Love.
Like a feather falling from a life filled dove. Something beautiful, now fallen. Spring leaves parting for the following season. Like everything is so close, yet so far away.
I was at peace. Wandering the city streets of a home comfortable to myself. The shelter of security and familiarity. Curdled in my sheets.
- I stare out the tear dropped windows and remember that time six months ago. Sand crumpling through the cracks of our toes as the sea salt brushed my make up free skin.
The face now full of foundation and smudged mascara.
Because in those moments where confidence flustered my cheeks, I allowed an innocent boy to touch me. The hairs that sharpen on my arms and legs to the secrets and desires of the soul that I have. The soul that I am.
The Drake songs I would rap inside out became Sam Smith's cries and my sheets became hell. My lips came untouchable and my mirror would scream at me every day.
The parties that drove me sane with the liquor legends and acidic adventures.
Who would have thought that not being able to roll a cigarette would be the beginning of the next year of my life?
The first time a kiss became a nasty name it felt like the start of something old. The first time I shared myself with someone I never thought I would love. It was the first time I had felt loved in a very long time.
You see, I was happy, and I was content and confident. Maybe even wanted by some. Like a reaper in the night, I was taken.
At first I had thought with every tingle in my stomach that it was my Prince Charming coming to rescue me.. Or at least stand by me on this messed up adventure of life.. The one I have battled so hard to stay in.
Every beautiful photo I had taken of myself before and at the beginning turned into sad literature and back to back weekends, crying immensely wondering how I ever thought I was good enough for anyone.
Love.
Believing that someone can tell me if I am Princess Fiona or Rapunzel.
My face booming in the palm of his hands. A smile stretched wider than a banana split next to an infant.
Looking at every star, every vehicle and seeing a future or a possibility of a lifetime with one person.
My beauty was stolen from me. I was led to believe his touch was the only one that could revive me. That no one else could accept these damaged hands, these cigarette scented surroundings.
Love.
My crippled heart and watery eyes wondered why my love was never good enough. Why I never had a photo shown of myself with a bright heart and colourful thoughts. Where we glance at each other and it feels as though time has frozen. He could never do wrong by me.
Until the day he did.
Until the day I did.
Until the day, we did..
It's like spiders. Two fighting from one end of the web to the other. Tangled and vicious trying to fight for the same things. The one thing we need to survive.
I thought love was being a protector? I have no physical strength, but with all I had within I showed on the outside. When it came to being picked up at early hours of the morning, or someone else attempting to harm him.
I feel like a ballerina tip toeing graciously across a stage. An audience watching and judging, waiting for me to fall. For us to fall.
and the laughter and ecstatic that turned into lonely screams so hard it felt like my chest had been torn apart. Driving my vehicle almost blind from the swelling of my eye lids. Like my life had been set fire to.
That magnetic line that connected us whenever we were together. Not "together" but, in the same room. It was something I really couldn't explain but to me, I thought that was love.
Love.
It tore me. and in turn, tore my mentality. I did lose my indomitable will..
Are we silly for opening ourselves to a possibility for hell?
Or are we brave for allowing someone to be apart and to have knowledge on who we are and what our soul is like?
-Samara Ward
Like a feather falling from a life filled dove. Something beautiful, now fallen. Spring leaves parting for the following season. Like everything is so close, yet so far away.
I was at peace. Wandering the city streets of a home comfortable to myself. The shelter of security and familiarity. Curdled in my sheets.
- I stare out the tear dropped windows and remember that time six months ago. Sand crumpling through the cracks of our toes as the sea salt brushed my make up free skin.
The face now full of foundation and smudged mascara.
Because in those moments where confidence flustered my cheeks, I allowed an innocent boy to touch me. The hairs that sharpen on my arms and legs to the secrets and desires of the soul that I have. The soul that I am.
The Drake songs I would rap inside out became Sam Smith's cries and my sheets became hell. My lips came untouchable and my mirror would scream at me every day.
The parties that drove me sane with the liquor legends and acidic adventures.
Who would have thought that not being able to roll a cigarette would be the beginning of the next year of my life?
The first time a kiss became a nasty name it felt like the start of something old. The first time I shared myself with someone I never thought I would love. It was the first time I had felt loved in a very long time.
You see, I was happy, and I was content and confident. Maybe even wanted by some. Like a reaper in the night, I was taken.
At first I had thought with every tingle in my stomach that it was my Prince Charming coming to rescue me.. Or at least stand by me on this messed up adventure of life.. The one I have battled so hard to stay in.
Every beautiful photo I had taken of myself before and at the beginning turned into sad literature and back to back weekends, crying immensely wondering how I ever thought I was good enough for anyone.
Love.
Believing that someone can tell me if I am Princess Fiona or Rapunzel.
My face booming in the palm of his hands. A smile stretched wider than a banana split next to an infant.
Looking at every star, every vehicle and seeing a future or a possibility of a lifetime with one person.
My beauty was stolen from me. I was led to believe his touch was the only one that could revive me. That no one else could accept these damaged hands, these cigarette scented surroundings.
Love.
My crippled heart and watery eyes wondered why my love was never good enough. Why I never had a photo shown of myself with a bright heart and colourful thoughts. Where we glance at each other and it feels as though time has frozen. He could never do wrong by me.
Until the day he did.
Until the day I did.
Until the day, we did..
It's like spiders. Two fighting from one end of the web to the other. Tangled and vicious trying to fight for the same things. The one thing we need to survive.
I thought love was being a protector? I have no physical strength, but with all I had within I showed on the outside. When it came to being picked up at early hours of the morning, or someone else attempting to harm him.
I feel like a ballerina tip toeing graciously across a stage. An audience watching and judging, waiting for me to fall. For us to fall.
and the laughter and ecstatic that turned into lonely screams so hard it felt like my chest had been torn apart. Driving my vehicle almost blind from the swelling of my eye lids. Like my life had been set fire to.
That magnetic line that connected us whenever we were together. Not "together" but, in the same room. It was something I really couldn't explain but to me, I thought that was love.
Love.
It tore me. and in turn, tore my mentality. I did lose my indomitable will..
Are we silly for opening ourselves to a possibility for hell?
Or are we brave for allowing someone to be apart and to have knowledge on who we are and what our soul is like?
-Samara Ward
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