holding my own hand by judas h. ( @judas-redeemed ) image id in alt
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I did not make the wrong choice
When I chose to love you
It was written in the stars
It was meant to be
You and me
Like the sun and the moon
Eclipsing
But now we are kept apart by time
And missing you hurts
But it shows just how much I loved.
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words may never truly express
the gratitude i feel
to have travelled to
the depths of despair.
after all,
it brought me you.
the combination of unlikely events
flutter in effect, endlessly changing
the possibility of what could be.
even then, i'm still content.
it brought me you.
isn't that enough, then?
tribulations and uncertainties:
i shed my past "self"
in the aftermath.
it was all worth it,
because
"it brought me you."
d.b.a
for s.
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Tuesday, March 27: "The moon was far off and sad over the dark cruel buildings and in my room I cried in black velvet on the yellow bedspread and wondered at my not having one to love..."
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath; Appendix 7, 26 March 1956 – 5 April 1956.
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...And then, suddenly, viciously, we're back to fall, again...
Poetricismic
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"Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom — poets, visionaries — realists of a larger reality."
--Ursula K. Le Guin
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Ada Limón, from “Sometimes I Think My Body Leaves a Shape in the Air”, The Carrying: Poems
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Because you deserve to get back just as much of the love you pour into the world.
k.b. // you do
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