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Literature
Eternity
How many seconds in eternity?
One. Only ever one.
The next one.
:iconKizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba
:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba 13 1
Literature
If no one sees us fall, do we still break?
I grew tired of the lies
So I built this city of cardboard
And played hide and seek.
Or maybe it was tag.
I call shotgun.
I get to be the fugitive first.
Then it can be your turn.
Wait.
Stop.
This isn't right.
You are not Anubis.
You do not get to decide my worth.
And I am not Christ.
I do not get to judge you.
Did Lucifer fall
Or did he trip?
Yes.
There's a difference.
We're paradoxical,
You and I.
Like killing trees
To discover how long they have lived.
We'll destroy each other
To discover how strong we are.
Kiss me.
Like a mother.
Like a lover.
Tender.
Hurt me.
Like a mother.
Like a lover.
Tender.
Tell me you are trying to help.
More lies.
But they are not for me.
I'll tell you the same.
One more lie.
But it is not for your benefit.
We're falling,
You and me,
Like lonely trees in a forest
With no one to hear them.
Or maybe we've tripped,
A tangle of limbs.
Because yes,
There is a difference.
(It's all in the landing.)
:iconKizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba
:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba 5 0
Literature
How I See Healing II
The storm was fierce.
Waves masquerading as mountains,
Claiming the moon was at fault,
That they weren't in control of their actions.
There was no moon that night.
Whether she had run away in fear of the water
Or was watching from behind the clouds,
Whispering orders,
I do not know.
I do not know if blame has any single form.
The waves would break me,
The moon might be the cause,
Or the magnets in the earth below,
Or maybe the water just doesn't like me.
I don't know.
But shouting at the storm
Will only sink my ship faster.
So I clung to my compass,
As untrustworthy as it has proven,
And I hold to my ship.
The wind can steal the sails,
And the waves can batter the boards,
But I will sail through.
Because the only way to survive a storm
Is to act like it isn't happening.
The rocks were a surprise.
Winds that scream
And waves that smother,
That can be survived.
But the rocks were a surprise.
They tore apart my ship,
Let the water in to do its damage.
There was no ship left to sail.
I hel
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Literature
Hollow Bones
Hollow bones
Strung tight.
Pull the wire right,
Give the bird life.
His mother is upset.
He can't stay awake.
When love is a mistake,
Every kiss is a crime.
He looks vacant.
Invisible galaxies.
There are always casualties,
Floating through the void.
Breathe in deep.
Air like liquid over your tongue.
A life unsung,
Even silent notes have an echo.
:iconKizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba
:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba 3 1
Literature
To Be Continued.
Good morning.
I've been sat here trying to name you,
As you asked me to.
It's proving difficult.
You see, you are not poetry.
You are not pretty,
Brimming with barely concealed mystery.
You are not music,
Graceful or fulfilling.
And you are not paint.
I'm fairly sure that one
Doesn't need further explanation.
You are not art.
You are frustrating.
Because art is not all I know,
But it is a large part.
I cannot name you,
Not in the way you asked.
But maybe I can talk to you,
Maybe I can know you instead.
You are.
It is exactly that simple
And that complex.
You are.
In a way so many wish for,
In a way so many emulate.
You are
And don't you dare forget it.
I could throw so many metaphors at you,
Drown you in a sea of smilies.
But that wouldn't be you,
Even if it would be me.
You are not easy.
So perhaps this failure in ink
Is more fitting than I first thought.
Or perhaps I am the wrong poet for you,
Despite your stubborn denial.
You are a certainty
And yet ever changing.
Adapting?
:iconKizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba
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Literature
Home
I once knew this boy called Home,
Which was ironic really
Because I'd never met anyone so lost,
Unless I looked in the mirror maybe.
And to this day I don't know how we became friends,
Almost as if we decided it was better to be lost together
