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Literature Text
self;
you are but a shard of glass, cut between
the palms of my hands.
the crevice ran deep, and surged into my
veins.
the bitter smell of blood
that you
seeped still
lingers... haunting my taste for
reality.
you are but a scar, stained white
through my skin.
pure as the naive child who still
believes there are, somewhere in this world, places
she can run to; hide, from the monsters
that haunt her nightmares.
you are but a memory, encased in my
imagination.
created by the cruel realities in which, in
order to live, we had to run
away, to keep our sanity.
and you, are the dead. the dying... the
sickened, the depressed. everything that
follows,
that leads to
anything.
you are the smoke that fills my lungs,
leaving me gasping for air; life.
grasping my soul, surrounding it in
surreality
as my bones tremble with a longing to
move again,
run again..;
the knowledge
that the possibilities are lost,
there is no
place for that
now.
you are the poison that taints
me. teases me, brings me forward, then
sets me back.. further than i ever was
before.
but i am the living, the creator of my
dreams, the inventor of my schemes.
creating my own sabotage of self.
[i am self.]
Literature
.
What force
drives a
noble heart,
which would
place another
before itself?
I have
spent my
whole life
searching for
a grain
of such
courage.
Literature
The feeling
Broken people know how it's like
To feel sad and miserable
They need to change that somehow
But it's nearly impossible
So they cheer others up
Because that way
They prevent others from becoming like them
Literature
tiger.
you always told me that
i was a fast runner,
i came out of your womb sprinting.
you, my fierce tiger mother, with your rough, hardworking hands,
you take those sharpened claws out of empty pockets
to knock me down when you don't realize that i've already fallen,
because eighteen years of growing
gave me eighteen years of growing pains.
in the sweetest memories i have of you,
your back is turned away from me.
you butcher bloodred tomatoes,
while singing a lovely song
of fantasies,
of a storybook mother
who loves her child more than
anyone else does.
back when i believed you,
i let you give me
a bruised childhood
because of scarred t
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i created this a little while back, never knowing if it was complete enough to bring to the light. still probably needs some work, maybe i'll edit it here and there. (and change the line work to make it easier to read and understand... the emphasis on some words are certainly needed for the emotion to really be understood.)
when i first wrote this, it was difficult for me to understand who or what it was directed at. the words kept coming, 99% of this was written in one sitting, as it was something i need to get out of myself and down on paper. and i felt some very strong emotion towards this "you." not anger, but a frustration or pain. later i realized it was merely the self it was directed at.
i still have some things i need to process with agreeing, or being ok with the sense of self... something i definitely need to work on. © 2015 - 2024 keiranikaela
