To You I Opened Up Like Have Never Before Only To Betrayed

“I understand. That’s the trouble. I understand. I’ll understand all the time. All day and all night. Especially all night. I’ll understand. You don’t have to worry about that.”

— Ernest Hemingway

Sometimes people leave you

Questioning all of your instincts

Because you thought you knew

You thought you felt it

You thought you could trust yourself

You thought it was real

And then reality stepped in and showed you

An entirely different view

A painful view

A view you do not care for

A view you cannot unsee

And it hurts

And it bleeds

And you need someone to blame

So you blame yourself

This is how people get lost

This is how I got lost

Margaret Atwood, from Paper Boat: Selected Poems; "He Shifts from East to West,"

i was today years old when i realized that we don't have to be the same person everyday, we can always be a completely different person tomorrow; we can change our aesthetics, our interests or what makes us us. we haven't owed anyone to be the same on a daily basis we can change constantly. this is us putting ourselves in brackets or definition or whatever you call it.

The Dreams of My Childhood

When I was a kid, I had tons of dreams

I was going to go to space I was going to be an astronaut I learned the constellations and the stations of the moon I watched mesmerized at videos of shuttle launches and I'd jump and cheer at the eventual splashdown I'd watch the stars at night so I guess some things just never change But when I couldn't figure out how to use a telescope I gave up on it all, as if it never existed

I was going to be a rockstar some day

I'd learn every cassette and CD that found it's way to me Even the one's I disliked Singing along to Alan Jackson Elvis Presley and Motley Crue I was going to learn to play guitar And I find myself still saying those words because some things just don't change But I never has the actual ambition or that little bit of starter talent And I never liked to be in the spotlight So when things got a little hard, I just got off

I was going to be author I was going to write a story that was beloved I was going to write of love and emotions and all the things that make up a good person and all those that create the villain but I never finish what I've started and I'm writing cryptic messages in badly written poetry A vomiting of my sub-conscience all over the sidewalk outside your old apartment door I write for this to spill my guts to let strangers judge me Some dreams, they just never change

i wish it was easier

to breathe.

You know what? You deserve some love. Like, lots of it. Soooo here you go! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Take some!

"is this too cliche?" who cares? bro, write what you have fun writing. stuff your manuscript full of your favourite tropes. the same themes you love. all inspired by things you grew up with. do it all. go off. load. it. up. be freeeee

"poeticide".

the agony of being a poet

is not actually found

in being unable to write;

it's worse. my downfall is choosing to relive the pain

with every word, emotions inexpressible;

i try to exclaim: desperately

crying for help, in verse,

doomed to repeat

the cycle

until nobody is left

to witness me.

"poeticide."

d.b.a

note: i have no foolish intentions and cherish life, as well as my place within it. the emotions i feel and express are very real, but be at ease - everything will be okay, for myself and you, the reader.

She was just like the moon: lonely and untouchable, yet romantic and shrouded in mystery.