Than to figure out how to be found.
Because we didn't find each other.
Not really.
Not at all.
But at the time,
That didn't matter.
We sang songs together,
Laughed together,
Shared packets of skittles.
I would give him all the red ones
And he would pick out the yellows for me.
That's real friendship right there.
You see for him, it was all about the flavours,
A touch of sweet to wash the words away,
Tasty chemicals to make the world feel okay.
But for me, It was all about the colour.
You see I could find red anywhere,
Anger was no stranger,
But yellow?
Now that was rarer.
It was a shade I could look at,
And not smile, nothing that extreme,
But it was brighter.
It was brighter.
And I could take this colour into myself,
Swallow it down,
Let it melt
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Literature
Memories
1. There is fire in the sky
And it spreads and it spreads
And I remember looking up and thinking wow,
I wonder if hell is this beautiful.
2. I’m small,
So small,
And I look at the window as we drive
And the clouds have opened
And beams of light are coming down and I say look, look,
Those beams, that light,
That means that god is talking to somebody right now.
Look how pretty it is.
And my dad stays quiet
While my mother turns and smiles and she says
That’s beautiful.
And I remember watching as we drove on and trees blocked the sight
And I thought, that’s it,
God speaks to people, and that’s what it looks like.
3. I saw your smile and I changed my mind.
That’s how god speaks to people.
4. I’m older and I wonder
What happened to the the gods that came before?
What happened to Ra and his falcon head?
What happened to Anubis and his jackals?
Where have they gone?
Where do gods go when we no longer believe in them?
5. I wonder how many gods’ names w
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Literature
Memories
1. There is fire in the sky
And it spreads and it spreads
And I remember looking up and thinking wow,
I wonder if hell is this beautiful.
2. I’m small,
So small,
And I look at the window as we drive
And the clouds have opened
And beams of light are coming down and I say look, look,
Those beams, that light,
That means that god is talking to somebody right now.
Look how pretty it is.
And my dad stays quiet
While my mother turns and smiles and she says
That’s beautiful.
And I remember watching as we drove on and trees blocked the sight
And I thought, that’s it,
God speaks to people, and that’s what it looks like.
3. I saw your smile and I changed my mind.
That’s how god speaks to people.
4. I’m older and I wonder
What happened to the the gods that came before?
What happened to Ra and his falcon head?
What happened to Anubis and his jackals?
Where have they gone?
Where do gods go when we no longer believe in them?
5. I wonder how many gods’ names w
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Literature
Nursery Rhyme
Lucy.
I don’t know why I’ve named you that
But it seems to fit.
We’ll laugh about that one day.
Little Lucy lost in space,
Forever feeling out of place,
Leaving life without a trace.
You’re a nursery rhyme,
Twisting through my mind,
Repetitive and thoughtless,
Irritating in its familiarity.
Let’s play some heavy rock,
Doom metal with a bass line
That can reconfigure a heartbeat.
Something loud,
That doesn’t hide its darkness.
You ever notice that all nursery rhymes
Are about death?
Fires and plagues and infanticide.
You always were one for following patterns.
Little Lucy darling,
How about a cup of tea
With a slice of lemon?
A little bit of sour
To get rid of the bitter.
Maybe then you’ll be able to swallow
Your own words.
Maybe you’ll even tell us why,
Tongue curling involuntarily,
Lemon flesh bursting across your palette.
Maybe not.
Actually,
Forget the tea.
I’ll need vodka to get through this shit,
Strong and tasteless,
Something
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:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba 1 1
Literature
Gravity
There are absolutes in this world
Broken Promises. Tears. Gravity.
These things are inescapable.
This world is cruel,
Harsh,
And most often, it is unforgiving.
But just as there is pain,
Just as there is gravity,
There are also intangible things,
Rare and beautiful.
Hope. Love.
Feathers caught on a breeze.
This world is cruel,
