Be Kind To What Mother Nature Has Given Us. Be Gentle With Animals. Be Compassionate To Every Living

show me the places where the others gave you scars (insp.)

i love studying. i love writing. i love reading. i love learning languages. i love doing mathematics. i love wandering over some particular sum and trying to come up with formulas to solve it. i love physics. i love biology. i love chemistry. i love history. i love literature. i love learning.

not to achieve the perfect grades ever. but it just amazes me that there's so much to know and learn and write and read about in the universe. my curiosity wouldn't get enough of it.

Empty Vessel

I’m empty.

I’ve given everything I have in me.

I don’t wait or truly ask for anything in return.

But now I have nothing left for me.

Not a drop has been added to my vessel.

And I’m alone and thirsty.

Desperate for some kind of sign that someone still cares.

I try not to ask for anything in return.

It’s not who I am.

But here I am.

Empty and alone.

If I ask now, I’m desperate.

If I’d asked then, I’ve lost my altruism.

They are content to watch me shrivel and dry up.

Their vessels are filled.

They may have some to spare, but none for me.

I’m not worthy.

I never was.

No amount of myself was ever worth one drop of return from them.

Yet I gave anyway.

I was worried they might one day thirst, they might need extra.

But they move on, filled to the brim.

Forgetting about the empty lonely vessel.

I collect dust.

Maybe even get knocked off the shelf and broken into a million pieces.

Not a piece returns a memory of me.

The one who gave her last drop,

To make him happy.

WHEN ALL MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS IN A BOOK ARE KILLED OFF

American sculptor and designer Isamu Noguchi (1904-1988), here at 19 in 1923.

I didn’t know this is what love looks like: truth, acceptance, devotion, you were my moonlight. I love like no other, honey gold eyes. My Muse. I wanna steal the sky for you, give you the world. I dream of you and of what it could’ve been. I’m proud of you, though. There’s a lot to learn from you, my muse, the living embodiment of my mantra, but I was too naive to see it. I wasn’t ready for you. At least I was impartial enough to see you deserve better. Low vibrational, I was I was. So brief and short lived by God, did you mark me. This loss is so familiar, must’ve lasted eons,hell how I long for you, I’ll long for you for more eons. To mould our universes into one. Your honey gold eyes forever ingrained in my mind, you were my Frida I see myself in you, my mantra, embodiment of femininity, sapphic love and much more. Forever believe we could’ve been so much more than we could ever possibly imagine. you and I, a statement. A revolution like no other, it tasted like one the very first time our lips met, honey gold eyes. I could swear even Cupid envied us. I envy anyone who is lucky enough to lay their eyes on your honey gold eyes. These are words I never thought I could write, feelings I never thought I could feel. I long for you with every breath I take. My honey gold eyes.

"And then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?"

-Vincent van Gogh

Rumi, from Bittersweet (tr. by Fereydoun Kia & Deepak Chopra)

all we need is hope, not war 

children of the world pj

by valentini mavrodoglou