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myth-ee-mia.
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for the one who does:

f

for the one who does:

i can count the nights i fell in love with you on my fingertips like sheep before bed and in photos-- some real, others imprinted on the insides of my eyes. I. one from the night we slept on the floor of my tiny apartment in amsterdam. i cried because my insides felt hollow, like impossible caverns, and you held me wordlessly, asked no questions-- just stayed. eventually you fell asleep and i watched the sun rise over the city that brought me to you. i watched the early morning trains rush past my window towards berlin, the city of second chances, and i knew even then that i too had been granted a second chance at happiness. II. one from

downwards and inwards and anything but

d

downwards and inwards and anything but

i was born in the belly of a lioness. for nine months i was someone's whole heart, and then i became the world's- only, the world didn't have enough heart for me. i grew up feeling stained, darkened, pushed downwards and inwards and anything but outwards like maybe i had a lioness inside me because you see, girls are meant to be cats. i, too, counted calories. i counted inches and blemishes and hairs, i counted all the ways in which i hated myself and i could never seem to stop i let myself believe that my people were backwards that i came from poverty and struggle instead of dignity and resilience and grace and beauty i hated myself just

the final fragments.

t

the final fragments.

confession: i have dreamed about you for the past three nights. i dreamed of secret kisses and your arms and the way it used to feel to lay next to you in unfiltered, uncomplicated silence(: enough). i wake up more tired each time. - it's not that i miss you, i know better than that. it's just that it's been so long since i have felt electric, you know? sometimes when i fall asleep thinking about you, i dream in spanish. - i read charles bukowski and there is a part of me that hopes you'll notice. there is a part of me that wants wine and movies and bed and you (again), but sometimes the memory of you comes over me like a fucking tsun

L'appel de la Mer

L

L'appel de la Mer

     I am 17 the first time I see him. I am spending the summer with my dad in San Diego, a tradition I can't remember actually starting. My days are mostly work and seeing summer friends, but every night, I run down to the beach after hours to listen to the ocean. I love it because it's always empty, the tourists all comfortably in their hotel rooms and the local teenagers gone home to smoke weed and pop pills they stole from their too-busy-to-notice parents.     I hate running, but I make it a point to run every night. I'm not trying to run away from the past or anything so metaphorical, I just do it because I'm restless. I always have bee

sa'hibi in five parts.

s

sa'hibi in five parts.

i. there are a thousand truths i never told: i am incapable of happiness, in the tenth grade i had an eating disorder, and six years ago i fell in love all wrong. (not anymore, i got over it, i've done better since.) i imagine branding a thousand tiny secrets on a thousand paper sailboats and setting myself free. i am ready. - ii. you came in faster than i could keep control of. you midnight whispered in three languages and there was that one time you laid on a dirty, empty dc street just to kiss me. i remember you for when i turned away in my sleep and you kissed the back of my neck. i remember you all hands and shoulderblades, the w

written, stamped, but i never sent the letters.

w

written, stamped, but i never sent the letters.

i don't remember why we stopped talking, what that last fight was about, (it was probably my fault) but i'm sorry. and i'm sorry about your mom and the sickness and i'm so sorry that i can't fix you. - in my mind you are still 17, in your kmart red polo, laughing way too hard at some stupid joke you made yourself. you are unhardened by the colorado mountains you love and let go of. - i suppose what i mean to say is i miss you, but the words never come out right and i am too afraid to do anything about it so i won't.

won't you save me, san francisco?

w

won't you save me, san francisco?

i have always said there are only two things that can fix me: a good book and open road. some people have God, i believe in route 66. i believe in san francisco and montréal and circle, alaska. and why stop there? i believe in brisbane and venice and oslo and amsterdam and everywhere in between. - in truth, i am restless because i have never found anything worth staying for.

saudade.

s

saudade.

there is no such thing as a good day anymore. there are bad days and there is numbness. some days there is toska saudade empty. - some days the bills go unpaid. some days they make me eat but it's okay, i just throw it all up later like some sort of fucked up rorschach test. some days the sky is blue, sometimes i can't tell. - sometimes i just can't tell, okay? i don't have all the fucking answers. i dream about dreamcatchers and windmills and christmas and it doesn't hurt so bad anymore. sometimes it's just toomuchtoomuchtoomuch.

november starry.

n

november starry.

her nana calls her "raater-mey,"                          (maiden of the night.) he can barely stay awake long enough to talk to the doctors that come by weekly, but he weaves her hair into braids with his weathered hands every day, and he tucks her into bed with secrets and "tomaar moton keo nai, amar kolija." she repays him in popsicle stick birdhouses, hand drawn flowers, and shy smiles meant for no one else. she doesn't understand why everyone stops talking when she walks into the room, or why her ammu cr

esperanza-

e

esperanza-

i. you catch her eye on your first day working at the local movie theater and you fall for her immediately, without even realizing- for the subtle catch of her shirt on her hips, for the way she tucks her hair away while talking, for her eyes like the ocean and her laugh like windchimes. ii. you teach yourself to belong to her. you wear her favorite color on her birthday and you play with your hair the way she likes, even on those days you don't see her. you draw rocketships on your spanish notes and learn to love edgar allen poe and you call her annabel lee. i was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea; but we
See all

for the one who does:

f

for the one who does:

i can count the nights i fell in love with you on my fingertips like sheep before bed and in photos-- some real, others imprinted on the insides of my eyes. I. one from the night we slept on the floor of my tiny apartment in amsterdam. i cried because my insides felt hollow, like impossible caverns, and you held me wordlessly, asked no questions-- just stayed. eventually you fell asleep and i watched the sun rise over the city that brought me to you. i watched the early morning trains rush past my window towards berlin, the city of second chances, and i knew even then that i too had been granted a second chance at happiness. II. one from

downwards and inwards and anything but

d

downwards and inwards and anything but

i was born in the belly of a lioness. for nine months i was someone's whole heart, and then i became the world's- only, the world didn't have enough heart for me. i grew up feeling stained, darkened, pushed downwards and inwards and anything but outwards like maybe i had a lioness inside me because you see, girls are meant to be cats. i, too, counted calories. i counted inches and blemishes and hairs, i counted all the ways in which i hated myself and i could never seem to stop i let myself believe that my people were backwards that i came from poverty and struggle instead of dignity and resilience and grace and beauty i hated myself just

the final fragments.

