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#whimsical poetry
riwritingrn · 10 months
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As the leaves begin to copper and the moon begins to rust
the sky leans over carelessly with its hands draped over the mountains and watches the world as it passes
The world creaks a little like old, worn-out houses, like a sigh
And by the shimmering waters, almost shapeless, against the hazy dark sits a loner with a ghost
Memories as soft and moldable like clay, always, always, always remade
On the river flows a log
Moving to the whims of the river, like a stagnant thought
The world hums a melancholic tune, like a devout hymn
Perhaps it is destiny to be haunted, always always, always
The grief lingers like a familiar stranger on a bus, like a dog with a bird in its mouth at your door
The whole world rests but a familiar restlessness resides inside
Like a ghost
Water laps like a comfortable consolation
Not everything is remembered
though what is remembered is haunting
But not all hauntings are terrifying
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muchlovefleursblog · 9 days
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tulipsofthemorning · 6 months
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iphianasssa · 4 months
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Masahisa Fukase
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khandedoe · 2 months
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I remember when living here I used to sit on the chair that was tied to the arm of the big tree
I would just zone out to the cicadas and the occasional silence
waiting for the next storm to roll in wondering if this hurricane will be the one to slide my home off the foundation that was made up of mainly sugar sand
but it never came
So I swung on the makeshift swing chair and let the sweltering Florida heat make me see things that aren’t half true
Like the golden sugar sand can glow if you stare at it when the sun is at it’s peak in the day
Or you can hear a breeze running through the trees giving me false hopes that it will reach my way
But I lived in the middle of nowhere of Florida
So my luck was already questionable
I wanted to leave so bad
But now I want nothing more but to just be there again
And think of nothing but how I came to be
I’ll always think of you evens ave
I underestimated you
Now all I’m left of you is a photo
And the altered version of what I can remember of what went down there
But I’m glad a few find you pretty now and aesthetically pleasing 
Because I remember I used to hide you out of shame
I’m sorry
I blame the heat and my pubescent feelings.
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art-flydxndelion · 6 months
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On ne connaît que les choses qu'on apprivoise
Un peu de Petit prince dans votre TL 🌸❤️
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4.9.24
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lauriemarch · 7 months
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i owe The Oh Hellos at least 14% of my whimsical spirit
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geminisunsblog · 6 months
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whimsi-siren core ✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩
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safiresyrup · 4 months
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I seem paranormal to you. it only hurts on days when I see your friends come passing by and I will talk like everything is alright but nothing good really comes out then it happens and their petty words turn to fable, all of the rumors that I heard come true a day or two later
-s's.
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ofbrokenstarlight · 6 months
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i am my own sort of magic; a little bit ethereal, a little bit haunting but uniquely my own
- lune
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figs and bees and seeds
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muchlovefleursblog · 5 days
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tulipsofthemorning · 11 months
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fever dreams of your hand in mine
turning until it’s blurry
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home-ward · 1 year
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And so the season of fairies begins. The blooms outside are becoming abundant.
My imagination is waking up.
Some days are so sweet that they feel like sunlight on my skin, the relief after monotonous rainy days.
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