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  • spicy_sugar 1d

    When first love caresses,
    awakening the part of the soul one's unaware
    When the world seems to be full of pink hearts
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    When heartbreak knocks at the heart,
    squeezes it 60 times a second
    When the edges are too jagged to handle
    Everyone becomes a poet

    When depression takes hold of life
    When deep breaths are the only way to breathe
    When the mind has a mind of its own
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    When there's too much pain,
    and it gets stuck in the throat choking to death
    and the only vent is to let it out on a paper
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    When loss and loneliness hits
    When ceaseless thoughts attack
    When it is only way to talk to the person who is no more
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    When passing cloud to be turned into permanent sky
    When moments to be turned into memories
    To be carved and engraved forever
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    //One of the things I fear the most is being a muse to a poet.//

    ©spicy_sugar

    Idk what this is!

    #end #wod @miraquill
    Thank you @writersnetwork for the repost. Grateful ��

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    When there's too much pain,
    and it gets stuck in the throat choking to death
    and the only vent is to let it out on a paper
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 1w

    Broken hearts write tales of love.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 1w

    So this is the end of the roller coaster ride. But then again, "there's nothing called end," the author would argue. It took me through the toughest ride, this book. It started with the line "...your life is a story told about you, not the one you tell. You pretend to be the author. You think you're the painter, but you're a canvas." It left me speechless. I pretend to be the author when I am just a character. I pretend to be a painter when I am just a canvas.

    The author talks about mental health and loss in such a way that it left me shivering. Shivering and grateful at the same time. I always wanted to talk and describe depression, anxiety, and panic attacks. But language always failed me. I always thought I lack the skills to describe, but it is just this - "Virginia Woolf wrote: " English, which can express the thoughts of Hamlet and tragedy of Lear, has no words for the shiver and headache. The merest schoolgirl, when falls in love have Shakespeare and Keats to speak her mind for her; but let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry."

    You see a depressed kid, see him lying on the bed, think that he loves it that way, that it is all in his head. Like, he CHOSE it. Just because he can not explain it. You can't see how he struggles with his every cell, to NOT be that way. You see anxious people, see them trembling, think that they're overreacting. But you can't see the struggle to breathe, how they want to NOT react, how they want to be normal. You see people with OCD's, see them washing, checking repeatedly. But you cant see their inner turmoil, those "invasive" thoughts. How they rule them despite their choice.

    As language failed us, "maybe we invented metaphor as a response to our pain," says the author. Not only for the pain but for everything that language itself failed to describe. I'd say ceaseless thoughts or abyss of thoughts and you wouldn't know the intensity. And so the author says, "Thought spiral. The thing about spiral is if you follow it inward, it never actually ends. It just keeps tightening, infinitely."

    "And the thing is, when you lose someone, you realize you'll eventually lose everyone," this hit me in the gut like tons of bricks. I lost someone important in my life and now I look at the next important person and think, "I will lose her too." And let me tell you this, the pain will almost kill you. Daily. Another thing about losing someone is, you will lose them daily. You see their memories fading and you cry because you no longer know if those are memories or just imagination. The dead will be dying, a slow death, a little a day, as our memories.

    Okay, I can go on and on if I have to, but I will end this or rather stop this here. But before I stop, let me quote a few more -

    "It is turtles all the way down. You're trying to find the turtle at the bottom of the pile, but that is not how this works.

    " Your now is not your forever."

    "You are not ONLY crazy."

    You are not your thoughts."

    ~spicy_sugar


    Honestly, this app is like an e-journal for me at this point. No one actually reads except me ������

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    "No one says good-bye unless they want to see you again."

    John Green, Turtles all the way down.

  • spicy_sugar 1w

    Pathetic. I know.

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    I read love letters he wrote for her
    and acted like I owned them.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 2w

    Autumn

    Green leaves, swallows death,
    turns yellow, not anemic, but xanthic.
    Falls for the Earth,
    gracefully, irrevocably,
    with love so deep,
    whispering,
    "if it takes death to reach you, I'd die."


    I was always a sign of life, they say.
    Growing seeds into trees,
    spreading the world with
    the most beautiful of colors, green.
    I have never seen death so beautiful,
    nor a love that deep.
    I may not fall and die for you,
    but I will embrace you, tight,
    making us one.
    Always and forever.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 3w

    It's autumn,
    and I wish to fall like those leaves,
    carelessly, drifting with the air,
    ending it all, with grace.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 3w

    Lately, I was being off. And the sign I am off is, I either write a lot or not at all. But the other day, I wanted to break this spell where "I cannot write." I wanted to write how broken I was, how it hurts to breathe, how my thoughts are slaying me every second. But I ended up writing more complicated shit. Him. Us. My life would be falling apart, and I'd still be thinking about him. And, yeah, I am not proud of it.

    It hurts, not in a good way, to be left behind, and him moving on. I want him to move on, don't get me wrong, but it doesn't hurt any less. We have no future. True. But that is not something new. We knew from the start. What hurts me is, someone who chose to fight, in the beginning, gave up, maybe not easy, but surely, and here I am wondering, what made him change his mind. It would be fine if it were circumstances. But we both know, or so I assume, it is not the circumstances.

    He always questioned my love. If I weren't naive, I would have known that is the sign. He gave me a date for our "breakup," again, if I weren't naive, I would have seen deep through it, not "misunderstanding" the "truth." Maybe it is his smile at the end that deceived me to believe something that ain't there, or simply my stupidity. And here I am, when it is time to question my life choices, questioning my sanity.

    //I want to see you smile, one last time, so it'd break every single piece into a million more, so they wouldn't know their way to your heart.//

    ©spicy_sugar

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    I want to see you smile, one last time, so it'd break every single piece into a million more, so they wouldn't know their way to your heart.
    [Read caption]

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 3w

    You cannot talk about love,
    without talking about her.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 5w

    We all get drunk,
    some on booze,
    some on love,
    some on melancholy.

    ©spicy_sugar

  • spicy_sugar 5w

    //I preserve the things that remind me of people I love.//

    I kept a stone, which is of no worth, just 'cuz my mom gave it.
    I kept a dried and dead flower, in between pages of my favorite book, a flower he gifted me.
    I kept the playlist of his favorite songs, just because I live on the pain and melancholy they cause.
    I kept the poem my crush wrote, not about me, but her.
    I kept the books my mom wrote, not to read but hold close to my heart.
    I keep every word my sister speaks, deep inside, 'cuz they remind me to be kind.

    ©spicy_sugar

    Idk if this qualifies for #kept #wod

    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    I preserve things that remind me of people I love.

    ©spicy_sugar