Writer on a break

….

Her eyes peel back from a days rest…8 hours of rebuttling to only skip past the babbles when sunrise. Ink clouts the sky in place of the pink and blue hue it took upon last fall. 

Water is an iv that taps into the salty veins while ropes levy around her head in times of dehydration and the hottest summer day. Her fingers scatter towards the mesh window locking in the exhausting heat. Here is when she wishes for winter to return his breaths of ease back through her respiratory.

 …kicking rocks and switching socks has become the hobby of every hour, along with space to marinate thoughts that hardly ever swing by any more. Love is found in unrequited ways as that is the path passion takes for tales.

paperbacks no longer seem to scream enough to suck the hours possibly wasted in a rut of giggles and dry memos that never get through her map of a brain to be remembered the correct way. Although memorable they were never aware of escape routes in incidental beads she left on her neck presented as tests to challenge each moral looked over. 

And here she sits. Shades of black peeling the edges of thick fingernails coated in feelings not one can decode. She's misplaced her paper, and is sure to tuck her pen. Receiving revival needed to run the race. Her race. The uncompleted phrase. The 300 paged life living within her,dusted and patient it remains…

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~Wordyqueen

Aside

Summer Moods

More poetry ig??

I

swallow my tongue… unable to determine motives, comparing reality to what you’ve done in nightmare i’d happen to not daydream but walk into as blindly as any 

curious cat… 

II

Rain water drips from my roof as our audible voices are hushed. My valid statement is preached to which you belch me laughter. my chuckles sound like joys glass has been broken letting a trapped caterpillar free. Each riddle our tones chosen to take flight of every conversation keeps me.

 all night…

III

MOHMA

 I worry about you. About the circles that burrow beneath your lashes like a hamster in a cage…
 don’t think I not one to notice your pain, or how sometimes driving alone seems like the best result. 

But if you’d just hold onto him and keep faith

Mohma pretty soon you’ll find…

Seasons of Rejoice

*******

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Image

The Astronomer

THE ASTRONOMER

They never taught her the prospects of feeling what was. Seemingly infinite, she was young. A far away star; unreachable. Even as toes slighlty began to press into pavement, leaving markings far more immense than the scars that faded with time, She spent peeking at night’s sky, hoping to discover…

Not one telescope could locate what was longed for…

And they couldnt see what she wanted, for herself…

Not an utter of sound shifted within them that spoke amoung this necessity. 

…Being one that fed tongue, mind, and hip, while weaking the valves ability to whisper messages of desire to one’s heart.

 Yet she’d embrace.

While they looked beyond  the frames she called dilated circles, a vulnerable peice of heart remained stranded above the cheek.

Downsized and neglected, two characteristics no one wanted.

Insides wimped as she stood under hungry circles surrounding dry lips, orbiting heated breath, and no interest in the amount of stars she knew by name.

Broken yolk was bonded, like bible said.

 What was left to reveal, sat beneath sweaty temples, and bushy brows. Glass like reflections shot empty visions, in a location they had not bothered to question or even checked to see whether the image staring back was feeling anything.

Between her full lips, brown like mocha, Grew mistakes. Outing every star that shone the differences in  good intentions and ugly desires.

I hope this is good, I was  a bit hesitant to post but, after taking these pictures. This was what my mind blew on me so… I hope you guys like it:) if not love it!!

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Aside

Low

If I told you I was fine.  The line managed to obtain the slient spine would scream.  Sulking. a serenade of the worst possible posture one could think, I’d be… discovered. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing considering the support needed would be much appreciated to an unfittting body, I’d be stooping in. A bit shorter than most, on days… just days.  Listening to the silence that slices meat lying between the crevices he cannot see without the aid of short cut fabric and lips like magic …

If I told you I’m alright. Prancing between the curtains, you’d see me low like no other. Piercing the thighs she screams, “what if I’d had none to give”. So now I’m giving them for the simple fact that others have none to relinquish. Gifts I call them.