t

the final fragments.

confession: i have dreamed about you for the past three nights. i dreamed of secret kisses and your arms and the way it used to feel to lay next to you in unfiltered, uncomplicated silence(: enough). i wake up more tired each time. - it's not that i miss you, i know better than that. it's just that it's been so long since i have felt electric, you know? sometimes when i fall asleep thinking about you, i dream in spanish. - i read charles bukowski and there is a part of me that hopes you'll notice. there is a part of me that wants wine and movies and bed and you (again), but sometimes the memory of you comes over me like a fucking tsun

L'appel de la Mer

L

L'appel de la Mer

     I am 17 the first time I see him. I am spending the summer with my dad in San Diego, a tradition I can't remember actually starting. My days are mostly work and seeing summer friends, but every night, I run down to the beach after hours to listen to the ocean. I love it because it's always empty, the tourists all comfortably in their hotel rooms and the local teenagers gone home to smoke weed and pop pills they stole from their too-busy-to-notice parents.     I hate running, but I make it a point to run every night. I'm not trying to run away from the past or anything so metaphorical, I just do it because I'm restless. I always have bee

sa'hibi in five parts.

s

sa'hibi in five parts.

i. there are a thousand truths i never told: i am incapable of happiness, in the tenth grade i had an eating disorder, and six years ago i fell in love all wrong. (not anymore, i got over it, i've done better since.) i imagine branding a thousand tiny secrets on a thousand paper sailboats and setting myself free. i am ready. - ii. you came in faster than i could keep control of. you midnight whispered in three languages and there was that one time you laid on a dirty, empty dc street just to kiss me. i remember you for when i turned away in my sleep and you kissed the back of my neck. i remember you all hands and shoulderblades, the w

written, stamped, but i never sent the letters.

w

written, stamped, but i never sent the letters.

i don't remember why we stopped talking, what that last fight was about, (it was probably my fault) but i'm sorry. and i'm sorry about your mom and the sickness and i'm so sorry that i can't fix you. - in my mind you are still 17, in your kmart red polo, laughing way too hard at some stupid joke you made yourself. you are unhardened by the colorado mountains you love and let go of. - i suppose what i mean to say is i miss you, but the words never come out right and i am too afraid to do anything about it so i won't.

won't you save me, san francisco?

w

won't you save me, san francisco?

i have always said there are only two things that can fix me: a good book and open road. some people have God, i believe in route 66. i believe in san francisco and montréal and circle, alaska. and why stop there? i believe in brisbane and venice and oslo and amsterdam and everywhere in between. - in truth, i am restless because i have never found anything worth staying for.

saudade.

s

saudade.

there is no such thing as a good day anymore. there are bad days and there is numbness. some days there is toska saudade empty. - some days the bills go unpaid. some days they make me eat but it's okay, i just throw it all up later like some sort of fucked up rorschach test. some days the sky is blue, sometimes i can't tell. - sometimes i just can't tell, okay? i don't have all the fucking answers. i dream about dreamcatchers and windmills and christmas and it doesn't hurt so bad anymore. sometimes it's just toomuchtoomuchtoomuch.

november starry.

n

november starry.

her nana calls her "raater-mey,"                          (maiden of the night.) he can barely stay awake long enough to talk to the doctors that come by weekly, but he weaves her hair into braids with his weathered hands every day, and he tucks her into bed with secrets and "tomaar moton keo nai, amar kolija." she repays him in popsicle stick birdhouses, hand drawn flowers, and shy smiles meant for no one else. she doesn't understand why everyone stops talking when she walks into the room, or why her ammu cr

esperanza-

e

esperanza-

i. you catch her eye on your first day working at the local movie theater and you fall for her immediately, without even realizing- for the subtle catch of her shirt on her hips, for the way she tucks her hair away while talking, for her eyes like the ocean and her laugh like windchimes. ii. you teach yourself to belong to her. you wear her favorite color on her birthday and you play with your hair the way she likes, even on those days you don't see her. you draw rocketships on your spanish notes and learn to love edgar allen poe and you call her annabel lee. i was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea; but we

Spotlight

esperanza-

e

esperanza-

i. you catch her eye on your first day working at the local movie theater and you fall for her immediately, without even realizing- for the subtle catch of her shirt on her hips, for the way she tucks her hair away while talking, for her eyes like the ocean and her laugh like windchimes. ii. you teach yourself to belong to her. you wear her favorite color on her birthday and you play with your hair the way she likes, even on those days you don't see her. you draw rocketships on your spanish notes and learn to love edgar allen poe and you call her annabel lee. i was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea; but we
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Artist // Hobbyist // Literature
  • Jan 17
  • Deviant for 12 years
  • She / Her
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And again ... =D
haha of course! you deserve it.
Thanks for the :+fav:
:aww:
Thanks for the fave!
ty for the watch :~
Thanks so much for the comment!