#spilled feelings

„There’s too many things inside my head. It leads me to the point where I question it all. Everything. Is that pain worth it. I can see the hope though. I hope that one day, these thoughts will be gone and I can finally smell the happiness, touch it and hear it. That hope keeps me going. The only thing that left.”

— healerorkiller

“A smart man makes a mistake, learns from it, and never makes that mistake again. But a wise man finds a smart man and learns from him how to avoid the mistake altogether”

— Roy H. Williams

I thought I knew

rock bottom

but

nothing has rocked my soul

and

made me ache

quite like this.

You taught me what true love actually felt like. Then you refused to give it to me.

How many heart breaks does it take to be broken forever?

How many sleepless night doesn’t it take to lose yourself?

She wore her scars, like badges of honor.

because she knew they weren’t a sign of weakness

They were a sign of strength.

I still have nights when I think of you,

And I

Can’t

Fucking

Breathe.

-b.m.

I’ve never craved someone’s lips like I crave yours.

-b.m.

You take my breath away in the worst way,

Leaving me gasping for air.

-b.m.

You know how to say all the right things.

You make me so happy.

You make me feel so much love.

But-

How do I know this isn’t wrong again?

How do I know you won’t make me so sad?

How do I know my heart won’t be crushed again?

b.m.

— The Kissing Booth 2

and we are all

just fighting

to survive a world

where

i miss you

doesn’t mean

i’m coming back

and

i love you

doesn’t mean

i’ll stay

— Chloë Frayne, Letters And Why They’re All For You

sometimes

you”ll never know the

value of a moment

until it becomes

a memory

maybe it isn’t just about me being with you.

that’s not what i really fear.

what i really fear is that,

you’ll leave me without telling me.

and that you’ll stop loving me,

and not let me know.

that you’ll love another girl,

and not let me know.

— please let me know.

‘And he’s painted over your mirrors

so his touch is in your eyes;

you try to purify yourself in water

but his fingers have muddied the supply—

you move out of the house

but his ghost is with you still;

I’ll learn to love my reflection, you repeat,

but you don’t think you will.’

'smeared mirrors,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1263

‘Oh, how loud are his trumpets!—

but how graceless is the tune;

his flags are painted in such bright colours,

but with so messy a stroke—’

'the pride of the fool,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1262

‘put a woman together, the dream-man said.

I took the pin

and rolled her skin thinner.

put the woman together, the dream-man said.

I weighed the brain and heart as one

but left the lungs and liver.

put the woman together, the dream-man said,

and I chose eyes for her;

now put her together, he repeated, voice irritated, now—

but I had no clue how to stitch her.’

'the woman together,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1261

‘she wants

that which she does not show;

she has no desire for that

will merely melt the iceberg—

dive deeper, dive deeper, the depths

scream and cry;

but that is where her monsters are

so explorers should beware the bite.’

'true love,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1260

looking into a heart-shaped mirror,

seeing ringlets and lace and long long lashes, thinking.

thinking,I’m the prettiest doll

that I’m ever going to be.

my doll-house is where I keep my victories.

over-achiever, people-pleaser;

I spend all my time

before some kind of mirror –

it’s easier to believe you’re a pleasure to teach

when you’re a pleasure to see.

I wonder,

just how long

before my china shoulders shatter?

I won’t be fuckable forever.

what if I end up as a grave

that no stranger will never admire?

go at your own pace,

says the old woman

who lives in my head.

she rocks, on a rocking chair;

I rock with her, try and listen

when she says, calm down.

you have so many years ahead of you.

open my jewellery box. a thousand baubles

for a hundred achievements –

and which one of them is enough?

flowers blossom beautifully and die quickly:

maybe I’m done. maybe my season’s up.

choker of pearls. aren’t you a pretty girl?

I’m not so special as they said,

and my luck will not forever last –

I’ll fail, soon. and I’d rather be dead.

we are rocking, still. harder, now:

my nails bite into my calves.

my breathing is shallow, sharp:

a sad stream, shuddering through

a Winter wall of jagged rocks.

fall, my old woman suggests, voice soft

like a skipping stone. cry. I’ll catch you.

I don’t.

‘I wrote this instead,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1259

‘look, look: the hearth is warm;

the beds rest on clouds, your spirit on stars.

do you want the door to open? if so, then speak!

you are but one step away— you lock yourself behind bars.

are you not starving here? do you not weep?

take on the lion’s courage, and be brave:

conquer your fear of the door, my darling,

and you will be warm— you will be saved.’

'1 chronicles 17:25,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1258