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i woke up one day with butterfly aspirations
out-of-place in time.
sometimes i want to pollinate
flicker & flutter
mingle inside the beehive collective
and fly (so fly)
into a utopian nighttime.
via anunreliablewitness:
Paris Underground, Republique
I write my story
My pen reflecting every experience I encounter
The scripting of shadows onto the landscape of my path
I move past simple brick houses into the warmth of the universe
Where the Northern Star is my bedroom
And I can ride clouds into destines unknown
The ink is like blood
Take the blade to my lifeline
Pierce me
And words begin to drip onto blank canvasses
These lines that I write are more than romantic sonatas
And imaginative libretto
Too beautiful to be called lyrics
Too broad to be called poetry
They are magical stories untold
Interwoven lace in the quilt of my past
The pebble stones of my future
I write my story
To capture my foundations
To give color to my dreams
I caress the pages with my hands
Transferring love and desire into prose
Into characters that bear my smile and sometimes my name
Passionate conversations
Simple everyday observations
Where my own emotions drive through scenes I’ve yet to see
As I am living
I am writing
Bjork - Pneumonia
tea and cards and pretty clothes. this is how imma do sunday brunch at my place.
via ffffound