And here the air exalting out of ribcages who claim an empty space, lie next to each other. Hand in hand, We’re an indecisive bunch of oddballs and limbo like no other, when will the next time be for us to go under…

If I told you I miss you, the  thin line remaining would shread to pieces before my alright turns into tears that never ran down, cheeks to be considered, a stream of consciousness from imported memories…only pondering fables she seeked in eyes, blowing through hypothetical tissue paper, disappointments ball themselves. As if bowing to the unbothered keeper of wellness in snot. I sniff in agreeance to apologies that tend to go unheard.

  STILL having yet to tell you how sorry I was for not living in bullshit…

Though I’m good. No the phrase doesn’t sound as convincing.  whose to say its been uttered from my lips , looking back on the thick skin and straight posture that holds up a body just long enough to fit the lines in my eyes. that draw  drowsy shrugs, imitating how many fucks are left to give….

trying to not be filled with happiness

when they decipher I’m healthy enough to lead my life the exact opposite

of low…

Pasttimes

Bitter words seem more amusing with charmer…

Eyes that of glass to see through be so vague, concluding in each sentence said sweet and confusing to the mind of youth.  Once boredom is no longer needed to embrace with big hugs, naive girls stand in pathways of pure hopefulness and open arms.

Ones that cannot follow suit with a simple giggle at the sight of you singing her up a riddle she couldn’t define, nor guess as a spat of past lines bounced around again and again. Ending in revelations unnoticed.  Though not before grasping air left of lived desire…whereas desire now lies in her eyes for the fool who blew up, phone lines singing past times of riddles she couldn’t say with her own mind in the right way to be called his. Still rapping sentences she sits in her school chair holding a dictionary, realizing the probability to reap benefits of words with no action and reaasuance is to only help the habit and give into slurred tunes spoken through a dry tongue and inconsiderate heart.

******

Body then becomes sadness like mealancholia in summer heat sucking every inch and leaving an inaudible voice with a mass of daydreams incorporate of idealment on what could’ve been versus what remains…

~Wordyqueen

Gallery

Crazed days

On days like this I think back to the challenges of wrinkles in  your eyes that would send upon a severe sufferning of width in my lip, And eyes gazing following phrases tumbling out one by one,to replay the lines over and over.

me.

 Only wishing to go back to the clueless girl I was…The one who stands today with little to less knowledge of the girl then calling herself clueless now again,  not knowing what to do with the emotions bottled within, written…and suppressed. 
Here, standing motionless waiting for someone she can’t depict to come and embrace the void she attempts sew up with images of her remembrances. 

Here I am on crazed days like this, with not much to say and pain that radiates from my abdomen to my chest, trailing from my eyes up to my imagination, that’s scarred in sacred happenings I wanted to happen that would’ve happened if nothing was screwed up. To the mess I call “the mess I cannot label” for there’s no label for that love. 

To my giggles buried deep waiting to shovel themselves out, on these crazed days where I am one way and you, not far from me.

~wordyqueen

Ikthissucccsbutt

Letter to a stranger

His cheeks rosy from exhaustion and sweat, heart pumping, knees knocking. He’s running. What for? 

I don’t know.

 A letter to the male I met for a split second in my head while he was rushing, i assume away from somthing…

Dear Boy

A pack is on your back, and converse dress your toes. You looked scared and I can’t tell what for, but weary as you are…keep running till you get to where you’ve got to go.
what lies ahead in life remains unknown unless you go for it,wherever  you’re rushing to I hope it has purpose… something we need that contains passion and motivation to keep on.

Have you ever stared into someone’s eyes and assumed that they’d always be there no matter what? I have a habit of doing so imaging the words once we seperate be..

“The space that lies between us two living no matter how many oceans deep, my prescence be the face glued to a phone cord or pen and paper awaiting the many adventures we have yet to discover.”…And if you remember me I will never forget you.”

I wish the me imaging these words would wake up…sometimes And  its crazy, that I’m simply scribbling everything that has nothing to do with whom I’ve directed them to.

You. Whom I not able to recognize from the lanky legs to the red hair…to the unordinary position while hunched over ,with a worried look and no sense of direction … to the cheeks rosy from exhaustion, knees knocking, and heart pumping.

To the invisible breaths I know for sure you’re heaving in and out because no one is ever in shape now adays…to my brain that doesn’t always appreciate the thoughts roaming about…to this letter I’ve written to a stranger who knew nothing about…

~Me.

 ****
Double post today sorry I was out:))