#poets of instagram
I don’t think I ever really loved you the right way. But then again you never really loved me at all.
My Heart Bleeds Poetry #38
Charlene Pablo
“he raises his voice
higher than he would his hands
and for that I guess
I should be
grateful”
- d.c.
1/30 #napowrimo
(I needed to hear this.) And so maybe you do too.
What would you tell your younger self?
Sifting through old journal entries. Despite our best efforts, it’s near impossible to forget a single soul these days, isn’t it?
Olivia Rodrigo really took us all back to sixteen, huh? Good news: sixteen feels bigger than life when it happens, but then? Well, life happens. And it’s good.
I’ve been coming back again and again to the idea of creating and the pressure we put on ourselves to be dripping with it always. It’s difficult to wrestle with the things I feel I must do and the things I would rather be doing.
Sometimes I clock in, clock out, collapse into bed. Can that be enough?
We’re all pumping ourselves out into the world in a million different ways. Look at this, look at me, look at the things that are mine. Aren’t I worth knowing?
They were all worth knowing.
Sometimes I’d really like to Stop This Train.
So goes the way of life & loss.
You know the drill! An innocuous-enough dream that upon waking slaps you straight across the face.
I’ve always been an other worldly type dreamer. And I guess now that still stands. But leave it to grief to flip the whole goddamn script.
Do you remember where you were when you forgot all you’d learned? When love again became the sweetest four letter word?
Post link
