The thing is, everyone is saying the same shit. Regurgitating the clickbait articles or the 5-minute YouTube videos found on the interwebs. It’s become so easy to remember the tidbits that hold our attention just long enough until it starts to deplete. And then there are the algorithms. Sigh. Reinforcing the content that we have … More Same shit, different time.
Acceptance is an act of the heart, not the mind. I read this sentence a couple of years ago and thought that it was supremely profound. Never before had I looked at “acceptance” in this way so reading such a different thought was very interesting. However, I struggled to understand what this meant in practice. … More Acceptance is an act of the heart, not the mind.
Tears of silence You make me wet every time One drop every second Slowly and slowly Echoing through the years Pulsing beat by beat Struming along with the river flow Tears of silence You make me want to scream
The rain falls freely Playing beats on my umbrella instinctively The candle burns ferociously Giving my face a glow instinctively The wind swhooshes in abundance Leaving me in a typhoon instinctively We live our lives in ordinance Imprinting this earth instinctively Daily Prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/instinct/
There is a word that makes us utter platitudes A word that only allows accommodation of banal ideas With it as our armour, only triviality survives With it we get stuck in a pattern to write the clichés of our lives For the Daily Prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pattern/
Sitting on one syllable lines Wondering if you’ll speak those to me These empty nights wake me up My busy mind wanting to know the answer Awaiting a storm, a roar, a clink Not the sounds I’ll hear outside That’s why I’ll just keep sitting on these one syllable lines Until you find the courage … More one syllable lines
you give me a strand of love that I wish to latch on to but I can only give you a strand of silence that you try to escape from when will you realize we’re just connected with broken lines
Not quite dusk yet but instead painted with a light yellow was the sky. Every day the little girl would step out on the same spot on the porch wearing a red dress. She would hold a helium balloon in her hand gently and look up at its own colour of red. She would hold … More a little girl’s story
the place to hide is in my heart where I weep, where I love, where I ponder it is not for you to see nor for you to know of because I will break from your judgement and your look of despair so let me hide in my heart let me be free don’t ask … More freedom in private
when you are moody everything feels hard everything feels like it’s going against you concentration is impossible and taking interest feels out of reach sleep escapes you but being awake is painful you try to find inspiration, to stay engaged but inspiration sits on the moon laughing at you from up there nothing seems to … More moody