i’ve heard it said, ‘if you cannot be a poet, be the poem’– but somehow, darling, i think you are both. Advertisements
just because i long for the beach does not mean i hate the mountains– i simply feel that home has lost its definition in the dictionary of my soul and i am worn of being left to wander between the two pieces of myself.
here, i don’t know who i am– and at least there, i was sure of who i wanted to become.
how do you live in a place where you bruised so many hearts so quickly after you arrived that all the neon signs are blurred with salty memories of breaking down and becoming the last person on earth that you ever wished to be?
why did you give up right as i began trying?
i hide behind mock turtlenecks and painted lips because i would rather be an image of a poet than the artist herself– less room for disappointment, i suppose when one discovers i am simply a discontent girl rambling on about a broken world in the hopes that someone will listen.
it was a sad awakening to realize that everyone had already moved on with their lives so soon after i left– but i suppose that love is an everchanging concept and life, an unpredictable melding of summer, fall, and winter and i would so much rather their hearts had mended than find myself the cause … More Equinoxes