Harsh,
And most often, it is unforgiving.
So when these things,
These delicate, untouchable things
Appear,
There is light.
And they shine through the darkness.
And that is when true promises are made,
And kept.
That is when laughter rings though the night.
That is when we fly.
This world is cruel,
Harsh,
And most often, it is unforgiving.
Flight was never the cure for gravity.
Everybody falls.
Flight was the balance.
Flight was the joy,
That made the fall worth it.
That made the fall bearable.
That makes us all,
Each and every one,
Pick ourselves up,
Heal our broken bones,
And go in search of our wings
Once more.
This world is cruel,
Harsh,
But sometimes, it is f
:iconKizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba
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Literature
Immortal
The whole world is crying,
Generations of heartbreak,
How can this be?
Did we forget to tell him?
Did we forget to mention
That he was immortal?
And oh how I sighed
When they asked if I knew his name.
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:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba 8 2
Literature
Confessions
1. I have a cactus that I constantly cut my fingers on,
And a plant so soft I always reach to stroke its leaves.
They sit side by side on my windowsill,
A miniature orchid pushed off to the side,
Its purple flowers glowing.
2. The day I gave away my wheelchair
I cried until my throat was raw,
Rough sobs shaking my whole skeleton.
I still don’t know if it was in relief
Or in fear.
3. I remember every time my mother
Has called me vile
And meant it.
The echoes haunt me,
And I’ve never told her.
Never told her that I remember.
Never told her that I believe her.
4. I love my father.
I hate him at the same time.
He’s done terrible things.
But I know he loves me.
I know he tried.
I think he wants me to love him,
To forget about the hate.
I’m not sure I can.
5. Sometimes I go looking for help.
I always end up crying
Before I find it.
I stop searching.
6. There are some things I’ll never do straight away,
Like laundry and vacuuming and painkillers.
Like admitting I
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:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba 7 3
Literature
How I See Healing
The wind guides her waves,
Leads them to the shore,
Soothes them through the break,
And takes off once more.
Quite eyes watch the sunlight
Playing across the waters surface,
Imperfections gloriously highlighted,
Beautiful and fleeting,
This is a moment to live in.
We are made of shipwrecks,
Edges broken and splintered,
Sails stained and torn.
We are lost
But maybe we can find each other.
We still cling to anchors
And clasp tight to our broken compass,
Scarred from every hull
These rocks have claimed.
But we pick ourselves up,
And others along the way.
We are made from shipwrecks,
Grounded by stormy seas.
Do you want to search
For seashells with me?
:iconKizin-of-kaplumba:Kizin-of-kaplumba
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Literature
Family Dinners
Life made dinner last night,
Singing along to the birdsong
And saturating the building
With basil and mint.
Death sulked in the living room,
His coat clenched tight.
I started the fire
And pretended not to notice his shivers.
"You hate me." He said.
"No."
Actually,
I think I love him.
"You like Life." He grumbled.
And I listened to the singing,
Considered the smells soaking into my carpets,
And the freezing man waiting for him.
Always freezing
And always waiting.
"No." I said.
                    "Life's a slut."
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Literature
Untitled
Most great poems tell a story,
Teach a lesson,
Add something to the world
That was always there
But needed to be remembered.
This isn’t a great poem.
This is just the realisation
That one day
You let go of my hand.
And never picked it up again.
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Literature
Forest Fires
I can taste a forest fire
In the back of my throat.
No amount of Saline can wash it away
Ash is trailing into my lungs,
Lining my breaths,
And staining me grey.
Machines cry out an alarm,
They're saying my name,
But there are no firefighters left.
Bury me in the ash.
(Let new roots tangle in my ribs)
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Favourites

