Tag Archives: love

Another Poem About Love

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There will always be more to be said and learned about love…Here is just my latest (short) poem…

Love is no flower

Afraid of the cold

Love will not wither

Neither grow old

 

Love is not frail

Love is not weak

Love is a heart hale

With quiet feet

– Icon courtesy of Iconizon

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If there was an i…

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If there was an I in my name

It would stand for Insignificant

For that is how I feel

When I stand beside her, him, you…

The world is large and I am small

It is the sea and I am a wave

I pass and am forgotten

But you are the moon

And you tug at me

My thoughts are like the ocean

Perilous, deep,

They drown me as if they were not my own

Breath and action are irrellevant

You tug at me

Yet, you do not notice me

Man on the moon

You do not notice me

If there was an I in my name

It would stand for insignificant

Like the faint star on the horizon,

Fading next to the sun

You cannot look at me

None can look at me

Are they all blinded by you?

I am blinded by you

Like a faint star on your horizon

I am fading, blinded by you

Miles from you, centimeters from you

It does not matter

You are still the moon

I am still the wave

I pass and am forgotten

While you mark the time and world.

How you tug at me

How you draw me!

Freedom is a strange word

A repugnant word

A state that I no longer know

Freedom is wherever you go

Centimeters from you

It does not matter

You are still the sun

And you still blind me

Fading my world even as you illuminate it

On your horizon I am faint

You do not look at me

Do you look at me?

I would not know

I am blinded by you

Like a faint star on some horizon

I am blinded by you

If there was an I in my name

It would stand for insignificant

For that is how I feel

Standing beside, or apart from you

I am blindly pulled

Drawn and fading

I feel that when I pass I am forgotten

Like a distant star on your horizon

I am made insignificant by you.

———-

Is this too repetitive?

One Truth About Love

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Love is a great deal hurting

A balance of imbalance

Nightmares and dreaming

All part of one…

Sensations of drowning, burning

Empty and full

Power and weakness; both consuming

Your ravaged soul

You cry, you laugh, even bleed

You try, you fight, then you leave

But now you have a need

So you go back for more

A poison you gladly drink

Thirsting for the transportation

It takes you to the brink

Yet, has no limitations

What fools we mortals be

Tying our lives to one

Saying chains make us free

Flying towards the sun

Love is a great deal hurting

Yet, we hunger for the pain;

Like the pheonix burning

We feel life coming again

…Emotions

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I feel really sad. Right now i want to cry, and it’s not because everything is going wrong, or that i can’t write, or work sucked – none of those things are true. I’m sad because I think i just fell out of love with my very first love.

I think I just realized I was in love with someone who never existed in this person. I feel like I’ve been in love with a fairy tale – or worse, just some figment of my imagination.

It all started with a dream last night. And ended with an old photograph. Long story short…hammer on a glass egg.

It’s hard to feel this way. It’s hard especially since he won’t understand. It’s hard because he won’t care – because I won’t tell him. It will just end.

Maybe i was just in love with the idea of being in love? That makes me angry – at myself. But is that such a bad thing? Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is never arrogant, and does not find fault with malice…it goes something like that…Is it wrong to want a lil more love and patience, kindness, humbleness, and acceptance in our lives?

No. It’s not.

But I don’t wanna be just another person in love with L.O.V.E. 

Sigh. Maybe I’m just full of estrogen. That would make me feel better…;) lol…hey, it already did…

But seriously…any thoughts? Overall, i would like to know what love really feels like before I die. Not so that I can kiss, have marriage, have sex (not that they HAVE to be in that order – i’m only human…), and have kids…but because love is the ultimate state of living. At least, that’s what I think it is. The bible says that God is Love. And there’s a saying that cleanliness is next to Godliness…so if we scrub behind our ears, shouldn’t we want to love? I wanna be as close to a goddess as I can! Hahaha…I know, such deep thoughts riddled with such ridiculousness…It’s a part of my sarcasm aka. recovery process, and is probably rather warped. But I don’t care, idc, I’m feeling the mood and just letting it come out of my fingertips…

moment of thought that can’t be written. wow.

