Whatsthematteruniverse-blog - Confessions Of A Poem Freak - Tumblr Blog

via @extramadness

“Some steps need to be taken alone. It’s the only way to really figure out where you need to go and who you need to be.”

— Mandt Hale (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

Did you know that when you eat enough food every day your mood is improved, your body doesn’t hurt, and you have the energy to accomplish tasks throughout the day? 

What a wild, novel concept.

“I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.” - Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 8: Worlds’ End (via the-book-diaries)

People say, ‘What advice do you have for people who want to be writers?’ I say, they don’t really need advice, they know they want to be writers, and they’re gonna do it. Those people who know that they really want to do this and are cut out for it, they know it.

R.L. Stine (via wordsnstuff)

As I see it, you are living with something that you keep hidden deep inside. Something heavy. I felt it from the first time I met you. You have a strong gaze, as if you have made up your mind about something. To tell you the truth, I myself carry such things around inside. Heavy things. That is how I can see it in you.

Haruki Murakami (via purplebuddhaquotes)

http://iglovequotes.net/

I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me.

Charlotte Green (via purplebuddhaquotes)

And I began to let him go. Hour by hour. Days into months. It was a physical sensation, like letting out the string of a kite. Except that the string was coming from my centre.

Augusten Burroughs (via theglasschild)

People write because no one listens.

h.h. (via syntacked)

Is nostalgia my second skin or is it the river I am drowning in?

Sometimes I want to scream but screaming is not in my nature, so I shut down and sleep for days and days and days until I wake up and feel completely silenced.

Juansen Dizon, Flashbacks (via juansendizon)

via @extramadness

i was going to write a poem about you and compare you to a rubix cube although your not as colorful but you are very complicated

D.D

heavenly J.R

Have you ever watched the sky change colors in the morning, If you are up at 4:30-6:50, You get to witness the most beautiful water paint art happen right in front of you eyes. This once dark void slowly turns to a purple with a mix of blue then sunkissed pink sky, All happening above the obvious minds of the sleeping  residents of this town. You were kind of like that, unfortunately this process does not take to long it comes and it goes then it vanishes, sadly you were like that too.

being a writer is being satisfied with the story you’re telling and being frustrated with the way you’re writing it

yes/no maybe

when you repress me it makes me feel like i dont matter one day you can spend hours talking to me like i'm the only person your looking at but see that's where i get mesmerized by how amazing you can be and forget that your just looking and not really seeing me 

Dedicated to Edger

I feel the treacherous beast which is I, slowly grow tired of writing this poem “a dream within a dream” what do thee mean by “a dream within a dream”. Just like a grain of sand that can slip easily through my hands, so can she. Could death be calling out to me like the dark blue sea.

Like a foe I know to well, the ocean conceals all that I'm not willing to tell. Or maybe it is I who is simply in “a dream within a dream”.

Black Rose

I garden a black rose  with thorns so sharp it pricks my exposed fingers to the most gentlest touch. I am use to the small dots of blood being drawn from my fingertips, was I so naive to think that since I water the flower it will let me take its sweet nectar. Did i trust you so easily that i forgot how much you could hurt me 

Never have I met a sadness that couldn’t be reworked and reshaped into a sculpture of strength and survival. Never have I felt a pain that couldn’t be transformed into a tragically beautiful combination of words to be screamed into the microphone. Never have I experienced a loneliness that couldn’t be replaced with laughter and warm hugs. Until now.

(via ifthenightcouldtalk)

The strangers you will meet

I fell in love with a girl who was a muse in her own ways most people would label her a freak,but my god does she take my breath away. she's so smart and curious she has a dark persona,but believe me when i tell you the girl dressed in black is full of color. she showed me her journal and it was filled with wicked thoughts and emotions and i fell in awe that this beautiful creature would let me see her twisted mind. at the moment i'm currently in love with a girl way out of my league  

quiet stars

you shout at me with those hazel eyes that can bring a chaotic room to a jolt.that bring my heart to a graveyard of star-crossed lovers.just quiet glances here and there were you appreciate what you see with those honey eyes.all under complete silence 

Poetry, for me, is not comfort. It is not release or recovery. It is not beauty or brutality, though it can be all this and more. Poetry is alchemy. Poetry is the acquisition of new knowledge.

Paul Tran, interviewed by C. Thomas for Split This Rock (via bostonpoetryslam)