Latest Posts by savingwords - Page 2

Vincent Van Gogh

Mourning Dead Days

The days

I expect them, wait for them

And when they pass, I realise

They're dead days

Gone and lost,

Rotten days

And of them too many,

That have been too much

I mourn them still

ari b. cofer, Unfold: Poetry + Prose

I crave a love so deep, the ocean would be jealous. - Pablo Neruda

-Rumi

"You remember too much, my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that?

And I said, Where can I put it down?"

The Glass Essay - Anne Carson

Out of my ignorance, I called you a homeland and I forgot homelands are taken away.

— Mahmoud Darwish

“I’m so unwhole. I don’t know where all the pieces of me are, how to fit them together, how to make them stick. Or if I even can.”

— Kathleen Glasgow, Girl in Pieces

Hermann Hesse (1877-1962), Wandering: Notes and Sketches

a little moodboard

Andrea Gibson, Lord of the Butterflies

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

— Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

Sometimes it would be nice to step out of one's body and observe

To no longer having to feel and experience things

pain

And it whispers

Maybe I do remember.

The quiet thoughts in dark corners during rainy days or sunny mornings.

I remember losing. Losing against thoughts that snuck up on me.

Is that form beside me a friend? It whispers to me, like a friend would, like we share a secret.

It’s the secret to why I feel like this. The whispers are heavy when they reach my ears. Words with weight to them.

My knees shake. It’s cold. It's the rain. Is it the light breeze? There’s sun. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands.

I don’t know what’s gripping me. I don’t know what’s holding me down.

I can’t stand up.

It won’t let me go. It’s in my legs, in my arms. Weight, so much weight. It holds my hand. And it whispers.

Charles Bukowski, "hurry slowly," from Come On In!

I sit here and put words on a paper that I otherwise do not dare to say. I don’t know who to talk to. When I mention what I think about I get told that it’s only because things are just not going my way right now. Funny. I suppose things haven’t been going my way last year either. Or the year before that. Or the year before. I don’t remember not feeling like this. These words, there the same. For years now. I’m writing them down because I’m unable to say them to anyone.

I’ve reached out for help before. Got weird looks from people when I told them that I need to talk to someone. Got told that they wouldn’t be able to help me because I just needed to get over this. Everyone feels like this once in a while.

I went there once. Got told I felt like this because I’m not taking control over my life. The situation was uncomfortable. I didn’t go a second time. They asked for feedback afterwards. What was I supposed to say? Thanks for not listening, I still don’t know how to not hate myself. How to not cry. How to make my chest stop hurting. How to stop feeling like I’m drowning.

Now the thought of talking to someone is even scarier. I don’t like to talk to people anyway. What if I take all my courage and ask for help again, only to be told it’s my own fault? I know it’s my fault. I tell myself that every day. I don’t need another person telling me the same.

Everybody moved on. I stayed there, dust collected on my pinned up hair.

@lilyflxwers/hold this - fortesa latifi/@trxuma-system/the good witch - maisie peters/@heavensghost/@archivedsmile/unknown/@lilyflxwers/@therezeegoes/right where you left me - taylor swift

Potential

Hush

Too far, too wide, too fast

Not yet

Don’t go

Don’t, won’t

Don’t, can’t

Not now

Beware

Hush now

Haven’t done, won’t do

Couldn’t do, won’t do

What can I do?

Can’t do

And can’t and can’t and can’t

I’m scared

Don’t ask

I take a photo with the old camera out of my mum’s drawer

A quick shot of life

One short silent depiction of how I view the world

I like the old films

Colours not too bright

I’m not good at photography either

Smudged pictures on 15mm

Too orange, too yellow, too bright

I like looking at people, like capturing how life is for them

I don’t like being near them

I like myself on black and white film

Wastefulness

I don’t

know

I don’t know

how to stop

Stop the tears from falling

Stop the fears from showing

Stop a life from being wasted

Please stop me

Stop me from wasting my life

Stop wasting a life on me

my favorite lines from this article about poetry from students grades 3-6

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

Virginia Woolf

Summer Blues

I miss the cold

The foggy air, the gloomy sky

The grey clouds

For a short time my feelings appear justified

When the snow covers the ground

When the cold winds make people shiver

I don’t feel like a burden

People start talking about winter blues

And I believe my blues are less unusual

It’s the dry air that hurts on the skin

Which makes me hope that it’s normal to hurt within

And when the sun comes out

Flowers bloom, people laugh

I feel more alone

Sylvia Plath, from a journal entry featured in "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath,"

I brew a coffee, I peel an orange, I play some music, I call a friend.