#sonnets

a letter from your eating disorder or your best friend: a poem about anorexia

you seem happier today

you look good

this playhouse, i wish we could forever stay

let’s pretend those dolls are in a happy mood

pretty barbie dolls and ugly ragdoll, i don’t think they’ll ever have a truce

all pretty things on TV are perfect pink

i chose you, duck duck goose!

let’s have cold water for a drink

aren’t those ballerinas so pretty? do you think you’re pretty?

stop crying, it was just a game!

judgy boys are everywhere in this big city

i just don’t want you to be in pain

i just don’t want your happiness to end

from: your best friend

“If ever I lie in the cool grass at night-time it will be to write sonnets to the moon.” (O. Wilde, De Profundis)

“When I saw you

I fell in love,

and you smiled

because you knew. ”

(William Immense Shakespeare)

I want something just like this. Like running through the shelves of a library holding hands, stopping in the middle of a corridor with wheezing, looking into each other’s eyes and falling in love once again, every time.

As an unperfect actor on the stage, 
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart; 
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, 
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O'ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might. 
O let my books be then the eloquence 
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, 
Who plead for love and look for recompense 
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.
   O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: 
   To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit. 
   
   -Shakespeare

How long has it been since I wrote for you? Since I let my words wash over your mind like your lips on my skin, immersed in the fervour of sin. My release a hangover. “Too long” you would say and I would smile for there are words even in my silence. Words in looks exchanged, and screams in silent touches. Infinitely I write for you, look closely at my movements for there you will find a sonnet, there you will find scrolls. - ( C.K.K.S. Roaming Muse) 

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, 
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies’ force, 
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, 
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; 
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, 
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest: 
But these particulars are not my measure; 
All these I better in one general best. 
Thy love is better than high birth to me, 
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost, 
Of more delight than hawks or horses be; 
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast: 

    Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take 
    All this away and me most wretched make.