Ok, ok. Fingertips shutting up in 5,4,3,2,1…

Work was actually good. Life is good. I just feel like I’m mourning something that never really was. :( I’ll sort it out, or I’ll just pull a Scarlett and figure it out after I finish my fafsa, essays, and committee applications :) Yep. “Tomorrow is another day!” = priceless. 

With hope… :)

Blind touch

Short Story…

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Dear readers…

…I’m sorry for the lack of blog – feel like a terrible blogger – but I have reasons. Work, writer’s block, and guilt for said writer’s block. Yep, oh, and housework. My house is in shambles because I have been trying to cure my WB (writer’s block, teehee…). Houston, I think we’ve found the problem. Do any other writers find that some of their greatest inspiration comes from cleaning their houses? And even if they don’t, I do, so…why am I ignoring this wisdome @_@? Hmmm…neway!

Quick update on life: Summer is here and that is exciting. I’m planning my vacation, and school, and working a lot. Hopefully I’ll have more inspiration to write, and then I’ll find the time.

Till then…lemme go clean my house (yuck, I hate dust, but dusting is worse!), and during that time I invite you guys to read this short piece written a month or so back. Constructive crit is welcome, maybe I’ll find some fresh breath from your thoughts! Much love and the best wishes. Till a much sooner post than this…

Sincerely,
Scatterbrained :P

_-_-_

Gold my beloved

~Gold, My Beloved~

There are no words to describe him. Only thoughts, thoughts spun so closely and intricately together that she cannot unwind them, not even for herself. She stands within a hall, a hall of color, swirling with clouds of sheer gold, and she spins, dancing, beating the walls, freeing the clouds, and loosing herself in her thoughts.

Moments of gold. Her memories of him are the strands of gold in the carpet she weaves. Shimmering and rare. They are flowers, hard lines, and raindrops. Flowers were in her hair, the buildings lining the streets she was walking were hard, straight lines, and raindrops were falling on her face. There she saw him the first time, one thread of gold in her life of blue. His eyes the color of honey, his hair the color of ink, his smile the color of starlight, his voice the color of water as he spoke to her “Namaste…” A golden thread.

“How fast she weaves. How fast she leaves. How fast she walks wherever she is going these days.”

Mother can talk. Sisters can talk. Grandmother and all the neighbors; they can whisper and speculate, they can ask and demand, but the threads are woven furtively. Secret looks, accidental meetings brung about by so much planning that none could comprehend. Why? Why do anything but for gold. The gold of his smile, the gold of his touch. When he touched her hand, returning her anklet, her fingers were made gold. Now, she who never cared for money, all she wants is gold. Gold to adorn her fingers, her wrists, her cheeks, her hair…and her lips.

She dreams of kisses. Of holding hands and lingering words. While she weaves a thread of gold she dreams of walking by the shop, of pausing to look in the window, of catching his eye; catching his heart. She weaves a thread – an excuse, to go out and walk along his street, to stop in the square, taking a long drink. She weaves a thread and smiles at him, when he looks her way and waves.

While she sleeps under stars of silver, she dreams of her moon of gold. The sun is bright when he asks after her mother, her smile is warm as fever when she speaks. Her tongue falls over itself, tripping over threads of an anxious heart. He laughs in amusement, his honey eyes dancing. She blushes scarlet. He is of gold.

She weaves a spiral in gold. Her heart is falling. There are others just as handsome, others just as sweet, but only he brings a glimmer to her eyes. She weaves a single thread of gold.

The night is a royal blue, with tiny flowers of silver sewn in place, an orb sparkling, round, its threads reflecting golden rays down. Down onto the water, above she waits on the bridge. Shadows are deepening, one is moving, surely coming to her and she smiles. Honey in his smile, cinnamon in his eyes, golden features. Spiced sweetness perfectly blended. They stand apart, so unsure. But of course.

“How bright she smiles. Look her cheeks. She blushes as she weaves.”

He comes and he goes. Her heart flutters and then flies. Gold – all her world is gold. She weaves a thread and smiles, glittering threads are everywhere. Even the rain is gold, the dark starless night. All her world is gold – all her world is him.