. What an extraordinary feeling as I inhaled the essence of life, breathing into the cages of my ribs with my eyes closed as dreams settled like dew on the lashes of my eyelids. The silence and stillness of my fingers as I draw colors into the nuances of my blush. In gratitude, I offer my penchant to the universe for allowing me to write this miraculous story. . . Life is an adventure to be savored, like a glass of red wine flowing down your throat with a sigh. As I stand here reflecting on each chapter, I take with me the lessons I was meant to learn. Growth is not linear. It will twist you in knots and leave you there to untangle yourself. I believe we are both the heroes and the villains of our stories. We tend to take ourselves for granted, make ourselves feel little, and devalue ourselves in the name of validation and people-pleasing. I have chosen to rewrite my story, one in which I fall in love with myself, one in which I adorn myself with healing words, one in which I hold my hand and walk off into the sunset. . . Giving yourself space and time to express yourself in a way that doesn't make you feel too heavy or burdened is the most beautiful thing you can do for yourself. Today I acknowledge my right to breathe, not just to survive, but to breathe deeply, taking strong breaths that hit my pelvic bone and vibrate throughout my entire body. Today, I remove all the things that no longer serve me, the things that I have accumulated for my entire life. Today I cleanse my power, bring it back to me, and release what no longer belongs with love and forgiveness. There is a blank page in my book waiting for the strokes of my quill to manifest into life. Today, I choose to write the most beautiful story not for anyone but for myself. . .
Caption Darkness, a path to the light. How do I find my pieces in the dark? Will there be a scent that carries with it the breath of my grief? There is something broken inside of me that cannot be fixed by mere bandages and affirmations. I have attempted to write positive changes on my face, but they seem to fade away. My heart burns in silence for something unfamiliar, intangible, something that fills me up rather than depletes me. In truth, I believe I crave life, not just survival steps. This constant battle between flight and fight has taken the last of my patience. I have never once claimed to be a good person. My backbone is erected with flaws and imperfections. I am authentic and authentic, and I have no rock under which I choose to hide my personality. . . This intervention has caught me off guard. My mind tumbles with nostalgia. I am not favored with sweetness, I am bitter like a kiss from a stranger. The fool within me has blurred every boundary for others, only to be left with a chalk that is no longer drawing. There is a limit to what I can tolerate and I have reached my threshold. I have reached the pinnacle of a scream that bellows below the grace of the earth. Depression is not just sadness; it also has a tinge of happiness that slowly erodes from the inside as poison that kills you but keeps you alive as a conviction. I have witnessed individuals writing on the last page of their books with tear-stained ink, and their inclination to hold the quill any longer is declining. . . We should understand that we do not walk in other people's shoes as we must not judge what is on the surface of our perception. Life is like a trench. The water seems glistening on top, but the minute it is provoked, what lies at the bottom stirs into reality. In that water, resilience blooms like lotus. We appreciate the flowers and use their fragrance to decorate our homes, but we often neglect the strength and process that seedlings undergo to blossom. We admire beautiful things, but as soon as the facade breaks, we begin to form an opinion. Some people walk around alive but are dead inside, but we become too busy creating definitions to understand their softness. .
