They Say “fake It Till You Make It.” The Problem With That Though Is That You’ve Been Faking It

Soon, I will buy some books and read them. In the evening, I will go to the movies, and at night, I will listen to the rain falling on the city. And it will be like this until spring. And until spring, I won’t talk to anyone about love.

Marek Hlasko

Malignancy of swans

Dedication:

to my beloved, to my fragile little cygnet

….nested inside these folded pages….

scar tissues over my lungs from breathing too loud, your fingers imprinted on my ivory neck…. like wheat surrendered to the sun, I too had a perfectly splendid song.

the harmony of night is yet to begin

but my skin too pale & my neck too long

and now even the ghosts are tired of listening to me.

you said your blood needs rest, so I left my heart stranded on top of your wine glass, toasting a half miracle.

crimson patchwork over white plumes;

for you my love. all of it.

phantom limbs over lost wings;

for you my love. all of it.

a baptism in poison water;

for you my love. all of it.

shoulders bleed.

your cygnet did.

for you my love. all of it.

shoulders itch.

midnight's screech birthed onyx feathers

it engulfed my skin, my soul, my dream.

come my love, rest on my lips. have a look at the colour before the glass cuts too deep.

the malignancy of swans has caught up to my neck — let your lullaby be my swan song, let my coal heart dress for the wake.

my love, I do perfect pirouettes over these folded pages as my shadow burns a chasm into their core.

Epilogue:

for my beloved, for my formidable cygnus

…..lingering over these charred pages……

— circadeacademia

please please please please reblog if you’re a writer and have at some point felt like your writing is getting worse. I need to know if I’m the only one who’s struggling with these thoughts

Home is with the wind in my face

The safest I have felt today

Hugging me and blowing my tears away

Perhaps it is safe to say, when you're sad, esp on a windy day....go out, get a feeeeel..

bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.

Missing you is like a knife plunged so deeply in me that I am bleeding out of any sense of the world.

Sara Teasdale, from The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale; "Song,"

Artwork by: Gusfink🖤