I hope this post finds you in good vibrations and plenty of joy! As I mentioned in my post (titled Self Love), the next two weeks will be dedicated to helping you (and me) in finding and connecting with our true selves. Of loving them so deeply, so profoundly, that little else matters.
So the prompt for today is this: I am stunningly beautiful.
Write it down as many times as you have to. 10, 20, 50. Let it sink in, right to the very core of your being.
Because it is true. You. Are. Stunningly. Beautiful.
Let that smile burst onto your face, feel light hearted, there is so much energy coursing through you. You feel good. You feel confident. There is so much happiness in the world and you bring a lot of it.
Inspired by @risingdrop 's post. I hope you don't mind that your post chugged my writing train along to reach till here. If you are uncomfortable with me borrowing (and building on) your idea, I will delete this asap.
Memories, I think are like pebbles on water - rippling away; like high tides on moonlit nights - spectacles; like stormy skies - thunder rolling darkness engulfing; like clear waters. of distant seas - beckoning; like dusky eves of old days - alluring; like stories told by the fire - fading; Memories, we thought were like us, living in polaroids and starry nights; like forgotten dawns and lost stories - an illusion, perhaps or a refugee, maybe from the world outside; Memories, you said were like me - keeping chaos at bay leading darkness astray; But now, memories are the traps I keep falling in like whispers of old tales or promises of new times; Because memories are now all that I have, like lost tributes to pagan times - forgotten; Like the stars we live under - searching for home, lost and long due.
clean your eyes, girl. cry him away. dust his scent off of your shoulders. mop the trails of his fingers from your belly. blush your cheeks. put on a dark lipstick. they'll cover up for his meaningless kisses. let down your hair don't hide him under your ponytail. turn the tattoo of his name, on the nape of your neck into something else. something that stays. maybe a butterfly because you deserve to fly; and he does not deserve to linger on your body. so wash him off your skin. and move on with what's little left of him in your memory.
Entailed my emotions to the entitled nascent lyrics. Words flew like tide but inner artist concerned the frame and converted to the verse. Inks bled for the sophisticated life but soulful voice present the entity to the crescent mind. Life caption area was filled with the chaotic cacophony and voidness but the face polished the shape and propelled to find the motto for the designing of the craft in own way. Now my phrasess flow like the limitless Lovins having nescient cameron behaviour towards the universe and feel like an architect of own metaphoric lyrical verse. #pod,#mirakee
This is not me who is scribbling 'bout bloodstained heart, heartbreaks, 'bout that loneliness and depression. That is not me. She is a rapturous soul who enters into me everynight when the aurora betides, when the stars enter into the canopy of azure sky, when the beatific moon shows his bewitching stardust, she scribbles poetries.
She always says me "I'm a soul made up of ravishing metaphors but the so- called modern society didn't understand me and did kill me in a night. They threw me away near that graveyard. I was afraid and I was screaming but they didn't listen to me. They said me a mad girl. Am I mad ? No, neve'. I was a poet, I am a poet and I'll be a poet. I'll enter into you every night to scrawl verses and to satisfy this soul. They can not stop me to write, they can kill a body but not a soul. Body can decay but soul can't."
Yes, she is a empyrean soul. I never see her but can feel her with each of her words. She wears the necklace of sonnets and anklets of haikus. And I am stunned after seeing her earrings which are made up of bewitching elegies. And in her hand I see plethora of lexicons to adorn her fingers as rings. She should write, she should express herself through me, because I'm in love with her.
/POETS NEVER DIE, BODIES CAN DECAY BUT SOUL IS IMMORTAL/