Poetry
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“There is not some exquisite beauty, without some strangeness on the proportion.” – Edgar Allan Poe I always found it odd, call it poetic justice if you will, when a literary quote you’ve carried with you for so long finally clicks into place in your life. I could spin you a tale of my life
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Don’t think with your heart, they tell me, you’ll just end up getting hurt. How, I wonder, am I to think with anything else? What sense is there to be made of the way your hand fits into mine? How am I to make sense of the way your eyes catch mine and I try
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you see people in shapes and beauty i see people in the pain behind their eyes the stardust in their souls their hearts full of dreams their brains full of ideas the way their hands hold the things that matter i see the scars carved into their minds the things they’ve lost the moments they’ve
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And do you ever ask yourself If the person that you are Is the person you were meant to be Or are you too afraid to go that far Courage is to walk Through the valley of our thoughts And face that you which you fear Because we were made to wander Between the mountain
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It was beautiful the way she held the world in her smile and the stars in her eyes. You couldn’t help but trust her. Like knowing if you handed her all your demons she would take each one, break them down, and put them away where they couldn’t hurt you anymore. She would silence all
I Would Rather Be In Bed 