It's That Time Of Year Where All Of My Pain Turns Red And Becomes A Brittle Brown Leaf.

it's that time of year where all of my pain turns red and becomes a brittle brown leaf.

-Isabella Lamberty

I remember us bickering in the kitchen-

you holding me still, telling me to listen

but I'm just some girl you loved when you were seventeen

I keep coming back in your shitty dreams

-Isabella Lamberty

"My Vows" by Isabella Lamberty

My soul embarks, and stains,

the soul stamped with his name

The numbness of life surroundings

Birds pecking out my shortcomings

I'm left in a pile of black feathers

Shaking in the shadows of a father's

Lackluster lingering marriage

Somethings a miss

Praying over spilled beads, throwing out ripped jeans

Eyes spinning in bad dreams, us loving prophetic things,

Elbow pains and elbow sores, my crooked dresser drawers,

Lying lovers harboring bedsores, the bit: “I’m sick of being yours!”

Fiddling with the fibers just to cross the road

Latching on to piping hot love but the tea’s cold-

Falling over in lamplit streets, eventually going home.

Because every little fiber just didn’t wanna know

I’m left in a pile of love letter similes baked in snow

Blank little white boards for personal love scores

Loose rhymes, stern words, lost myself in microscopic blurbs-

That settles the score!

Love is like winning a long dead war, where I never get to touch him,

Never get to be rewired, sifting through the fibers- of this married bore.

He never wrote a letter so I have the heroin nod,

I fought off birds against all odds,

So I present the tared feathers in awe,

For all those lingering in marriage,

I rip stickers off plastic sheets, harboring the early birds starry deep!

My soul- like his- a husband in hiding, me some wife to reside in-

Was a miss.

I stained boards and beams, never leaving a single seam

To any nuptial sheet, never turning a cheek, this would seem-

to settle my score!

Love is like winning a long dead war,

So much praying and pecking,

Just to end in divorce.

Marceline & Bubblegum

I have always enjoyed the prospect of cutting all my hair off. Short hair is such a relief. Such a character defining trait. Oh, she cut her hair. Oh, she didn't say she was doing that. I implore you not to make it a spectacle. Be mysterious in your ways. Give zero signs, give no hints, agree with your company that, “Yes, I'll dye my hair soon, Yes, I don't have the money right now…” Tell them you love your hair. Cut your hair and tell no one. Don't post it. Don't tell your bestfriend. Don't tell your father. Don't tell your pastor. Don't tell God.

-Isabella Lamberty

Peace - Taylor Swift