And, When I Held It In My Hands, I Realized How Beautiful, Someone's Creation Can Be. How Beautiful Someone's

Her Life

Her laughter echoed the pain of her cries, The ice melted, she burned and tried. Happy face with empty eyes, Her smile depicted the pain confined. Her words reflected her past mistakes, She vowed to change her dying life. Bleeding by the cuts of their knife, She refused to be called futile. She decorated her old grave, With the ribbons of the broken ties. Rising from the ground once again, Her silence roared the goddess's might.

~ark

.

~ark

Sometimes I don't care about what people think, Because I've already thought about it on their behalf.

~ark

The Ashes of Herself

The relics of her feelings, The ashes of her burnt soul, Were locked in an old chest, Buried deep in her heart enclosed. The burden of those burials gradually, Outweighed her. She wanted to get rid of it, As the weight had been consuming her.

That day, The chest opened itself, And dissolved the ashes in the rivers of tears, After years, she felt relieved and alive. She could finally breathe with a pleasant sigh.

There kept a pen on the table, Staring back at her. It was time to write her life again. The droplets of tears fell like rain, Wetting the paper on which, She had to sculpt her life ahead.

She instead wrote everything about her past self, Burnt it, and dissolved the ashes of herself, In a peaceful river. She then wrote again, Looking at herself in the unbreakable mirror, Unknown to what would happen ahead, But known to what would never happen again.

~ark

Guilt

The urge to remain where we are, not wanting to move, not wanting to change and then feeling guilty for not achieving, for not changing, for not beginning, for not ending, for not continuing.

Standing in front of the mirror yet avoiding it to not witness the failure achieved, to avoid the reflection of the coward who refused to give the best, who chose to ignore everything.

The guilt of not putting efforts and then reading the disappointed expressions hidden beneath the acts of consolation. To show that you worked when you never did and when they say, “At least you gave your best. That’s what matters” 

How do you break it to them? How do you present your cowardness, your lethargy, your unfaithfulness. And then, you opt for a path you never thought you would take. You become something with a void building within. All the emotions that were never expressed eventually stop hurting, they become a habit. The void gradually growing consumes all the emotions leaving a creature too selfish to even care. Showing acceptance for something you should’ve fought harder for but you leave it, you leave yourself where you were.

But in all of this, one thing remains,

The guilt of not feeling guilty. The constant war to define it, to categorise it as justification or an excuse. But these words seem inappropriate, what do you think would fit?

Cowardice, distracted, remiss or the inertia of not moving ahead from the information to know the difference to the wisdom of making one?

.

I think I finally understand The rose's thorns I too want to be loved Without being touched

So I am no romantic flower I embody the stem I want to be ideal And practically unattainable

They'll Too

The situation I had been in, Was the situation they were in. I wanted to warn them, As I already knew the end, But I decided against it. As I was the one who ignored the warnings too, And I knew they'll too. Thinking, The way I realised, They'll realise too. The way I learned, They'll learn too.

~ark

And once again, I endured the pain, I never caused.

~ark

Done being the PUNCHING BAG.

To be Known, To be Lost

I broke free Too tired to survive in monotony Too tired of being recognised, known to anybody.  The urge to just disappear lingered,  To become a part of something new,  To feel new, to dissolve, to be lost completely. 

But in the process of, Filtering myself to feel unique, Escaping to gain my own autonomy, The desire to belong, My willingness to surrender, Made me realise that I was nothing more than a selfish body. Transient beings, their desires - ugly.  To be bound, to be known, to be contradictory.  I confined myself to have nothing, But a fleeting identity.    

Thank you @wordsbyicarus for the tag.

I have many works that are to be completed and some that I haven't posted yet. I started writing not too long ago but I have a bunch of them that are very special to me.

Here are some of them:

1. The Ocean

2. The End

3. Free

4. The Contract

5. I Will Die Happy

6. The Silence

7. The Ugly Desire

8. Blinded Eyes

9. The War

10. Forgotten Death

Would love to answer some questions about them!

No pressure for tags @ivaspinoza @safiresyrup

WIP TAG GAME

Thanks @agirlandherquill for the tag!

Here are the rules! - post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

° Atlantis

° Festival of the Dead

° 1954

° Dancing enemy

° Flowergarden of the Battlefield

No Pressure tag for @blob-blobsworld, @philanthropicalsundog @pen-pain-poetry @crmsnmth

My idea for the writers that only write poems and therefore can’t necessarily have WIPs: Put in three poem titles that you think are most interesting or your three favourite poems that you wrote