#poetry of tumblr
“Sometimes loving greatly means losing great love.”
- d.c.
“why does he look like morphine
but taste like pain”
- d.c.
“…and for a second there
these silly little delusions
looked to me like
big subtle breakthroughs of truth.”
- d.c.
“where did you get the nerve
to take the shape
of the feeling
i was missing”
- d.c.
NADA ES MÁS PODEROSO QUE UNA IDEA A LA QUE LE HA LLEGADO SU TIEMPO
— No se puede creer en cosas imposibles — dijo Alicia.
— Yo más bien diría que es cuestión de práctica — respondió la Reina — Cuando yo era joven, practicaba todos los días durante media hora. Muchas veces llegué a creer en seis cosas imposibles antes del desayuno.
Alicia en el país de las maravillas.
Lewis Carroll.
Un soñador es una especie en peligro de extinción, alguien que tiene planes extraordinarios y que se ve obligado a atravesar caminos que el resto de las personas teme o desconoce. Él sale del grupo, se desprende del rebaño, y cruza solo el desierto que lo separa de sus sueños para regresar únicamente después de haber recogido sus frutos.
El soñador suele ser infatigable, es un inventor de proyectos, un creador de estrategias que contagia a los demás con sus sueños.
Él no es un ciego, ni un iluso, ni un inconsciente, él sabe que habrán muchas dificultades, muchos obstáculos y que a veces serán insolubles; sabe que de diez iniciativas, nueve fracasan, pero no se deprime, porque es un creador de posibilidades.
Un soñador sabe que paralela a la vida real, está el mundo de la imaginación y que cuando ambas se cruzan por un instante, en el mismo segundo, los sueños se hacen realidad.
Hay dos clases de personas en este mundo, los realistas y los soñadores, los realistas saben hacia donde van y los soñadores ya han estado allí.
La mayoría de nosotros tenemos dos vidas: la vida que vivimos y la vida no vivida dentro de nosotros y en medio se encuentra la resistencia.
¿Alguna vez quisiste convertirte en padre, pintor, doctor, abogado de los pobres, dirigir una campaña para salvar un bosque, tratar de mejorar el mundo y el medio ambiente? ¿Has tenido en las noches visiones de estar al lado de la persona que siempre amaste? ¿Te has mirado frente al espejo y has visto el reflejo de la persona que quisieras ser, el trabajo que podrías hacer, la persona que estás destinada a convertirte?
¿Eres un escritor que no escribe, un pintor que no pinta, un empresario que nunca empieza nada? Entonces ya sabes lo que es la resistencia. Es la fuerza más tóxica del planeta y causa más tristeza que la pobreza, que la enfermedad y la disfunción eréctil.
Si por azares del destino, todos nosotros despertáramos mañana con el poder de dar el primer paso para cumplir nuestros sueños, los psiquiatras se quedarían desempleados, las prisiones se vaciarían, las industrias del alcohol y el tabaco se vendrían abajo, junto con las de la comida chatarra y la cirugía estética. La violencia doméstica sería historia, igual que las adicciones, la migraña y los problemas de caspa.
A menos que estés loco, en este momento existe una pequeña voz dentro de ti susurrando, diciéndote como lo ha hecho diez mil veces, cuál es tu vocación. Tú lo sabes.
¿Sabias, por ejemplo, que Hitler quería ser artista? A los dieciocho años tomó sus pertenencias, setecientos marcos, y se mudó a Viena para estudiar. Intentó ser admitido en la Academia de Bellas Artes y luego en la escuela de Arquitectura. ¿Alguna vez has visto alguno de sus cuadros? Tampoco yo. Se dio por vencido. Llámalo exageración, pero tal parece que a Hitler le resultó más fácil empezar la segunda guerra mundial que enfrentarse a un lienzo en blanco.
