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About Literature / Artist stephFemale/United States Group :iconlegitlit: LegitLit
 
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Literature
Throw me out to sea
All I can remember thinking is "how did we end up here?" as I stared up at the too bright sky, letting the sun imprint itself into my vision, in the hopes that I'd be just blind enough to not have to see the look on your face when I finally got up the courage to tilt my eyes from the sky back to yours.
It felt like it had been decades since we met on this beach. Honestly, it felt like it had been centuries. I could barely remember what you smile first looked like, but I know it was so much bigger than it is now. The only thing I have left is the smell of laundry detergent on your fade t-shirts and the aftertaste of summer on your skin. I know that a love story is always so much better than reality, and I know that the beginning will always outshine the ending, but I thought I'd be able to handle things better than this.
I was blinking sun shaped dots out of my eyes, but I could still see the look of dismay on your face. Or bewilderment or disgust or maybe it was just confusion. I didn'
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Literature
the last magic I believe in
It's been years and I'm still here. Recycling the same sentences. Stuck in the same words. Buried in a past that doesn't quite belong to me anymore. It's funny how with enough distance nothing ever looks real anymore. It's like the way I can stand four miles from the lakefront and can still see the horizon. Clashing blues and greens. A straight line of water against an even straighter line of sky. And that's it. It's everything and it's nothing and for a little while I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Somewhere new. That I can see an entire ocean sprawled out in front of me, instead of the dirty familiar waters of Lake Michigan. I've grown up here and I've grown apart from here, but I'm stuck at the top of the hill on the corner of the street that my sister lives on and I just want to run and run and run and never look back, but that's not all there is. That's not all that's left.
It's so much bigger than that so I trace the familiar roads back to my home and I sit in my living room and
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Literature
an exercise in giving up
I don’t know what I’m doing in this place.
My bones ache to take me away – to take me anywhere but here. But my heart remembers this place and its beat is racing, pumping blood into the far corners of my body, making my limbs too heavy to move. But I want to leave so badly, with every part of my being, but the one. My heart still belongs here…even after all these years.
I don’t remember the last time I saw your face.
But I can tell you that I still hear your voice in my dreams. In the deepest of sleeps, you’re still alive inside of me, deep within the folds of my heart, the dark spaces of my imagination. You’re alive there, even though I know nothing of where you are in reality. I know nothing of you anymore. Maybe that’s for the better. Maybe. Maybe.
I can’t recall the first time that I heard time will make it better.
But I do know that my mom repeats it to me every Saturday when I go to visit her in that old house that’s fu
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 46 19
Birds on a Wire - Vinyl Record Painting by paperheartsyndrome Birds on a Wire - Vinyl Record Painting :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 26 2 Vinyl Record Painting - Orange and Purple Tree by paperheartsyndrome Vinyl Record Painting - Orange and Purple Tree :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 10 0 vinyl record painting - birds on a wire by paperheartsyndrome vinyl record painting - birds on a wire :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 8 0 Vinyl Record Painting - Blue and Green Tree by paperheartsyndrome Vinyl Record Painting - Blue and Green Tree :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 9 2 VInyl Record Painting - Copper and Red by paperheartsyndrome VInyl Record Painting - Copper and Red :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 5 1 Vinyl Record Painting! by paperheartsyndrome Vinyl Record Painting! :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 6 2
Literature
When I think about you, I remember it all wrong.
When I think of that first day, I will always remember the air as being too warm, and your clothes being wrinkled, your hair a complete mess. I remember how your nerves had your every sentence starting with “uhm” and how I hated indecisiveness and you couldn’t make up your mind, and I remember thinking I could do better without you. Now, I know that first impressions aren’t quite as important as they tell you every time you open that front door with your mismatched socks and complimentary sarcasm, armed with a crooked smile and bad grammar. Because if that were true, I would have said hello and goodbye in the same sentence. Hell, if that were true I never would have loved you.
It was September before you calmed down enough to look me in the eye when you were talking. My friends kept asking me why I wasting my time with you, but I knew there was something special hidden behind all your short sentences, wrapped inside the bundle of nerves that created you, that he
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 55 4