Caption I had a dream in which I was in prison. It was dark and desolate, with resounding heckling noise pinballing off the walls. As I sat on the cold floor, I rocked back and forth, my hands over my ears, and my teeth were digging deep into the skin of my bottom lip, causing a substantial amount of blood to be drawn. The walls were tall, almost touching the arch of the sky, and there was no one in sight. I am confined to myself, my thoughts, and my tormentors. They showed me movies not of famous actors but of my life. My eyes were glued open as the nightmares unfolded, no voice to scream, no heart beating in my chest, only thoughts and chills. This was by no means a sweet dream. Every bully and their words fell like acid, burning my skin, crawling into my pores like dry ice, and calcifying my blood to a halt. . . I had a dream one night and in this dream, I relived every hell I once fought. The dam broke, the sea parted, and the world was on fire. The dead recovered from their slumber and like new seedlings, they ascended from the dirt. These hallucinations choked my limbs with the stench of rancid death. The sky was darkened and the stars collapsed one after the other, while the moon plunged into two. Right before my eyes, the whimsical typhoon unfolded. And each time I tried to wake myself up, I was dragged deeper into the abyss of hell, where colors were drained from trees and butterflies, where pieces of life evaporated, melting away into nothingness. As the sky tumbled and roared, I ran and ran, jumping over every crack in the earth like a puddle. . . It felt too real to be a dream. People I had forgotten manifested before my eyes, pointing their fingers maliciously against my chest, accusing me of everything and nothing. Their words were like tattoos that etched themselves into my skin, bleeding like a million needles. The inception has encased itself around my neck like a snake, suffocating the air from my lungs. How do I stop it? I am paralyzed and unable to function. My body has lost all sensation. The aching bluntness crashed into me like a tsunami as tremors quashed my soul. There is no sound in the silence. . ©@ink_of_insanity . 📸 Pinterest
Caption Where lilacs bloom on the stupor of lavender stems, our lips etched fragrance in the flesh of the other. Slow passion burning dews of melodious tingling, as softness drew a breath from within the oracle of deprived souls. Take my words into your mouth and let them rest between each beat of your heart. I am reverently yours, beyond the certainty of tomorrow. Today I held you close, between the splintered fingers of my hands, reliving each moment into my memory. Perhaps the way life flows, we are destined to be sealed in only a kiss. And here I confess of all the ways I love you even more than the love I have within the deity of myself. In your eyes, I see the crescent moon, permeating a flicker of hope for something new. . . I cannot forsake the roads that lead to you. I have tried, but my traitorous feet always lead me to the steps of your home. Who am I to condemn the plight of a heart and the longing of a spirit? Perhaps this is the prophecy of love: a moment of passion that burns for eternity, a lingering touch in the dust of my bones that seeks the grace of grace. It is the silence that brings me into reverie, a numbness so tender that it caresses me into despair as if I were being rocked to sleep by the most gentle music. I know of things that bleed my skin and words as sharp as knives, but when the soul cries, it shakes the faith of the world. My darling. These prickles have sunk into my lips like shards of confession, yet my throat chokes my emotions to a grave. . . As I sat there, I was reminded that all I had were drops of water falling into the lines of my palms. Love has consumed me, made me its victim, taken the very cages of my ribs, and broken every wish that ever lay there. Love has turned me into a lover, not of happily ever after, but of darkness, silhouettes, and tragedy. And all the petals I have plucked from the rose in affirmation always ended with, 'Love me not'. Aren't we all wanderers? In a world where we are bound to each other by a string. One kiss on my lips left me in a drought so treacherous that every door I knock on remains closed. Yes, I am a lover living under broken stars. Perhaps that is why I am a poet. .
cold congee: a short story by me 🥄❤️🩹🥄 ----------- hi i am finally writing again :] this was the first piece i wrote this year at the end of february after putting together my portfolio. i feel like i poured like a-year-and-something's worth of feelings into it and frankly i just didn't feel anything worth writing about. i wanted to give myself time to experience some things (maybe some new feelings) so i could write about something different. i wanna challenge myself more this year and utilize different writing styles and formats. i don't really write short stories and i honestly don't even know if this classifies as a short story but that's what i'm calling it lol "cold congee" is a piece i wrote in the middle of the night during one of my shifts. sometimes inspiration surprises me at the most random times. but i'll welcome it whenever it decides to visit i hope you all like this one
Caption It's necessary to take the long route. Some people may try to sell you shortcuts, such as fewer potholes and more beautiful scenery. While you may want to cash in your savings just to reach a little faster, it's not a good idea. The long journey may be difficult, you may stumble, and at times you may even hurt your knees or elbows, but through it, you will acquire the lessons you were meant to learn. Even though you may be exhausted and want to give up and turn back, that voice, your intuition, will keep persuading you to paddle harder, even if your feet are burning and your heart palpitates. Although the shortcut may seem exciting and a good deal to take, it's not worth sacrificing the value of your life for a short hike up a mountain that doesn't reach the summit. . . The idea is that life is a journey and each journey has a purpose. Many people spend their entire lives trying to figure out their purpose. The universe is consistent and there must be a reason for our existence. People seem to be in a rush, this fast-paced thrill of checking things off a bucket list, and many times they don't care about who they trample over once they reach their destination. The thing is, shortcuts are glitches. From afar they may seem magical, but up close they are dislocated, lack spark, and quite frankly, are lonely. Like a seedling, life requires time to germinate, spread its roots, and slowly ascend. What's the purpose of fighting for a crumble-up map that was likely drawn to sell you something that could deter you from your desired path? When you can dip your entire body in the ocean, why are you so eager to jump into puddles? . . Isn't our purpose simple, to understand and connect with ourselves? We often blur the lines between a purpose and goals. Our purpose fuels our sense of life; our objectives fuel our success and pave the way for our future. Perhaps our purpose is to indulge in the fragrance of ourselves and experience a sigh of peace at the end of each day as we discover amazing things about who we are. Stop thinking that you're behind in life and realize that you're right where you're meant to be. The darkness of the long road is a driving force. .
