How To Show A Girl She Can Love Herself by CrumbledWings, literature
Literature
How To Show A Girl She Can Love Herself
When you see her cry
you get a rag,
a gentle delicate clothe
lovingly grasp her hand
and dab its tip
to dry each tear as they come
and ask each drop
why it'd leave
such beautiful eyes.
If she wishes
to be in the sky
Tell her to go
Take the sun ransom
And replace it in the sky
So you can see her every morning
and plead for her
To return each night.
When you see her scars
Both visible
And non
touch each
gently like you might
caress the broken wing
Of a dove
and remind her
that for every hurt
that she's survived
has only made her
that much more unique
that much stronger.
Show her that she is worthy of love
That she deserves the love
she
lessons I wasn't taught at school by slipcast-chrysalism, literature
Literature
lessons I wasn't taught at school
1.I've gotten really good at walking out on people.
2.He was only collateral damage.
3.There is an infinity carved on the tree where your head once used to rest.
4. You smell of apple cyder, musk and her.
5. She created drama when there was none because that is how she liked to be; weak.
6. I've never seen snow.
7. They always misinterpreted your emotions, didn't they?
8. He never got why she preferred sitting cross-legged on the floor.
9. She knew by memory to the last detail every crease that strained his face.
10. He never really understood her.
11. You're selfish and self-absorbed but that is partially my fault because I gave y
I'm sorry I wasn't there,
I'm sorry I could not save you.
But look up at me now, love,
Look up at me with those astonishing, crystal eyes
And know that I will love you
Until this heart of mine has given out.
I am your present
And your future;
I will love you for more than your body,
I will love your wild personality,
I will love your motherly instincts,
I will love your acceptance,
I will love your understanding,
I will love your "frustrations",
I will love your timidness,
I will love your stubbornness,
I will love your laughter,
I will love your tears,
I will love your scars,
I will love your flaws,
But most of all;
I will love you.
I can't write poetry for dead girls. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
Winter’s Child
An immaculate adolescent was born,
Under the chill frigid conditions,
Resting beneath ivory flakes.
Pure powder covering her tresses,
As her white iris
Are revealed to the Heavens,
And the vapors open;
The flurry continues above.
Tips of her finger, nestled in her palms,
Before she places her outstretched fingertips,
Into the softness of the crystalline,
She rises, her feet buried in the fallen particles,
Standing tall in the blizzard.
She is the personification of the frost,
Of the cold, ice, and snow.
She is Winter’s Child.
blowing my teeth out the back of my skull by counting-vertebrae, literature
Literature
blowing my teeth out the back of my skull
I.
we are hynagogic wasteland words, unraveling
corpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasoline
II.
and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones
( i will never be rid of you ).
I woke up craving you this morning.
Is that weird?
I rolled over and the light hit my face
and for a moment I wished it was your lips
soft, kissing my cheek instead of the sun.
I reached for a moment, for your hand,
to intertwine my fingers between yours
it seemed as though I'd be reaching forever.
I woke up longing for your touch,
for your hands, gentle,
tracing down my spine.
I imagined you stroking my hair,
leaning down to whisper "good morning beautiful"
and I swear I could feel your breath on my ear.
I moved my legs, searching for yours
so we could play footsies
underneath the sheets, our sheets.
I woke up craving you this morning.