Dearest reader, whomever you might be at this stage, welcome to another whispered ramblings. The last one of these posts I wrote was from October 2020, I am the lost and found. That feels like a lifetime ago, but it is probably more like five. I haven't written properly in quite a while, but this …
The Sad Butterflies | poem
What isn't real cannot hurt meBut nothing is less real than RealityYet each day it destroys me,Each day it destroys me... Nothing feels as real as this misery ;I can feel them buzzing inside of meWith wings made of painful memories,Wings pulled by rotten strings. Oh, here they come, the sad butterflies,Waking up the storms …
I am the lost and found. | whispered ramblings
Sometimes, it takes a lot of getting lost before you can find yourself exactly where you are supposed to be. Growing up, I always felt out of place. Like, somehow, in spite of Its all-seeing all-knowing eye, the Universe had made a mistake and planted my soul in the wrong time & place. Some nights, …
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how to beat the darkness | whispered ramblings
It's been almost a month since I wrote a “whispered ramblings” post. I have been too busy working on making things happen & convincing Reality to accept and wear the beautiful dress I made for her. I am writing this one for myself mostly as I am in need of a reminder of the strength …
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You are not alone | poem
The world might be broken But nothing can stop the Love That's pouring from the clouds above the rain is not your enemy, remember that sadness is happiness's mother The world might leave you lonely But nothing can stop the wind From holding your faded skin storms will always be scary, but you will learn …
I can feel the rain before it comes (kinda like a sneeze)
I often get what I like to call pre-sadness sadness or sometimes even pre-frustration frustration. I always feel it coming, and maybe that always leads to its premature launching as well. But one thing that never seems to happen is pre-happiness happiness. I am always being haunted by some type of ghost that whispers chills …
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My thoughts on the walls | poem
Evaporated thoughts On a mouldy ceiling. The walls absorb my tears, Happy to be stealing The secret to my glowing skin. I think too much, I think to myself, So much it hurts, Too much; it's not enough. When the night is dark, My words leak Through my teeth, They flood the floor, So I …
The Dawn Chorus... 