Literature
because love is a lesson in trial and error
I wish I had the words to tell you what I mean. I used to store sentences between my breaths – things that I couldn’t say at the moment, but wanted to remember. Now I can barely string together enough nouns and verbs to make you understand exactly what you mean to me. And I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that if I can’t get it together fast enough I’ll lose you. It’s like you're water slipping through my fingers and I’m not quick enough to chase you through the currents. I know enough to know that you’re wild and free in a way that I’ll never be and maybe I’m jealous of that. Or maybe I’m scared. Maybe I know that if I was somehow better or different that I’d have you in a way that no one else has even gotten you, and some days, I think I’ve made it. Some days, I’m sure that I don’t have to be afraid anymore, but then it’s three in the morning and I’m tossing and turning from the waves you
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 66 28
Literature
a lifetime of storms just to make things matter
It never rains like this where I’m from. It’s all or nothing there. Where the sky will split open for days, swallowing the continents, putting oceans where they used to rest. There, we were always just barely afloat, and I never learned how to swim.
Here, I feel like I can still breathe between the raindrops and I sit out on our back patio and let the water soak into my skin and wash away all my sins. I know I’m not who I thought I’d be five years ago, but it’s not enough just to wish you could change, sometimes you just have to accept the way things are. Except who you’ve become. Where you’ve come from.
It was the day after my twentieth birthday when I learned that my heart would skip beats when I saw his face. My pulse would start and stop and disappear. I was fading and sometimes, he would make my outlines clear again, bring back the contours and all my shades and shadows. Small smiles would be awarded, unfamiliar to my face. He was my angel
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Literature
maybe you never belonged to me
I can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
--
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 101 43
Literature
i'm not your symphony but i'm orchestrated anyways
it's not easy to explain --
but i'm a rushed symphony of heartbeats, quick breaths and hiccups. i'm not made of skin and bones, but a complicated sentence structure and thoughts that i spew out before i even finish them.
i'm messy in all the wrong ways.
and i'm not right in any of the ways that matter. but still you're always here, picking me up when i fall, kissing me goodnight, making a life with me one day at a time. and you haven't gone yet but i'm always moving so how long can you stay. how long can i expect it. how long is too long when you're living and loving and breathing and hell, if i can't stay still i'll mess this up for sure. i just need a minute, to think, to stop, to be. so i can be yours forever.
all i know is that i'm a constant frenzy -- a kaleidoscope of words and ideas and minutes and clumsy steps and i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm always shifting and moving and growing and going and going
and going and
going --
until i'm standing still again.
no one can stop
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 55 8
Literature
I'll never tell you -- you already know.
I remember in the beginning
there was just you and me
and heartbeats--
small intervals where the air would leap from my chest,
saying you leave me breathless will always be an understatement.
I wanted to kiss you before
I even knew you or knew the real you
but your untied purple chucks
had me even before your hello--
months later I realized that meant to be's aren't always
as silly as they used to be.
I've fallen in love with how
the palms of our hands match
the planes of our souls and
every time I loop my fingers
between yours we fall deeper--
If there was ever a time I should explain myself,
it's be right now, but I think you know--
I mean you should know--
How irreversibly far I've fallen
for you.
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 58 16
Literature
there's nothing that feels quite like this.
Maybe the problem is that I don't know what a love story should sound like. I haven't figured out what order I should put the words in to make it read just right. I do, however, know what it feels like, but pushing around nouns and adjectives just to make it grow is the hardest thing I'll ever do. And it's true that I've tried it before and maybe I succeeded once, but since then I've learned the way real love washes through veins, and rumbles through the shifting and settling of bones until it changes you completely in a way that is absolutely unyielding. Perfect. Simple. It's not angry, or jealous, it doesn't hurt. It isn't like before. So now words don't come so easy, since I'm not sure which ones will cheapening the moments, the feelings, you.
And god, I could never do that to you, since the only thing I know with completely certainty is that you are the only thing that saves me. That moves me. That completes me. Without you, I'd be less than nothing. Alone. Forgotten. It's e
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 57 17
these are my words and they are everything to me. please don't use them without my permission.