angry, young and poor by stacheLhaut angry, young and poor :iconstachelhaut:stacheLhaut 1,991 269
Literature
My heart's opening hours: out to coffee, back in 5
I am a part time lover,
clocking in, clocking out,
never staying long.
The others, they work all
day, from opening hours to
closing time, walking between
darkened aisles, locking up
with a practised precision,
turn the key to the left,
jiggle it a bit, press hard,
wrench it
back.
But I haven’t been around
long enough to pick up the
habits, forget to log my
breaks, my lapses, my
shit-i-forgot-my-lunch-be-right-back
moments.
He is a skilled manager,
expecting a promotion any day
for the last five years; he is
diligent and polite and can
I help you today ma’am? he is
suited and booted and stands
behind the register as if it is
his crown while I shuffle from
dead stare to lazy smirk, always
leaving never staying even a half
the way into my welcome. I drop lovers
like weekend shifts, take the awkward
Friday afternoons that no-one else will
have as if they are orphans; I am taking in
strays and they are eating me out of heart
and home. and the store will open and close
without me
:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet
:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet 19 12
Literature
an open letter to my twelve year old self
one day you will cut all your hair off,
and hang up a map of the world in your
room and  you will look at it on days
you think your life is going nowhere.
i hate to tell you this, but this isn’t
your worst year. it also isn’t your
best.
one day you will cut all your hair off
and realize that some poems need to be read
out loud, to an audience, so you’ll take a hammer
and some nails and build yourself one
out of a girl whose veins look fragile but
whose bones are strong, a boy who isn’t as tall as
he thinks he is, but whose lifelines are the deepest
you’ve ever seen, and a girl whose eyes remind you of the
east coast shore.
one day you will cut all your hair off,
and learn that you can like pink
just as much as you like blue
and the world will not fall apart
along its fault lines. there are other flags
you can wave with pride that
aren’t American.
one day you will cut all your hair off
and figure out how to forgive yourself,
figure out how to sta
:iconMisfitableGrae:MisfitableGrae
:iconmisfitablegrae:MisfitableGrae 130 22
Literature
a list of things colleges don't want to know
1. i have a cactus named atticus that i bought
on the day i thought i was going to die,
and i never forget to water it, not
even when i forget how it feels
to breathe without my lungs rebelling
against my brain.
2. sometimes talking feels like walking on gravel
in a Georgian summer heat.
i try to keep talking anyway,
and hope that eventually
my voice will lose its softness and grow calluses.
3. once, a man whistled at me
outside of a grocery store from
the safety of his car.
four years later, i still haven’t stopped looking
over my shoulder.
4. i drive too fast and i take turns too sharply
and i never put enough sugar
in my tea and i could probably survive
on watermelon alone. i’m left handed
and once taught myself to write only in capital
letters to piss off my seventh grade english teacher.
5. i have never felt closer to my father
than when we stayed
outside till two a.m. in november and watched
a meteor shower.
6. there are some things
i don’t think i’ll ever
:iconMisfitableGrae:MisfitableGrae
:iconmisfitablegrae:MisfitableGrae 136 17
Literature
wander into my side of the universe
some days i will
fade a           w                       a                y
to a less safe place
so i can get my mind
outside of my head
and write the poetry
that i bleed out of my
eyes because i can't
sleep at night, i want
to live at night and
six a.m. and six p.m.
and eight a. and p.m.,
i want to ride in cars
as the sun's rising and
the sky turns lilac like
an artist's palette, i
want cherry cola and those
clothes from the seventies
because i'm too cool, but
not enough for school
i'm in love with two people,
one's a fantasy, the other's
a blood-knuckled goth/grunge/
skater girl who loves me and
i just murdered a connection
at five in the morning;
who needs sleep anyways
i imagine the
three of us
cruising down
the highway,
so fast and
young and wishing
we were seventeen,
we would do anything
to fast forward time and
then just p a u s e
to admire t
:iconskullhips:skullhips
:iconskullhips:skullhips 18 11
Literature
the galaxies are gone from your eyes.
.
the galaxies were held in his eyes.
i.
supernovas contained in something the size of a dime
nebulas colliding, impartial, hazy, indistinct in their numbers and forms
the milky way, splotchy, incomplete,
more like a spilled paint mistake than god's masterpiece.
ii.
we sat on his bed, ragged, well-loved like everything else he owned.
we talked about how we'd leave one day,
escape the suburban life,
trade it in for some other adventure.
and i asked,
     "why do you like girls who are ugly?"
he gave me a look, then turned away,
     "i like a girl with stardust in her hair,
     constellations illuminating her face.
     that's why i like you."

