The Place With Wings | βœ“

Von bromeliades

3.5K 339 459

she went looking for magic and never came back. Mehr

foreword
AND SO, IT BEGINS.
I. THE CALL
rain schedule
gossamer heart
woman, reborn
lazily stirring old memories
tenere spiritum
a siren's song
let me free
snake charmer
hurricane women
the eyes of the mountain
how i fall apart
tangerine and fuchsia
lemongrass
flower stickers
the hands of the sea
II. THE JOURNEY
nearing the edges
queen scherazade
one breath
3 A.M. hands
the last nereid
homeward
bath sheba
full-circle
novocaine
lessons i remember
fire roots
weather report
warm blood
i have a dream
perpetual summer
III. THE DESTINATION
exhaustive facade
cherry-flavored love
moon spirit
romantic gestures
postcard
pretty delusions, books, and mystery
fireproof
within the mold
dipping fahrenheit
plead the fifth
frigid breath
for rent
clinging to memories to still feel desirable
nice guys
THE END ARRIVES WITH THE BEGINNING, HAND IN HAND.

fiber

32 4 6
Von bromeliades

some things I've realized:

i am only a girl. who tries not to base her self-worth on the way the world sees her. and yet, she does anyway. because without the perception of the world, i am nothing. i can only be a fleeting thought or dream. but i want to be solid and tangible to touch. but not base my soul off of accomplishments or trace the outline of myself with trophies and certificates. i know myself. and i don't need anyone to know me but me. there is no need to prove my validity with something to hold and admire when i am tangible enough myself. touch me. i am a shivering girl who is brazen in her vulnerability. on some days, it is hard. on some days, it is easy. but in the end, i am known to the world as who i'd like them to perceive me as. a girl who is kind and who at first loves tentatively, and then all at once. she has no trophies, but her heart bleeds freely. look at her hands. they are my hands. they are sunbrowned and not very soft, they spend a lot of time working on the garden. they try to help me grow. these are hands that are sometimes shaky, sometimes hide things, sometimes tap on knees out of nervousness. but these are also hands that stir the cheese into the macaroni, the hands that gently carry a newborn baby, the hands that coax a dying plant to believe that life is worth living. these hands, whatever else, do not bring death.

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