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Literature
i am a poem with no algorhythm
millions of people die each year
from car crashes and hurricanes.
billions of people live each year
in poverty, bad health, or shame.
(note: statistics are 63% reliable)
only one in ten trillion find their
truelove.
my life consists of:
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      miscalculations,
      and histograms.
my love is measured with:
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      the square roots of negative numbers.
      points where our axes would intersect
      had we not evolved into parallel lines.
everyday i slide abacus beads for every regret.
everyday i like to pretend i found my truelove
to convince myself i'm one of the lucky ones.
everyday i prove myself wrong.
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Literature
keeper.
secret:
i think of you
in poetic devices,
in alliteration
and juxtaposition
i think of you
and the framework
of your spine
the border where
your vowels
and consonants
reside
i think of you
as the small spaces
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of your hushed
language
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as the shingles on my roof
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you smell of salt water
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i think of you
as the shards of glass
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which can, in no manner
be safely removed
i think of you
as the wicker chair
in my kitchen
the one i sit in
when i feel rain
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Literature
six
She told him she was not the same.
She told him she was not the same and there as an unusual sensation that came from under her skin, deeper than the bottom of a cheap flask, farther than his words and his kiss and her wishes could reach. Her bones were shifting and her ligaments were stretching and the growing pains were not what she expected in the least. Everything about her ached, from her thoughts to her heart to the butterflies in her stomach, and when he lay close and held her fingers at night and brushed the golden waves from her eyes she wanted him why it felt like he was pulling her seams apart from the inside out. She told him his eyes shimmered the way they had when they spread themselves beneath the stars and she could hear the sound in her throat from trying to swallow the truth in her words. But when he kissed her eyes she could not keep down what she meant even if to make the moment hurt a little less under her own skin.
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Activity


"After all these years, I still haven't grown up. 

The sky is angry in these too early hours of the morning. The clouds are rolling across the sky, quick and fierce, as if they are running away from something. Maybe they're trying to get away from me. I'm still a natural disaster in a way I shouldn't be. I'm still wind blown, indecisive, messy, a spark if lightning on a perfect day. I'm still all the things I should no longer be by now. I had such high expectations. After awhile, you learn that you can let anyone down -- even yourself."

I wish I wrote like I used to. That may be one of my biggest regrets at the moment. Hoping to change it.

I miss this. How have all you been? I've had an insanely awesome year -- bought a house, adopted the best dog ever, and married the love of my life!

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paperheartsyndrome
steph
Artist | Literature
United States
i'm extraordinarily ordinary.

Comments


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:iconlostprophetxtian:
lostprophetxtian Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2015   General Artist
happy birthday
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:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2015   General Artist
hello there, lovely person! :huggle:
this is to inform you that i have made use of one of the titles of your poetry in my title poem over here: fav.me/d8d65gn :love:
i hope that this is alright with you, pray that you enjoy the read, and thank you for your inspirational artistry! :eager: <3
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:iconangryangel57:
angryangel57 Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
<3
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:iconmysocksrock:
MySocksRock Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2014
Have a wonderful Birthday!!!
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:icontakemetoverona:
takemetoverona Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2014  Student Writer
Happy Birthday! :D
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:iconangryangel57:
angryangel57 Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Your words are amazing <3
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:iconconspiritorialkitten:
I adore all of the visual poetry and set-ups you do. <3 
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:icontakemetoverona:
takemetoverona Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2013  Student Writer
Your visual poetry is absolutely beautiful- please keep writing!
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(1 Reply)
:icondystopiandino:
dystopiandino Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2013
Oh my goodness. Your words are incredible. Thank you so much for sharing them!
Reply
:iconwak0zak0:
wak0zak0 Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2013
I love your writing. It strikes a certain spot in me every time. It's like you say what I'm already feeling, and what i wish i could write. i feel like I have a psychological need to read your writings. How do you cope with some of the things you go through or feel?

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