he smiled slightly.
maybe he's right,
maybe one day i'll be a starchild, too.
iii.
we were starchildren,
floundering before a polaris stuck atop every streetlight,
and though we followed it's l
:iconvvlpes:vvlpes
:iconvvlpes:vvlpes 33 20
Literature
artistas nunca mueren
foreign movies and lollipops,
s
 t       n
   r   w
     o
   t   l
         l  
(stroll through town)
phillip was an
artist with his
head in the clouds
and his art earth-
bound; paint splatters
and line strokes gliding
randomly across the page
does not count as ice skating,
it's a playground masterpiece
"that's not a compliment,
phillip."
learn
from
his
mistakes
or
suffer
the
lack
of
achievements
in
your
poetically
short
life;
ex
h  a                  l                                                      e
through
your
heart
and
bleed
the
paint
for
your
canvas,
where
are
you
gonna
get
your
art
supplies,
michaels?
words
written
on
the
page
should
have
come
naturally;
y
:iconskullhips:skullhips
:iconskullhips:skullhips 15 5
Literature
she told me i was her cliche.
today i found inspiration huddled
under the dining room table,
arms wrapped around her legs
and shredded post-it notes
like an ocean surrounding
her feet.
i never thought it possible
to see her look
so bitter.
i asked her why the hell
she decided to come back
after all this time.
she shrugged and gestured
to the scraps of paper
littering the ground-
i wrote your name two thousand times
to get you out of my head.
i burned every picture and tore
every poem.
trust me,
i'm not the one
who keeps
coming
back.
:iconStarlightComet:StarlightComet
:iconstarlightcomet:StarlightComet 38 13
Literature
ephemeral
i could tell you it's going to be hard.
i could tell you life is a roller-coaster
of heaven highs and lows that drag
you all the way to the core
of the earth
and then finds a way to somehow pull you
all the way
back
up
so it can break you all over again.
i could tell you he's going to love you-
eventually.
i could tell you to stop worrying about
that first kiss you're not gonna get until
you're six
(teen)
because honestly kissing's going to suck
until you meet him
and maybe even for a little bit after
until you guys get it
just
right.
i could tell you to stop being such a bitch
to that chubby girl in your class
because one day after you move in the middle
of fourth grade you'll be bullied in fifth grade
and then as some sort of fucked up defense mechanism
you'll drop a metal seat belt on a little girl's head
just so they stop thinking you're weak.
i could tell you how it'll feel-
how one morning you'll wake up
drown-
ing
in regret over every mean thing
you've ever said and i swear to g
:iconStarlightComet:StarlightComet
:iconstarlightcomet:StarlightComet 38 28
Literature
don't write poems for fuckboys.
you
are not perfect.
you begin
miles beneath that golden line,
all sweat and sinew
and broken hearts,
sheets stained
with the hunger
of a hundred different girls.
you
are not perfect.
handsome
like a fool, a
graceful maelstrom
whipping through the
whippoorwills and
kissing birdsong
down my spine.
you
are not perfect.
I can see
that scar on your hip,
the achilles heel in your
safeword,
animal
caged and calculating
the next best way
to rip into
my fresh meat.
you
are not perfect.
but your skin tastes like
vodka.
eyes blazing
obsidian, tongue
murmuring sweetness
against my name,
you are
a hunter
with far too willing
a prey.
you
are not perfect.
but you carry your charisma
like a thunderstorm,
and you smile like you know
I am aching for the rain,
and you -
well, you can call me baby
whenever you damn well
please.
:iconneonsquiggle:neonsquiggle
:iconneonsquiggle:neonsquiggle 69 30
Literature
read this when you're so angry you shake
little drops of oil make rainbows on wet concrete
and i don’t know how beautiful you find that,
but sometimes you gotta learn that
the littlest things are the prettiest,
like the shape of your fingernails and the crinkles
you get at the corner of your eyes when you laugh and
when you grow old and i know i said “grow old”
like it’s a temporary thing, but that’s because it is.
you can think it’s forever but it’s really
a split second because you don’t matter, not when
the universe is still growing and speeding through a nothingness
we can’t even fathom, not when color doesn’t exist in space
but nebulas still explode in shades of gold and green,
not when there are stars who die
before their light ever touches our faces. you don’t matter,
not to anyone but the people who have fallen in love
with the way you walk and the way you breathe
and the way you keep doing both.
i don’t care that the universe is spinning and grow
:iconMisfitableGrae:MisfitableGrae
:iconmisfitablegrae:MisfitableGrae 494 61
Literature
11:10 a.m.
oh my god, i tell my friend after class, i want
to spend the rest of my life making him laugh.
she rolls her eyes and says that i shouldn’t
say that because i’m so young and i have no idea
how long my life will be and i tell her that that’s
the point.
that i may die tomorrow, but i want to be able to call you
up at two a.m. and read you my shitty poems and
pretend that i didn’t imagine the way
you twirl your pencil around your fingers as i wrote them.
i want to be able to pick out your heartbeat in a crowded
room because i’ve spent so long with my head against
your chest that your pulse is imprinted into my eardrums.
i want to be so gone over you that i smile big enough that
everyone else around me smiles too.
for the first time in my life, i can believe that god built
eve out of one of adam’s ribs— they must have
fit together almost as perfectly as you and i do,
identical down to their very bones, so that when
she shook in fear, he did too. an
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Literature
They sing 'one for sorrow' and now you know why
A fortune-teller once told her that she had
eyes made for crying and that there would be
sparrow-boned boys with fledgling sharp beaks
who would smell it on her. And they would peck
peck peck kisses on her eyelids and leave claw-prints
on her palms, leave tears welling in her eyes as they
soared.
She would forever be the branch, never the bird. Spring
could paint her sakura-pink and summer could coat her
in honey-amber sap but there would
always be an autumn, a winter, when
the geese would mark out arrows over
head, calling the birds to migrate to tropical
freckle-faced girls and pebble-beach-back
women, all sunshine all the time. But she was
a girl that waned and waxed, cycling through
the seasons, inhospitable in the late December
nights, frostbitten in the February fortnights.
She had eyes made for crying, watching lovers fall
from her fingers like leaves, flying to warmer climates
and exotic seas. She had eyes made for crying, when
she fell in love with a magpie-eyed boy too hard,
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:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet 23 2
Chapter 4: Nightmare (Part I) by wlop Chapter 4: Nightmare (Part I) :iconwlop:wlop 1,131 85

