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snuffaluffagus
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Name: Liz
Birthday: 12/12/1988
Gender: Female
Interests: breathing, eating, sleeping, piano-ing, guitar-ing, dancing, writing, "passing-my-classes"-ing, singing, and laughing. a lot.
Expertise: being disorganized, coming up with extravagant ideas and never using them, losing things, and getting off track.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Art
Message: message me
Member Since:
12/19/2003
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| stoic still yet fragile
I wait for digits to straighten themselves
lining up like soldiers- blank and firm
contingent upon command
eleven past eleven and I have
nothing to wish for -
not really
I am granted visibility instead of dreams
watch those soldiers stand tall,
and I notice how small I am in existence among them
not in them, or with them
we are all just pinpoints of single lights,
creating this one illusion
that one million particles of
burning fragments of electricity are
one indeed.
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Proof
a glittering halo of injury
broken glass and bruised hips
one metal kiss
two shades of light flicker;
swallows the shock and gives an afterglow
you'd almost forget
if not for these gems of moments-
a shining minute,
sirens singing
it's coming, it's going, it's here
it's time
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half smile,
like the waxing crescent moon;
its brightness more radiant
in that it hides the opulent sphere
in its entirety;
like the soft burn of kindling
that lingers
in the brisk wake of evening;
warm dimples and knowing eyes,
etched more clearly
than n the blinding flash of laughter,
create an expression of happiness more intimate
in that it's warmth burns the inside
and touches only the heart nearest
from whence it originated;
a smile in it's purest form,
meant wholly for oneself,
just one half for the world. | | |
| how warm those antique features- crinkling crow's feet, bristled mustache, that smile for the wearer, give the heart a laugh! And, strangely mirror-like, the newborn face, it's wandering eyes evoking that same warmth of old that e're seems to arise. | | |
| The fortune read: "Nothing in life is to be feared; it is only to be understood" That was last year And yet it reappears in my favorite jeans' pockets, in pockets of my wallet and coat, hidden pouches of my mind and unexpected compartments of my life. And I recall now - a time not long ago, when I had escaped myself and feared home, because I no longer knew what it was, and I abandoned myself for the sake of that same unrecognizability. But fear, I believe, could never take these things away; Those pockets, which knew my own curves and hands so well, restored to me the knowledge kept safe in the deep warmth of it's creased corners, And I saw again, I only needed to understand. | | |
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