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  • melanatedanomaly 5w

    The soft shackles release me.
    As I slowly descend
    The relief of being free
    Turns into trepidation

    I feel the sun's anger against my skin
    It does not want me here
    Still,
    The cold air pushes me on...
    Towards smiling faces.
    Arms outstretched,
    I settle.
    As a gloved finger traces
    The outline of where I once was.

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 67w

    The only thing left of you, are these tears

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 92w

    The cliff's a scary place
    And to be honest
    I'm stuck between wanting to stay safe
    And wanting to step off the edge
    Tasting gravity as it passes me by.
    If I die
    Then people will call it a misstep.
    They won't call me a failure.
    They never do.
    Sometimes,
    At night, I want to scream that word into my pillow.
    But I never do.
    Because deep down
    beneath the darkness of depression
    and the currents of anxiety
    lies a seabed of hope.
    Hope that the grass is greener on the other side. And not more brown leaves.
    Because I fucking hate brown leaves

    Well that's a lie.
    But sometimes
    You have to fake it to you make it
    So I'll fake my hate for brown leaves
    And the withering of petals that signify colder days.
    I'll fake my love of heights and the sight of clouds beneath my feet.
    And I'll jump
    In faith
    In the belief of the unseen but imagined.
    In the knowledge of the me I'll leave behind
    And in the hope,
    That where I land
    will lead me
    to the me I know I can be.

    ©melanatedanomaly

    #caption @mirakee

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    The Jump

    The cliff's a scary place
    And to be honest
    I'm stuck between wanting to stay safe
    And wanting to step off the edge
    Tasting gravity as it passes me by.
    If I die
    Then people will call it a misstep.
    They won't call me a failure.
    They never do.
    Sometimes,
    At night, I want to scream that word into my pillow.
    But I never do.
    Because deep down
    beneath the darkness of depression
    and the currents of anxiety
    lies a seabed of hope.
    Hope that the grass is greener on the other side. And not more brown leaves.
    Because I fucking hate brown leaves

    Well that's a lie.

  • melanatedanomaly 109w

    When my mood dips
    My mind starts to feel like a seabed of dead hopes
    Being positive is a waste of time.
    No light can reach here.
    And any self-made spark is crushed beneath the pressures of perfection.

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 109w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 6 word one-liner on Landscape

    Read More

    Broken terrains, reminiscent of jagged hearts

  • melanatedanomaly 116w

    Is this persistence unlucky
    Or is it a lack of immunity
    To something as trivial as the cold?
    Winter winds take note.
    You're scoldings will no longer
    Leave me coughing up scenes of regret
    As my body forgets
    What it feels like beyond these bedsheets.

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 128w

    My anxiety is a hydra.
    Slay one worry
    Two more sprout.

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 128w

    I've been trapped
    In a perpetual cycle of pain
    Where self blame and shame are common commodities.
    Both serve a vital purpose
    To keep me from evolving
    and reaching closer to my true self.
    I see him in glimpses
    A bit like a shimmer.
    But sometimes when I dream
    he takes on a fully functioning form.
    I see him fulfilling goals in ways I've always imagined.
    Then I wake.

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 128w

    The art of evolving involves a constant stream of learning and unlearning.
    The world is not static and neither should we be.
    In fact, one could argue that our stagnation or ignorance, in certain aspects of life
    is actually killing the planet.

    ©melanatedanomaly

  • melanatedanomaly 150w

    I smile with my mouth closed,
    Afraid that you may see demons lurking between my teeth like trapped food.
    Dark gums tainted by black thoughts.
    I don't talk,
    in case my tongue shifts to expose the void in my life.

    We wouldn't want that.
    So I swallow my inner most
    and wait as my throat constricts each letter until they become dust,
    Insignificant but present.
    Their presence has definitely made it
    hard to breathe.
    Shaky inhales keep me company at night while dry coughs keep sleep at a distance

    It's getting harder to hide the sickness
    Then again, is it anyone's business to care about your fragility?
    I mean ability,
    I mean your capacity, to keep moving with no air
    Just particles of matter,
    inscribed on the seafloor of your lungs are three words that sum up the irony of your life,

    I don't matter.

    ©melanatedanomaly