Like this post and i'll write a poem for you

I want my name to wrap itself around your uvula To tug until you gag on the things you once said. I'd love to watch you heave at the mere thought of me, brought to your knees and nauseated. When your fever breaks I hope you do, too just to see all that I became without you.

behind every achievement is spite / nb

I sit with my fingers tapping the keyboard, my inner monologue fueled by rage I sit with my feet rocking the table this energy of mine needs to be cleansed and saved. Inside me is a song full of insults written by others and produced by me. I peel the hangnails off my thumb when im apathetic to make myself bleed.

So many surface-level perceptions from people that don't know me at all. I daydream of running away then with time I absorb them and once and for all.

Silent lips only purse and (normally) still bodies don't shake. I will embody everyone's version of me and add it to my name.

I will be everything you think I am. | nb

Patience escapes me, while my insides berate me, lately, for all the ways in which I deem myself lazy.

With every talent I leave behind, I find a record in my mind - a tally of every unfulfilled dream of mine.

And I aim to chase a way to pace myself enough to give myself grace in a space that welcomes mistakes.

Perfectionism | nb

I used to roll the world between my fingers. My neck was perfectly curved, my posture was straight, and my eyes were sharper than ever. I was silent - my emotions were neatly placed in boxes that I could sift through. They were labeled and sorted in alphabetical order; easy to pick, easy to put away.

Now, the world is haphazardly laying all around me. Behind the bed, in my fridge, just always out of my reach. My neck has a hump from keeping my head down, my spine has curved from hiding, my eyes are wide and fearful. I am silent in a different way. My emotions are strewn about, unidentifiable and I feel like a mess. A mess that cannot be contained. A mess that should have never existed in the first place.

Apr 15, 2024 // nb

There are words that burrow deep within me they make caves and tunnels, hollowing me out and all I can think is how comfortable it looks to recede into. I've explored every vacant part of me I've housed myself in every limb, and begged for warmth in my own heart cavity. There are words that burrow deep within me, they whittle out my insides and leave me barren. A shell incapable of holding someone else, much less myself. Things I wish I didn't know | nb

I rub my hands together to defrost my pain and I ache to find a way to inhale my own warmth.

I wanted to smoke it and blow rings of eloquence in the faces of those before me.

But, I stutter and I trip over my words.

When I stay silent and let my fingers do the talking, I am the loudest person in the room.

I’d do anything to open my mouth and exhale my thoughts uncrafted, unedited, and raw.

nb

unbridled within; this loud desire to sin - a problem therein. Defiant - The Haiku Handbook | nb

Flowers speak of love without a sound, in a language known only to the heart.

install.packages("Paradise") library(Heaven) View(Years) Summary(Memories) plot(You, Me)

Code of Us | nb

instagram | mimosaboston

by Vera Kober, Rose.

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Have a nice day, productive week and good mood. Love, create, inspire.