Es necesaria una revolución interna, una insurrección privada dentro de nuestro cerebro para vencer el miedo a dejar salir aquello que llevamos dentro. Esa resistencia que nos impide alcanzar nuestros sueños es como el gemelo maldito que nos habita y no nos deja ser
Los sueños vienen en tallas grandes para que podamos crecer con ellos. A la larga, los realistas evitan el peligro de lo inesperado, y por eso optan por la seguridad de lo que tienen, pero evitar el peligro no es más seguro que exponerse a él. Se necesita valor para abandonar las certezas, porque hasta el noble y humilde “quizá” tiene su propia arquitectura, como todo.
La vida es una aventura llena de desafíos o no es nada. Una de las tragedias más grandes de la vida es una persona con una capacidad de diez por doce, pero con un alma de dos por cuatro.
Un soñador sabe que cuando el alma está preparada, las cosas también lo están, que muchas puertas están abiertas porque nadie las ha cerrado, y otras puertas están cerradas, porque nadie las ha abierto.
Las batallas se deben luchar cada día, y si al final las cosas se ponen más difíciles de lo que puedes soportar y sientes que tú eres todo lo que tienes, no te desanimes, tú eres todo lo que necesitas.
Te van a llamar loco, alborotador y desadaptado y muy seguramente es así, porque alguien que es capaz de enfrentar al mundo para alcanzar sus sueños y que está dispuesto a hacerlo solo no es un hombre cualquiera.
La posibilidad de alcanzar los sueños hace que la vida sea una aventura más interesante, y para que ellos se hagan realidad sólo hay que despertar y ponerse en marcha.
El mayor peligro para casi todos nosotros no es quedarnos sin llegar a la meta porque ésta sea demasiado alta, sino alcanzarla precisamente porque sea demasiado baja.
Muchos de nuestros sueños parecen imposibles al principio, luego pueden parecer improbables y cuando nos comprometemos con ellos finalmente, se vuelven inevitables.
No existe en el mundo nada más poderoso que un sueño al que le ha llegado su tiempo, pero el problema con los sueños es que no se pueden dejar por ahí tirados, porque se corre el riesgo de que pase alguien más y los recoja.
Somos un instante entre dos pasos, pero ese instante alberga todas las posibilidades del mundo.
Si no puedes soñar, golpea los baúles polvorientos.
https://youtu.be/DKOPBjKm0k0
All the reasons why - ishani
1.who can handle someone who can’t handle themselves?
2. i spent nights writing about you, but you were out with a different girl.
3. i can’t promise that i’ll be spontaneous unlike her.
4. i bet she doesn’t pinch her skin between her two fingers.
5. does she hate everybody because she thinks that they hate her too? me too.
6. i can’t hold a perfect thing without watching it fly away.
7. she looks hot in a bikini. i don’t.
8. sometimes i’m scared that you’ll leave me like the rest of them.
9. you dream about her, nightmare about me.
10. i bet she doesn’t care about what everyone else thinks about her.
11. i got drunk wishing that you’ll message me back.
12. i got too faded enough to message you twice in hope that would message back.
13. i hope you know that i showed you my bruises just to impress you.
14. i loved when you called me an alcoholic – even though it sounded patronizing.
15. i’d be lying when i say it didn’t hurt me when you didn’t like me - even a little.
16. see me write a list about why you can’t love me like how i could love you.
Motion - ishani
I’d be lying if
I said that it didn’t hurt me
a little bit when he just
wasn’t that into me.
This is becoming a circular
motion of all the reasons why
no one can love me.
To build a home - ishani
I’ll build
a house out of
the ashes that you
left me with.
Skin deep with reality - ishani
I wonder when
these fantasies
start living up
to reality …
… but this
is all of the
fatalities faced
by being an
escapist of this
reality too.
Time to heal the broken, it never does - ishani
Hello, and I am not sorry,
this is not a goodbye,
more like a salutation
of a farewell,
this is our little dark age
watch me find light in this
darkness, as I’m sat in the
air conditioned emergency
room, my eyes burning
with mint, wearing a mask
is worse when you chew gum.
Everyone is staring,
it makes me feel intimidated,
I’m used to being the
intimidating one,
the scary one who makes
their skin crawl.
I’m the youngest one here,
well minus that toddler who
has barely been alive for a
minute – he doesn’t count.
