Writing Quotes

musicure
posted a quote
November 30, 2016 12:24pm UTC

Like a river, always running
I keep losing you

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seafoam*
posted a quote
November 13, 2016 10:58am UTC

I’m not particularly tall but I have the legs of someone who would be. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong in my own body and I stare down at it awkwardly sharing a bed with me like it’s a stranger I brought home with me for the night.
My hips and rib cage are so closely placed together that at times when I bend certain ways they scrape and collapse into one another — a sickening feeling that makes me frantically pull at the skin of my wrists until the pain subsides.
The voice in my head reminds me of summer and it never matches the wintry voice that comes out of my mouth. My eyes don’t look the same — one is completely brown, the other has a harsh yellowish crescent shape in the iris like something tried to cut its way out.
I feel like scattered dandelion wishes that gathered on the soles of someone’s shoes, a collection of mix and match parts from people I’ll never know and people I never want to know how to live without.

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emily*
posted a quote
September 9, 2016 11:27pm UTC

he tastes like the poetry i wish i could write

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emily*
posted a quote
September 7, 2016 9:14pm UTC

nostalgia is a liar. nothing was ever as good as you remember it to be. there's a reason you don't talk to that person anymore. there's a reason you're not in their lives. don't trust nostalgia. move on.

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emily*
posted a quote
September 6, 2016 9:15pm UTC

on days
like this
i need you to
run your fingers
through my hair
and speak softly

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emily*
posted a quote
September 6, 2016 6:31pm UTC

your art
is not about how many people
like your work
your art
is about
if your heart likes your work
if your soul likes your work
it's about how honest
you are with yourself
and you
must never
trade honesty
for relatability

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CarolJames
posted a quote
August 25, 2016 7:05am UTC

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seafoam*
posted a quote
August 22, 2016 12:58am UTC

When I kept my expression coolly aloof, you'd complain that I wasn't happy enough, that being around my lack of emotion was draining all of yours. When I cried openly in front of you, you were disgusted that anyone could be so full of drama and promptly ran for the safer shelter of someone else's company until I ‘got over myself’. When I laughed freely and truly, tears of mirth streaking down my face and my breaths coming in short hysterical gasps because what had caused the gleeful outburst was just too funny for a quiet giggle to do it justice, you voiced your opinion that the sound was too loud, too ugly, too much like some wild animal. And that was the problem: you didn't let me feel what I wanted to feel, in the way that I wanted to feel it. My emotions weren't valid unless they were the ones you wanted to see in that moment. I think sometimes you didn't even view me as a human, but as a robot whose buttons you could press to get a particular output. You tried to polish me to a flawless shine, but found that my metal was too rusted. You tried to reprogram my wires, but your nerves frayed from one too many shocks. In the end you realized I was equipped with my own defenses and would only outsmart you, so you dismantled me and fled. I was left to clumsily reassemble my parts and pieces in the junkyard of my heart. I won't be in mint condition for the next person whose hands I fall into, but I won't be seen as scraps to be repaired, either. I'll be recognized as a beating heart, an independent mind, a warm body of soft flesh that collapses under too much pressure and builds itself back up; something sentient and perfectly functioning as is. I am not a machine in need of oil for my creaking hinges, the dents in my armor do not need to be glossed over. What needs reconstruction is the way you treat those you claim to love.

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seafoam*
posted a quote
August 16, 2016 1:47am UTC

you often made fun
of my enunciated speech, how I clearly and carefully articulated each syllable of the words that danced between my teeth and pirouetted off my tongue like smoothly choreographed ballet. At the time, I was sheepish enough to believe it was something I should be ashamed of and so would always hide my blushing face when you laughingly noted this distinction in my voice. Now, I realize it was a poorly delivered compliment. Never did you have to ask me in a politely puzzled manner to repeat something I'd said because it was spoken too quickly or obscurely. Conversations with me were never hindered by lazy pronunciations. Language is a tool with which mental pictures can be vividly painted, and I utilized it. I think, secretly, the gentle cascade of sentences like a waterfall from my lips was pleasing to your ears, and you appreciated the soft caressing of individual letters. And what a shame it is, that you perfectly understood everything I said aloud, and nothing that I tried to communicate silently. You mocked what came easily out of frustration for what was harder to interpret. There's no shame in admitting defeat. Someday I'll be heard.

