I had 20\20 vision,

a blur here and there.

But you, you wear nearsighted,

and always liked to go without glasses.

You said you looked better in contacts.

But I don’t think they worked;

because you only ever looked in the mirror.

from the tip of my tongue,

and the base of my throat,

in the throb of my heart,

to the bumps on my skin.

And there were no feathers, or pillows, or love

to comfort and cushion this start.

Just a rock hard ground,

at the bottom of a puddle,

and blow,

after blow,

after blow.

So I waded,

And let the heat simmer,

boil, 

and burst

inside me, all around me and my broken walls.

Then you took the pieces you’d shattered,

and threw them to the wind.

It was then that I realized, 

I am made of me.

From the tip of my tongue, 

to the throbbing in my heart.

and I

am all

that I need.

that you’d let someone have hold of you like this.

don’t try and hide what it is

because we can all so plainly see.

and i hope you’re happy in the end,

cause i’ll be gone before you know it.

so enjoy the void;

& embrace the emptiness

that you’ll eventually fall prey to.

i believe you’re better than that.

you just have prove it to yourself.

because in the end you’re all you have.

but for now,

you 

disgust

me.

I’ve always found beauty in broken things.
Those desolate places, forgotten toys, and vacant doors you always see. 

Even people, some in so many pieces
that they can’t tell which go where anymore.

I thought; “these pieces tell a story, one of struggles, and strength,”

That there is so much beauty 
behind their words,
and their present thoughts,

that keep them together when they should be in shambles.

And no matter how broken you might feel, 
remember,

I will always see the beauty
in each piece of you.

My tongue is at a stand-still,

I can’t think of which ways to press it, bend it, and form

words that could console the grieving, give hope to the questioning, and love to the longing.

You never know what to say when you see the first petals falling from a daisy.
You never know what to say when life reminds us of exactly what it is. 

(Source: coralwine)

I always remember the little things,

but they must’nt have been so little to me…
 

Like the posture of your hands 

on a Blue Moon, or the back of my neck,

dewey with the chill of condensation.
 

Like the shade of your eye-shadow then.

Its cyan tinge reflecting off 

those deep siena pools of light I loved to see so clearly

(but never really got the chance to.)
 

And the subtlety of the way you left,

faulting me for forgetting my past,

(while keeping the beauty in your present hidden.)
 

See, I regret nothing of the way our paths collided,

I just wish I’d really known you.
 

Now I know I was your own little nothing,

and we were never quite so nothing 

to me.

(Source: coralwine)

coralwine:

I want to be out in the green, out in the dark with you;

to be warmed by a smoldering branch, and the stone beneath the hearth
cloaked gently by our mother,

our bodies draped with love.

Sing songing, dream speaking, hope keeping

until we fell asleep under the omnipotent cosmos
and a cover of waxy green leaves.

To wake by the song of the sweet morning lark,

letting be known that all is well, all is one,

all under the hem of our Great Mother Earth.

(Source: coralwine)

coralwine:

all of the colors in me -

an amalgamation of the most beautiful kind

not a rainbow, or a wheel.

but a kaleidoscopic blend of all the things i’ll ever feel

when only you

walk by.

are the ones that come

and enter our lives simply

to love us later.

(Source: coralwine)

my body wants to spend its days

laying in the dirt.

Slowing down,  it’s closing time,

my mind is letting go.

So you say I need to wake up.

Ok, Pronto, let’s go,

Don’t you dare fucking stop.

Keep a good pace, you won’t beat the clock.

Now let it be known that you want to be known, 

You’ve got a new kind of mind and it needs to be shown. 

Hey, just open up a little bit, girl.

The world won’t bite.

But I was never quite sure.

and you sure were shit for a liar.

I can pick away the parts of me I can’t understand,

not just the ones that disgust me.

The pieces that flake and break so slightly,

(yet so greatly,)

and hide sometimes, like glaciers, 

until disaster draws near.

But this is isn’t the 1912,

and I am not a tragedy.

I’m a living, breathing, work of art;

peeling away to what’s really real

every single day.

(Source: coralwine)

in the daintiness of an octave above.

this big pail of tears tonight.

there’s this hole in my side,

and tears won’t stop spilling.

i had a car.

then i could steal you.

or just run away for a few hours.

go to sonic and get a burger

or walmart to people watch (and laugh) alone.

but maybe not alone.

maybe i’d like you there.

yeah, i think i would.