This place smells of bleach
and anti bac, and the all too
familiar stench of the oncology
wards all around, I remember you
here, with your
liquorice all sorts that
were disgusting by the way,
but I “liked” them still, only for you,
I hope you know that.
You probably do, you’re my
guardian angel, I believe you
still visit me every now and then,
maybe my clairvoyancy isn’t as
good as it should be, because I
miss you every day.
They say it gets easier as time
passes, but everyday passes
and it never gets easier,
instead it makes my heart
reach out to make me miss you more,
because du er et minne (you are
a memory) it’s time to let you go now,
instead of grasping onto
the smoke of my past,
you need your peace
and all I cause is chaos
all around me.
Pillow fort - ishani
let’s build a house
out of blankets and pillows
it seems like the perfect
place to hide away from the
world for just a second now,
but just wipe your feet at the
door before I let you in.
My perfect women is for you too - ishani
Dear Michelangelo,
I’m writing to ask you
if you could sculpt out my
dream appearance,
I’d like to start out
with my body shape,
a flat stomach and thin waist,
wide hips and muscled legs,
thin arms and less broad
shoulders and collar bones
as sharp as a knife.
I want to stay the same
height, not any taller than 5″2
it’s better that way,
because no one would
expect a pretty little thing
like me to fling a body
across the room - yet
there they are.
I would like to differ in
skin tone, as much as I
hate to admit - I want to be
white, because why in this
day and age, do people
see colour as a barrier to
“social norms”, what is it that
white people can do that
coloured people can’t?
I’d like to change my face
too, a button nose, similar
to mine now but with a slope
and no bump, plump lips too,
pretty pink, with a smile
that shows off a set of pearly
whites with a crocked tooth,
not perfectly straight.
I’d keep my thicker eyebrows,
and my hair too, but take
away the puffy eyes,
the chubby cheeks,
the undefined jaw,
replacing it with
defined cheekbones and
jawline sharp, and long eyelashes
and slow growing facial hair
that I don’t have to wax
every week.
Dear Michelangelo,
we have now designed my
perfect woman, tell me
how much she costs,
I’ll pay it all to be her,
because she is my perfect
and I am not.
Miss rough guy - ishani
To the daughters of this generation - ishani
Do you remember when your
mothers would say ‘this
is how girls end up dead’?
That I’ve been trying to
stay alive and not be killed
my whole life.
Maybe it’s time we fuck
the patriarchal society,
this man run world,
because this fucking queen
wants to walk alone at
night, with my hair
pulled back and headphones
in my ear, because
“I’m tired and angry but
somebody should be!”
pana ne vom intalni din nou - ishani
my skin is crawling,
my stomach clammy like
all things anxious,
like I’m about to throw up,
but instead I’m all funny,
maybe like bubbles blowing up,
in the epitome of my abdomen,
I’m not sure why,
this shit is vexing me,
it’s 11pm too,
seems like my new favourite time,
just to lie awake and do nothing,
close my eyes and try to drift away,
can’t think of nothing new,
so instead I wrote a poem;
It doesn’t have to be good,
but is poetry ever perfect?
More like a stream of
consciousness strung
together in sentence that
sound pretty, add in a rhyme or
two, like my story of
the old man who refused
to sell his lime to a boy
called dan; dan
didn’t have money,
well only two dimes,
but it seems I’m only
on a tangent now,
I’ll take this as my cue to go,
not forever,
it’s only a goodbye for now;
until we meet again, my friend.
maybe i’m a hypocrite that i want you to remember me when i forget you - ishani
Do you think about me the
way I think about you when I’m
lying on the floor, in my bra and
pajama bottoms, hair down?
Do you think about me the
way I think about you when I’m
lying on the floor, drunk and
alone, wine in my blood causing
a little bit of trouble?
Do you think about me the
way I think about you when I’m
lying on the floor, high and I
kind of wanna cry, because
I’m so fucking alone?
Do you think about me the
way I think about you when I’m
lying in my bed, and my head down
in the pillow, but I’m pretending it’s you?
Do you even think about me?
Do you even dream about me?
Do you even say my name in the back
of your mind, wishing that you hadn’t pin
pricked my heart with your finger before
licking the blood of the tips with a smile?
