Posts tagged #Poetic

the word project recap part three: the muse.

af4d5a4f1adb05b0b19d6cbae3bc65edLove, not-love, heart-swoon and heartache. sweep (v). "but tell me all of the truths about your wild and beating heart, and I will tell you all of the stories I could ever think to keep you smiling and keep you near."

boundless (adj). "You are not mine to bottle, you are no one's, not even hers."

timber (n). "I’ll pitch the tent and you make the fire, I’ll meet you here in the wild mountain landing of your heart."

contagious (adj). "Your spontaneity sets me off-guard, it is alarming, and I get nervous, but the spark and the heat that rolls on my skin, the ignition I feel in my chest, the rising of the hair on the back of my neck when I’m around you, it makes me want to follow your abandon all over this town."

radical (adj). "You make me want to make a print and leave a mark, you make me want to colour the earth and fill it with song. After talking to you it’s like everything sings, and I like the world like that."

composition (n). "Then again, you are in every page and every piece  - sometimes about you, sometimes in your honour, sometimes a rebuttal to a previous conversation with you - but you’re always there, even if regrettably, because, if not the hero, you are at least always the muse."

youth (n). "We were just / Two kids, we were/ amazed to be in love, it was/ sweet and light, pure, it won't/ happen again, that kind.."

vary (v) "We are different and not the same, we are from far apart and we have gathered, glued and fused just the same."

fused (v). "I want to be leashed to your wandering, where we are free and full and light."

hush (v). "I want to climb inside your quiet. It threw me off, that’s certain, the quiet in even your hands and your ease in the silent moments that drift in and out of our conversation."

exhale (v).

65822c2a848e879da20ab61ffb7e483dHeavy sighs, and for these things: a list of things to do, many things, all so silly and small; the pulling on of my parka, zipped to my chin, usually catching my hair. It is spring, and it is not spring at all. There is the heavy sigh that comes with the blurry lines of being young- finding love, not finding love, standing tall, saying what you mean, being kind, doing too many things you never wanted to do in the first place, learning (slowly) to not bother with such things; marveling at the strangeness of it all, the passing of time, how it is we came to be at this place at this time, the decisions we made and the decisions that get made for us when we don't pay attention. There is the heavy sigh that comes with doubt, and wavering, and all of the questions about what next to do. And then the sigh, cool and fresh like early morning, wondering if it all could possibly come true.

forced (v).


I was always the loneliest immediately after leaving your house, walking down your street towards the baker and the sandwich shop with the terrible coffee. I got lonely because I knew that we were lonely, and I got the inkling that I was just filling the space, warming your bed, making your skin prickle and pink. I left lonely because I knew I do not hold majority of your thoughts; there was the wondering what else you'd like in a girl, probably, or even just consumed by all the things you are trying to become.

No room. You found  no room for me.

We stayed because we can pretend for a while that there’s nowhere else that we’d rather be, instead of the reality: there was nowhere else nicer right then where we could be. We would smile and make nice and say the right things that you say that feel warm when they roll out of your mouth and onto the other person's face. We didn't ask for anything, especially not what we needed.

Maybe we are most lonely when we are the least ourselves.