Join us for a fun event called "Paint Your Flag", where students can paint flags representing their cultures and enjoy a cultural exchange! Don't miss out on the chance to win a gift card at the end of the event. 🎨🍮 #PaintYourFlag #CulturalExchange #WinAGiftCard #GlobalPoets
Caption How beautiful, my grief? Like a clandestine song, you wept autumn's wailing, like a dandelion's seed, you dispersed your cries in the marrow of my bones. Like a thief, you stole the key to my home, unlocked my doors, and welcomed the tattering of your feet through every dimly lit room. The wings of a sparrow, a raven's caw, a colic child, the chimes of a windmill, a tremors fault, leaning buildings in nature's lap, my eyes soaked in tree sap, not a tear of despair, but a prayer's claw pulling me out of the snare afar. In the bustling noise of the drunken world, the shattering hope of the sunken spine digs deep within the cavernous mines, like ticking time and slithering mimes, befriending the pungent aura of death's demise. . . How awful, a tragedy so grave, the tombstones of dismay into disparities where weeds offer sweetness like tea parched on the withering fire, calling forth a basket of bread in the ambiance of breakfast slipping on the banks of the river, like torrential showers. Nor the light of dawn nor the darkness of dusk slipped between twilight's kiss. Oh, the aroma of a scorned lover, nipping the sanity away from the hung curtains, stale like the mold of old boards. Where shall heartbreak hide, if not in the corner of the soul that has turned cold over words and profanities? There hasn't been an inkling in the meadow since the arrival of drought. Luscious lips once plied about, now worries if poetry fell amok under the bridge of allures doubt. . . Sorrow, a damsel trapped between concrete, waiting for the thumping of a horse's hoof to steal the life of the serpent and rescue thy breath by the hands of the shining knight with a bludgeon sword. A captive beauty, restful, like dew lingering on grass. Why have I not yet disowned the lies told to me by the voice in my mind, as my cup clinks with the demon's eyes, nor has the mirror unfogged itself to the watchful gaze of my pleading voice? I can't seem to ponder enough on the things that gloom me in the most magnificent blue, for no canvas has a printer with fingers that are allergic to hues. Let the days fantasize about the climax of the night as I'm torn and tired of the strings you pulled.