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musicure
posted a quote
August 6, 2016 4:56pm UTC

we all get lost sometimes, you know?
it's how we learn and how we grow

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seafoam*
posted a quote
August 3, 2016 12:40am UTC

If you know love like I know love when it is full and ready—like the pulse knows the tip of the blade before the cut—the blood rushing to greet its serrated edge. You would know love like I have if you have seen the sunlight in every possible gradation—if you can hear the birdsong beyond the rudimentary call—if you can distinguish between each cadence as it quivers through the air. If you get so cold sometimes that it burns or the heat gets so bad your teeth start to chatter—then you will open up your arms and take this dark thing into the fold and you will know love like I know love.
— Lang Leav, Dark Matter

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musicure
posted a quote
July 21, 2016 7:40am UTC

why am i so emotional?
no it's not a good look
gain some self control

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musicure
posted a quote
July 21, 2016 5:30am UTC

crashing, hit a wall
right now I need a miracle
why am I so emotional?
no it's not a good look
gain some self control

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seafoam*
posted a quote
July 19, 2016 1:40am UTC

The day you left, I realized you were a rogue planet. That you didn’t orbit around anyone or anything. That you had no solar system and you found your way into mine, into my orbit, to stay with me just for a little while. I couldn’t keep you. You weren’t meant to be a part of me. Our love was like the sun, ninety-nine percent of this solar system, but not nearly enough to keep you. Some things are more beautiful because they don’t belong to anyone or anything. That is how I would like to remember you. As something too wild for me to keep, rather than a thing that threw the sun away.
— Nikita Gill, You Left Me Between a Black Hole and a Supernova

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seafoam*
posted a quote
July 14, 2016 2:48am UTC

once, when i was still grieving over you, my dad asked me how can you miss him? it's like missing a toothache. but actually, your presence was also the morphine, a pleasant numbness, a blissful ignorance to all the pain you were causing; and when you were gone i couldn't stop running my tongue along the smooth expanse of emptiness, over the gaping hole you left, tasting the blood and the bitterness of loss in my mouth and it was only then that the ache began to throb insistently, demanding to be felt. i guess i missed the sugar coated decay.
—b.m.s

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seafoam*
posted a quote
July 14, 2016 12:16am UTC

I am the sun. Bright, wild, passionate–
everything you’d think you’re looking for. Then you realize I’m not.
People come to me, sometimes. They take what they want, my energy, my light, just so they can get a tan. But no one stays for too long.
Nobody really seeks me out. No one looks at me for more than a couple of seconds. No one wants too much of me. No one wants to try for risk of getting sunburnt.
Other times, most of it, everyone’s too busy working, doing routine, living their lives, to actually stop and notice me. Busy. Busy, busy. Everyone’s too busy around me. They can’t wait until the day is over.
The best part of me is the end – the sunset. Or the sunrise.
I am made up of reality. No one wants to get to know me. Because reality, life in daylight, the truth, is far too harsh.
She –
she is the night sky. The moon, the stars, and the infiniteness of life. Memories are born, epic and great, under her crescent smile. She is made up of romance and magic. She is made up of dreams.
People seek her out. Plan travels, schedule to pause their entire lives just to look at her. And it’s not even a glimpse. Everyone stays up for hours, sometimes the entire night, just to spend time with her.
We’re all attracted to her. Drawn to her good vibes and endless possibilities. She is when we nestle safely inside a lover’s arms, party all our cares away, or make bonfires to skinny dip with friends for the first time.
There is nothing dangerous about her. Whether it’s the city skyline or nature’s aurora – everybody is in love. She is soft, alluring. Van Gogh painted a masterpiece about her.
She is boundless. She is perfect. She is beautiful.
I pale in comparison.

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hayleyloves1D
posted a quote
July 6, 2016 3:00am UTC

Writing keeps me sane. Taking my crazy thoughts and putting them onto paper, it keeps my head clear.

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musicure
posted a quote
July 2, 2016 9:17am UTC

there's no remedy for memory

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Raxin
posted a quote
July 2, 2016 4:52am UTC

Glossary:
Wikipedia-speak = what you end up with when tens of people collaborate on (battle over) a sentence for fifteen years (and growing).

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seafoam*
posted a quote
June 23, 2016 1:08pm UTC

Let's pull all of the skeletons from our closets and build a fort in the living room from their bones. We'll drape them in blankets of understanding and cuddle inside, just the two of us. No amount of brittle bones filled with marrow of your past will keep me from building a home with you.

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