I Want To Be Small

I want to be small

 to be able to fold my body into itself

To hug my own essence within gangly limbs

I want to embody my own soul and display its fragile state

I have spent much time knowing I am too much for this life

I want the bone chilling matter of being insignificant 

It’d be nice to feel small for a change

More Posts from Sundayafternoonsedentary and Others

i found myself ripping out my eyelashes

blowing them off my finger

wishing that you would find yourself falling in love with me

hoping that star that i pray to every night

would take pity on me

granting my wishes true


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For someone who couldn't sleep in the confines of four walls, her presence seemed much like home,a warmth he had never known

Having spent his favourite times amidst trees, forests and raving waves, she felt much like a storm that hitting broke the sleep of his lonely shore

Where birds perched on trees came down the Earth to meet him, she sprung her wings away from him,soaring high in the sky

Water bend their ways to come pass him by and yet she carried the vigour of an ocean untamed and wild,windy and rough challenging him with her eyes

He could bare himself to biting coldness of any sort, yet the warmth that flew from the tip of her hands caught him off guard like never before

She is in the raving spirit of the sea, the scorching life of the sun, the serenity that gives life to the moon, in his very existence

She is the dream as well as the reality and every liminal space there is to be, she is the day and night and every shade of the sky in-between.

~nt

_ She was a different kind of a wind_

For Someone Who Couldn't Sleep In The Confines Of Four Walls, Her Presence Seemed Much Like Home,a Warmth

Image from Pinterest

i was a daughter at some point in my mortal existence

now i am what’s left of a child

rugged-worn down being

who’s outgrown the wonder that used to course through her veins

will you turn my brittle body into poetry

when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse

will you interpret the path i skipped along

writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind

or will i be forgotten?

just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface

scribbled lines in the once lively flesh

it was never pen ink that cherished me so

if my name has not been lost

and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book

run to my tombstone

letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing

recite to my grave lovely words

soothing my wandering soul

remove my past from the chain around my ankle

let my image seep into the setting sun

allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime

an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body

permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being

but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence

please oh please let me be poetry

- sundayafternoonsedentary


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as the liquor crawls down your throat the phrase I love you is drunkenly forced out

fatherly compassion that only surfaces when the alcohol has engulfed your body

submerged so deeply in a drink that love is just another meaningless word

a silly phrase that slips off of your tongue with the sharp taste of whiskey

too intoxicated to hear the crack in my voice

when i tell you that I love you more

more than your addiction

more than myself

but my words are tossed into the trash

clinking with empty bottles

colliding with conversations you don’t recall

memories of an absent father that loosely maneuver through my conscience

I have to compete with a $58 bottle of bourbon

but you seem to love being numb more than raising your daughter

it’s alright dad

i’ll carry the both of us out of this mess

maybe one day when you wake up you’ll thank me for it

but for now, I love you and I can spare enough love for the both of us


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searching for warmth when you are the only life to be found is maddening

ravenous hands clawing at any ounce of heat

only to find your body slashed and your fingers bloody

colder do the nights get as your being disintegrates

slipping into nothingness

the once lively body etched with scars

remains indefinitely reaching for the love of another


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i used to rub my eyes as a child sitting in bed. when i did so, certain figures would appear, almost pixelizations in a way. It was certainly beautiful. The pressure formed intricate landscapes that I got the perfect view of. It felt like flying.

it could’ve been my strong will or maybe it was my secret city that allowed me to survive my childhood. Id like to think it was my city. When the world got too loud, i would escape to my home. Turning corners with a simple tilt of my head, it was the only place i felt at peace, souring over the city.

i don’t know what changed to cause me to stop visiting. my best guess is the stress of growing up amidst chaos made my adolescent hands to heavy to bring to my eyes. I still mourn my little city. I miss being able to fly.

And one day may I lay in an endless landscape of wildflowers

Let my stomach be full and my hair unruly

The sun beating down in true mid morning light

The birds sing a song not of this world

I want to bathe every ounce of a life that was never mine away in the stream a mile north

Icy cold water

Babbling over rocks

Washing away someone’s mother’s screaming

Erasing his sweaty handprints from her body

Let my face be stained with blood red fruit

Sitting underneath the cherry tree

Gorging myself with the very definition of contentment

My cheeks touched by the sun

There is a pleasant sort of exhaustion I will feel

When my basket carries freshly picked fruit

My arms sore from the trees I had scaled

To pick better fruit and gaze at what lies in the field of beauty

It’s 7

The sun is going down

Fireflies take over the land

crickets are chirping a symphony

It’s the kind of spring that you believe might last forever

My window is open

The trees sing their hollow lullaby

I’m asleep in minutes

I wake up to find myself drenched in sweat, the window is closed.

there are no birds.

I must be dreaming.


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how i envisioned the night sky sitting next to you was so much more beautiful when i hadn’t experienced it

whenever i felt my dream coming true there was a different feeling in the air

you were never there to watch the stars and fall in love

you were there to push me to your car

to rip off my clothes and promise me sweet nothings

i couldn’t see the sky from the backseat, as my heart sank into the driveway below us

all i wanted was to fall in love

you wanted was to fall into the rhythm of sex

making love they call it

we didn’t make love that night

my love was lost somewhere out in that bright beautiful sky that i wanted to experience with you

i wanted to feel the rise and fall of your chest not feel the rise and fall of my body on top of you

we had very different plans for that night

i just wanted to see the stars


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I'm not afraid of death

I am afraid of the minutes before it

When my bed of steel nails

Grow into roses

If petals could talk

They would whisper in pity

By their words, I'll bloody up my hands

With the wounds the size of torn rags

And I'll tear away the civilization I made

Count every grain falling through an hour glass

Till goodbyes erode away

Mountains stand short

Bring forth my old rivers

Drain them of glory

Count every grain falling through an hour glass

Till molten corpses fall from the sky

Bells A-ringing in chaotic serenity

Doves turn to face the weeping nights

To wish my old constellations goodbye

By their words, I'll bloody up my hands

Throw away my world, let it leave my grasp

If the petals could talk

They would whisper in pity

By their words I'll wash up my hands

Lay in my lush foggy blankets

Till my eyes flutter shut

And peppered kisses, end at the hands of my crumbling world

Divide my soul and body with bleach

I'll drink it until my body is pure and free

From sins I committed at their word

following a prophecy and commiting a sin,

is how religion is born, with its birth

Comes timed demise

I'm not afraid of death

I am afraid of the minutes before it

When cold blooded sins turn dove like, gentle

If petals could talk

They would whisper in pity,

"What a fool she was, to follow a prophecy to create belief. What a fool she was, to burn dynasties for their words. What a fool she was, what a fool she was"

(Repent for your sins to make those after you believe in rules, repent for your sins to turn unity into society, Repent for your sins to look at your hands to see the monster you've become, repent for your sins, repent for your sins)

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