I hope you don’t notice my facade - ishani
I’ve suicide inside
of my body, hurting me,
yet I’m finding it hard to leave,
so when it continues hurting me,
these insecurities disconcerting me,
I like to disguise it down into the gutter,
spilling these feelings down like water,
flushing it down and throwing it out,
I hope you remember;
I still want you to believe in me,
even though I am trying to
deceive you, me too.
our platonic world dominantion - ishani
Sometimes i think that all
my friends hate me,
or maybe,
i hate myself too much
that I drive myself to
hate me hate them like
they hate me too.
But I wasn’t lying when
i told you i wanted to
rule the world with
them.
This isn’t what I usually do, at all - ishani
it’s 11pm and i’m all alone,
i’m no longer missing anyone or anything,
and it’s better that way,
but i’m staying up later then usual,
waiting for a boy to respond to me,
this isn’t like me, at all,
this isn’t like me, at all.
this isn’t what I do, at all.
If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all - ishani
I don’t think I was made
for this world, I don’t
think that I belong here.
Maybe it’s pathetic,
maybe it’s not,
maybe it’s useless,
but maybe it’s not.
All these “what if’s”
and all these “maybe’s”
but my mouth forever
tastes like all the things
I should have said,
but instead I bit
my tongue, swallowed
them down and watched
as I said everything else
instead.
Lavender - ishani
I undo and pick at my spine,
for no certified reason,
and I want to note that down as a point.
So I find myself asking why –
-why do I write this?
It’s like writing people
hoping that they’d come alive
and be my friends (they do
in ways you’ll never understand.)
but I write them down still,
to forget
the details in the poems
you sent me;
handpicked from
the rose bush
in the garden,
and the lavender bush,
you use to lure me into,
only to sting me
with your twisted
mind.
Can you fix the broken? - ishani
Could you still
love me even
though I am
a mess?
I promise
that the broken
can love you
the best?
I forgot you halfway through - ishani
I used to write
poetry – left right
and center
in the notes of
my phone,
so I can carry
them all around
in my pocket, so
weightless too.
But I stopped
because you’re
worthless to
me too.
And so I forget
my rhymes as
I forget you too.
Sweet Dreams, TN - ishani
I feel tired,
I’m telling not showing,
Shakespeare taught me nothing.
I can talk about
the hours i’ve laid awake
staring at the ceiling,
red eyes, puffy and
dark rings under.
The same 112 beat
circling round in my head,
a three hour journey down
the M40; “Little Miss Sweet Dreams,
Tennessee” just wishing that was me.
The same 352 pages
beneath my fingertips tracing
the ink stained words “Yes, why not” Why not?
If not later when?
The same tune of 505 playing
on repeat, the beat drops,
it vibrates through my veins,
like the pulse under my skin,
the feeling of a hematite crystal.
“Do I dare disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time for decisions
and revisions which a minute will reverse”
I stare out the window,
unblinking, and unmoving
for hours on end, and I keep
asking myself “what is wrong with me?”
Many 2% drained out,
shaking legs, spinning heads,
and now I am thinking “am I
depressed or just love deprived?” because
I’m going back to 2018 where I
live through the love in stories that people
have written. Alex waited years for Orion,
and they never did get their true happy ending.
I imagine being in love,
then I look at my life and realise,
I know nothing of the sort
I’ve listened to the same 808
beat for years of my life and wonder,
would it be worth it after all?
I am tired,
I am telling not showing,
even though T.S Eliot taught me everything,
I’m too exhausted to remember.
I’m sorry.
Lilies - ishani
He was like poetry
not in a way you would expect
it’s embarrassing really
how a one night thing can linger so long
But it was like someone
ripped the pages out of
a poetry book
built a better man out
of the ink that I cried
and then built a gentleman
I guess maybe cause he
looked beyond everything
I’m insecure about about and
still thought I was beautiful
and the way he asked before
he kissed me because
i was younger than he was;
“I don’t want to do anything
you’ll regret tomorrow”
I didn’t regret anything
other than not going
back quick enough for you
to kiss me one last time