Global Poetry month Day 4 I am a poet And i accepted the human I am, Long before the world ever did. I know how i react to certain situations. Certain people and the moments they create Before they ever happen. But i surrender, I surrender myself to situations, people And the hate or love they ever poses Expecting myself to act in a different way for once. I am a poet And every authentic detail of the human race Is my muse I love humans as humans Their vocals long before they even practice The smiles without the filters to feel that way Their skins before the thesis of racism ever occurs And their stories before prompting that only sad stories makes better climaxes. I am a poet And i know how to admire All the things you ever hate about yourself Your broken teeth Your vulnerable moments Your hidden stories Everything you ever hide under your carpet. I am a poet And for you to turn yourself into my poems All you can do is To be yourself and nothing else. - Viveka Sahasrani Tags #NaPoWriMo2024 #globalpoets #napowrimo #poets #escapril #globalpoets #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryMonth #PoetryChallenge #PoetryLovers #poetry #poetrycommunity #positivevibes #selflove #selfacceptance #selfmusing #wordsofwisdom
Caption Allow your emotions to flow freely, stop burying them and putting them aside, and stop denying their value. If you ignore what is breaking you and causing you discomfort, you cannot heal yourself. It's important to allow things to flow without altering your thoughts. If you persist in mismanaging your emotions, you will always feel insignificant. The reason why you feel like this is because it is hurting you, it has penetrated deeply into your impulses and triggers, and it has established a space in the chaos of your mind, causing your energy to deplete. Don't be afraid to let it out, cry it out, scream it out, hit a wall if you need to, rage, let the storm consume you into oblivion. How long will you continue to deprive yourself of love? I'm not talking about love from another person, I'm talking about your love, the one you should be pouring into your heart space, and soul with softness. . . Take pride in yourself, be genuine, and follow your truth. You are the only one, the constant and unique you. You are allowed to be angry, expressive, confrontational, and speak up in the face of adversity. You are allowed to cut cords, close books, and let people go. Peace is a luxury that you can only attain when you become detached from the things that are tethered to your energy, the things that plunge you into a low vibration. Cleanse your soul from those things and allow the new day to bring blessings, acceptance, and healing, as you merge with your highest self. Remember that this journey, this life, is yours to experience and write. . . Don't let your days be filled with wishful thinking. Don't let the rose's fragrance fool you until you understand the bitterness of its thorns. When the sun rises, ground yourself and let your feet rest beneath the coldness of the soil as you align your spine upwards into the root of your being. Let the day begin with gratitude. Be grateful for life, breath, and sustenance. Don't let yourself get too occupied with the race of life, or how small the world thinks you are, and realize that you are a soul that encompasses the fabric of your body; you are energy that cannot be created or destroyed. . ©@ink_of_insanity .
Caption If fate be the tides, then let these bones become the shore they crash into. Once I sip awakening, my soul no longer recognizes soulless stones. I am thirsty on the edge of the mountain, begging the wind to carry me home. In the events of my fall, may I be buried under the shadow of Cyprus. I have fought many tempting thoughts that lurk behind the veils of my dreams as my eyes are swallowed by slumber, unable to request the fluidity of my limbs. For how can one be alive and not be bludgeoned by pain? The tattering of a heartbeat, innocent and sane, draped over the curtains of stains, quivering in ambient moonlight frivolity. Shall these screams be silent in the widow of night, least not torment my faith into an atheist? . . I have held coal in my hands in the pretense of diamonds, shining facetious tumble between the grasp of my thumbs. Emboldened by humanity's foreskin, intoxicated in explicit abusive slurries, confined warmth under a willow, enough to endure the sluggish dirt of debauchery. The thought of being tied to a condition of toxicity as your days blend into a darkened abyss is terrifying. The definition of paradise becomes muddled as you juggle excruciating anxieties that decapitate your existence into limerence. As if you were lovers of magically tragic things, the faded warning of a storm becomes ingrained in your breath. For those who become fortunate, love can blister and pickle the pores of hopeless skin, condemning the heart to exile, and the outcast of affection no longer welcome. . . Devout are those who bring forth the passion of love between the evolution of their lungs as life plunges them into a cave of undiscovered fantasies. I have not yet been bewildered by the titillating cravings of my tongue in forbidden fallacies, a lavender kiss that poisons me with roused tranquility. I am but a wasp in the stem of honey, buried in the semblance of angst. A lantern on the windy street flickering and stuttering with the hope of not being doused. I may have exhausted my luck as my cards fell into the desert, delirious and deprived of rain. Isn't it, my responsibility to adapt to the harsh acclimating weather? . ©@ink_of_insanity .
Congratulations @original_poetree and @sculptedrosescompany!! ✨🏆 Keep the wins coming! Share your poetic triumphs with us, and let’s celebrate together. Join our vibrant community of poets worldwide, where creativity knows no bounds. Connect, inspire, and grow with fellow poets and artists! #PoetryWins #CommunityCelebration #GlobalPoets #ShareYourTriumphs #ConnectThroughVerse
Love poems, Love letters.