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How many seconds in eternity?

One. Only ever one.
The next one.
I grew tired of the lies
So I built this city of cardboard
And played hide and seek.

Or maybe it was tag.
I call shotgun.
I get to be the fugitive first.
Then it can be your turn.

Wait.
Stop.
This isn't right.

You are not Anubis.
You do not get to decide my worth.
And I am not Christ.
I do not get to judge you.

Did Lucifer fall
Or did he trip?

Yes.
There's a difference.

We're paradoxical,
You and I.
Like killing trees
To discover how long they have lived.
We'll destroy each other
To discover how strong we are.

Kiss me.
Like a mother.
Like a lover.
Tender.

Hurt me.
Like a mother.
Like a lover.
Tender.

Tell me you are trying to help.
More lies.
But they are not for me.

I'll tell you the same.
One more lie.
But it is not for your benefit.

We're falling,
You and me,
Like lonely trees in a forest
With no one to hear them.

Or maybe we've tripped,
A tangle of limbs.

Because yes,
There is a difference.
(It's all in the landing.)
The storm was fierce.
Waves masquerading as mountains,
Claiming the moon was at fault,
That they weren't in control of their actions.
There was no moon that night.
Whether she had run away in fear of the water
Or was watching from behind the clouds,
Whispering orders,
I do not know.
I do not know if blame has any single form.
The waves would break me,
The moon might be the cause,
Or the magnets in the earth below,
Or maybe the water just doesn't like me.
I don't know.
But shouting at the storm
Will only sink my ship faster.

So I clung to my compass,
As untrustworthy as it has proven,
And I hold to my ship.
The wind can steal the sails,
And the waves can batter the boards,
But I will sail through.
Because the only way to survive a storm
Is to act like it isn't happening.

The rocks were a surprise.
Winds that scream
And waves that smother,
That can be survived.
But the rocks were a surprise.
They tore apart my ship,
Let the water in to do its damage.
There was no ship left to sail.

I held to a piece of driftwood,
Clung to it as if I was clinging to life itself,
As if I was clinging to myself.
And it was hard.
But I held on,
With broken and bloodied fingers
I held on.

Until, eventually, we rolled onto shore,
The water carrying me gently,
Placing me on the sand like a mother
Who cannot understand why her daughter
Is covered in bruises.
And maybe the moon was at fault,
Because she was nowhere to be seen
While her brother stood guard.

