You shouldn’t feel that people’s expectations of you are undeserved any more than you should feel you’re obligated to live up to them.
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But what burden am I
On those who deem themselves weightless
Am I caught within their levity
Or to them am I this strain
Caused by their ignorance of weight
I am neither heavy nor light
My footprints will always be left in the sand
For those of you who wish to follow
And still water will ripple
For those of you
Who need notice to run
- (via his-dark-side)
Ishmael was a godless man
Having fought the last one who
Roamed his motherland
Upon angel wings and gusts
Of sea breeze
With the clouds as his magic and
It was a tremendous bout, of much
Persuasion upon the hosts
That gathered to watch the battle,
Birds, the creatures of the sea,…
Today I feel like
a dew drop on a petal
A wave on the shore
Like the transience
The shortness of a
Today, I feel like a guest
to this armchair
Red and lush
Everyone forgets in time
That’s is why we appreciate scars
They are reminders of life
He sits in silence
at the very edge
with 100 years in his eyes
Slowly, I entwine my fingers in his
and wish silently
that this simple act
will transfer all of his
At the juncture
Of your seeping
and oboes led my toes through
sixteen pas de chat in comfort
and closeness. And though I
could not yet fly, I was safe, the
feathers of my companions warm
against my goosebumped skin.
I dreamed I was a little swan, and
the darkened lake threw back my
image as a slice of mirrored glass.
I was soft and fragile, shivering and
afraid, but safety was written into
my dance, and though the twilit
city set hunting dogs on my scent,
the moonlit forest’s orchestra
dropped a curtain off the stage
and carried me away, with
sixteen pas de chat.
Lonesome vibrations familiar
in the secrecy of bedroom walls
Images flashing behind closed
eyelids alluding to color and sound
of nostalgic quality.
not of death and love, but
of life and unlove—just.
Pour yourself out
in moderate amounts,
others can hold
Maza’s Note: I really love this
I am a woman joined by two mahogany buds -
reflecting my grandmothers spirit,
and flourishing underneath
her magnolia florets.
As the slight twang of light drifts
across my grandmothers bier,
I can still hear her primeval sounds
amplifying the trumpet of my life.