I wish I could go back to the very first day I saw you
Should've made my move when you looked in my eyes
'Cause by now I know that you'd feel the way that I do
And I'd whisper these words as you'd lie here by my side
~ Céline Dion
I have a skeleton or two in my closet. Skulls, caught for eternity in a scream.
Sometimes at night, when the disquiet starts setting into my soul, they start scratching at the door from inside.
Rattling bones and rattling doors.
Shrieks and screeches then weave me a lullaby each night, of divorces, of death, and of suicides. .
I don't know what I fear more though, the skeletons finally breaking down the door one day and their bony hands coming to rest on my throat, or that maybe one day it'll be my own hand that unlocks the door. That that day maybe I'll let them loose, and lock myself in instead, a skeleton to someone else now.
And as I just sit here, night after night, hating the darkness, and even more so the moon, many a nights, the solitude of mine is broken by a raven that claws at those doors as well.
"If but once more." "If but once more." .
Or maybe it's just there to take the blame as a part of me that I didn't remember to lock inside is what screams this, for want of warmth in the otherwise cold and desolate room, and a cold and desolate life.
6 foot soul.
Worth the repent
Nothing like it.
But what for?
So that was then.
Most often the people who criticize your life are usually the same ones who don't know the price you paid to get where you are today.
Tag me in your #repost : @therealyras ⠀ ⠀ ⠀
🌷 “tulips” - 03/12 ❤️
This poem is about the Dutch woman with whom I was infatuated with. This past week I expressed my feelings to her and told her what she did for me and for my art, by being my inspiration. It’s been a month since we first met, and my feelings for her had only gotten stronger as time went on. She replied to my silly little letter and told me that she appreciated my work, and to keep writing. I didn't expect her to reply, but I was thankful that she did. She made me unashamed of myself and my feelings, and to accept myself for who I am. I could tell it was merely out of courtesy, since I laid my emotions bare in front of her, simultaneously scaring her and flattering her at the same time.
Still, I don't regret what I did- not a single bit. To think that if I hadn’t met her and acknowledged these feelings of mine, that I wouldn't be pursuing the thing I loved the most right now, isn’t a world I want to live in. But, I realize that by having this crush, I'm just hurting myself with my expectations of the version of her I created in my head. In reality, she’s straight, twice my age, and is someone who i’m never going to see again- another case of the all too familiar, unrequited love- with a slight touch of psycho. Hopefully this will be the last poem I write about her, as I move on to another chapter of my life and look back with gratitude and honestly, in laughter.
D, If you're reading this, which you might, I wish I could have said all this to you in person, but I was glad that I at least had the chance to tell you how I really feel. I will never forget you or will I ever regret what I did for you, as crazy as it may seem now. But to prevent myself from spiraling into a cycle of self-pity and despair, I realize I had to “switch off” my feelings for you for a little while. Deep down, I wish that I could have another chance to start over, but I know this has to mean goodbye, for both of our sake. You truly have been my one in a million, and have given me my once-in-a-lifetime chance in doing something that I, never, in a million years, thought would ever do.
But hey, it’s definitely a killer story for the both of us.