April 15, 2014   4 notes

fourteen. - cuts and fumes.

abstracthappiness:

i am tangled barbed wire today. 

poison in the apple before she bites into it. 

gasoline the second before a lit match hits it. 

April 15, 2014   85 notes
thingssheloves:

untitled by Anna Ådén on Flickr.

thingssheloves:

untitled by Anna Ådén on Flickr.

April 14, 2014   1 note

thirteen. - identity.

abstracthappiness:

on the day i leave you, i’ve already lost you.

i will cut my hair, i will not make myself a noose

for the person you only thought i was.

April 14, 2014   1 note

twelve. - warmth.

abstracthappiness:

when i wrap yarn around your fingers, 
i’m not trying to tie you down. 

i find something comforting about 
looped threads, sweaters in winter, 
a scarf around your neck. 

so come here, baby. 
when i wrap myself around you,
i hope i can always keep you warm.

April 14, 2014   1 note

day eleven. - wine and bones.

abstracthappiness:

the dead girl had been named
for her dead grandmother 
whom she had never met but 
was informed that she had been 
“a very nice woman”.

the dead girl was buried in a vineyard, 
quietly, so no one knew about her grave.
her body grew into grapes and 
the grapes were pressed into wine. 

later, a girl who drank the wine, 
who was too young to drink wine, 
broke her glass moments after the first sip.
the glass shattered like a scream no one heard. 

the stains the wine left on the white walls of her house looked like flowers, 
but it was winter at that time. everything outside was frozen. 

the girl locked herself into her room,
 downed the rest of the bottle all by herself. 
that night she dreamt that she turned into a tree, 

skin sprouting thorns and leaves, 
arms turning into branches bearing heavy fruit 
that fell to the earth and rotted, 
feet growing into roots pushing down through the soil, 

through a skeleton of a dead girl, 
who had once been a girl just like her, 
but with a different name, a different face,
a different past and no future. 

the dead girl whispered to her from the soil, 
“if we stay here long enough, 
our bones will turn into diamonds.”

April 14, 2014   1 note

day ten. - unravel.

abstracthappiness:

there are days i wear my dreams
like a dress, and then they all unravel 

it’s so cold where i am, where 
i don’t know where i am going.

April 9, 2014   4 notes

nine. - april 9th. (bastard ghazal #4)

abstracthappiness:

everyone is asking the wrong questions. 
no one cares when i feel so ugly inside. 

i woke up easily this morning, but still flew
out the door. all i wanted to do was read. 

walking would have been good, if not for the wind.
working would be pleasant, if not for customers. 

things are better with a cup of tea, a book to read,
feet soaking in warm water, and silence in the house. 

some days, the words align themselves just right. 
some days, i make myself a domino, knock myself over.

previous bastard ghazals: here.

April 8, 2014   2 notes

eight. - earlier today.

abstracthappiness:

my chest

is made up of

(k)nots.

April 8, 2014   146,640 notes

(Source: unpagliacciotriste, via loveyourchaos)

April 8, 2014   3 notes

seven. - changes.

abstracthappiness:

i used to collect stones from parks and beaches.
perhaps i thought one day i could leave a trail of them
and they would lead me home, when “home” 
would become a foreign concept.

i am more settled now. or so i tell myself.
or so i let myself be told. but if i do lose track 
of where i am going, i’ll draw maps in sharpie 
on the back of receipts, on the walls, on my arms and belly.
i’ll divine where i am going by my freckles
and in the dregs of my chai latte and by the sun
shining on my face. 

i’ll shake hands with the strangers that are
who i was 
           i’ll tell her: “the loneliness will pass.
           it will be worth failing to find him.”
and who i am becoming. 
           she’ll tell me: “one day you’ll have more 
           than a part-time job and shoes that cut your feet. 
           you’ll be even happier than you are now.”

i will not be haunted by who i see in the mirror. 
i will not throw stones.

when i was small i was lost on the beach.
i picked up a rock and whispered my secrets to it. 
when i was found, i left it there on the sand, 
and perhaps that, too, was important.