I sat on that shore for months,
For years.
Wandering up and down slowly,
Occasionally finding pieces of myself
Washed up in the form of driftwood.
Some I left behind,
Some I carried with me.

We are all shipwrecked,
Each broken boards claimed by rocky shores.
These lands will hold us.
They are dangerous, in their way.
Because land is safety
But nothing ever changes while you are safe,
Which means you will always be broken here.

The waves may have damaged you,
But it was the rocks that broke you.
And even now the water tries to return your ship to you,
Pieces reduced to their core
But pieces that know how to survive a storm.
I don't know if blame has any single form,
But maybe it is a board you can leave behind.

I still hold to my compass,
As untrustworthy as it has proven to be,
And I have enough wood now
To rebuild.
I'm heading back out to sea.
And I'm taking a sea shell with me
But that is all I need of this place.
It is time to move on.
There is so much more to see.
How I See Healing II
Healing is a complicated process, and one that is ever shifting I think. And for those of you who are still stuck in the storm or clinging to your last boards then just keep holding on, because it may feel like the forces of the universe are combining to drown you but that isn't the case. If my ship hadn't sunk, I would have been lost in those waves I think. If my ship hadn't sunk, I may have jumped from it. Sometimes a shipwreck is what we need. Sometimes we need to be forced into those months or years of quiet on a beach to remember why we ventured into the sea in the first place. And I loved that beach, as much as I hated being landlocked. It was a haven, a sanctuary. But if you stay there then you will never know anything other than the storm that broke you and the sand that saved you. You will never know about the thousands of things that balance between them.

A haven is a good place to come home to, but it isn't one to live in. 




For those of you interested in the original it can be found here:
kizin-of-kaplumba.deviantart.c…
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Hollow bones
Strung tight.
Pull the wire right,
Give the bird life.

His mother is upset.
He can't stay awake.
When love is a mistake,
Every kiss is a crime.

He looks vacant.
Invisible galaxies.
There are always casualties,
Floating through the void.

Breathe in deep.
Air like liquid over your tongue.
A life unsung,
Even silent notes have an echo.

deviantID

Kizin-of-kaplumba
Bethany
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Current Residence: my own little world
Favourite style of art: landscapes or waterscapes
MP3 player of choice: ipod nano/touch
Personal Quote: anywhere, everywhere and all the places in between
Interests

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:iconcomatose-comet:
comatose-comet Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the fave :rose:
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:iconpoetryod:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2015

Hey! :rose:


I wanted to drop by personally to say thanks for joining TheWritePlace! I’m excited that people seem enthusiastic about it :giggle: If you wanna know more about our group check out Our Rules (there aren’t many and they’re all mostly common sense to me!) or just ask! If you fancy getting more involved we do have positions open which you can find out about here. For now I hope you enjoy the group and find it helpful. If you have ideas on how to make it more useful, suggestions, feedback, anything, just let us know - and when our chatroom #TheWritePlace officially launches (soon) I hope to see you in there too :love:


- Kate :heart:


:iconthewriteplace:

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:iconskullhips:
skullhips Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thank you for the watch!!!!! :tighthug: :hug: :huggle: :heart:
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:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:
Kizin-of-kaplumba Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome, your writing is amazing. 

And thanks for the llama! :glomp: remake 
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:iconskullhips:
skullhips Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
no problemo! APH Prussia tackle hug 
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:iconthousandfoldfeathers:
Thousandfoldfeathers Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2015  Student General Artist
I don't know who you are, but Have a Llama and have a nice day I am a dummy! 
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:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:
Kizin-of-kaplumba Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
well thank you very much :TipOfTheHat: 
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:iconcomatose-comet:
comatose-comet Featured By Owner Apr 28, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the fave :heart:
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:iconkizin-of-kaplumba:
Kizin-of-kaplumba Featured By Owner May 21, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Wow, thank you very very much, I'm honoured. I hope you keep making features, it's good way of introducing new art to people and it's always appreciated by the artists. And I hope I keep writing things that you enjoy, thank you again
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