Quotes Tagged "poetry"

words are strange creatures

Her love is safe inside his heart for he is her armor.

This heart; a stubborn one always feeling everything; all at once.

Yes, love can be wondrously complicated, it can be confusing, and it can be terrifying. But if it wasn’t all those things, then it isn’t love.

Forget the ones who tell you you are not enough and wait for the ones who tell you you are everything.

My soul is crushed under the weight of tears I can’t spill.

Emotional pain was the price I paid on the path to becoming a woman. So excuse me if I’m not clueless like a little girl.

He was the hunter of my soul, lying in wait - silently and motionless. Coaxing me out of hiding, Enticing me with love, Dangling hope in my face. Pulling me in, drawing me close. I gave in and walked into his trap. He did a good job too, tearing me apart and ripping my heart out. He was the hunter and I, the game. How could I forget that a hunter's job is to kill?

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

When one considers such ancient times one's only recourse is the language of poetry. Thus legends, myths, creation accounts, history. All are no more than stories shaped to justify the present appearance of things.

i was brought into this world from a prayer, palms together, but never once did you expect me to be your biggest regret.

(...) Love, for you is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying.

They say, The result of waiting would be great The result of patience would be great But, no one tells you About the pain it brings along No one talks about the pain Of a person Who waits for the entire life Only to die alone In the end With the questions unanswered Many have died alone With the unanswered questions

For as long as I shall live, I look forward to never growing old with you.

The spiking temps spiked a fever for cool commons, so I made a plate of tapenade, bruschetta, and prosciutto, with orange creamsicle martinis flowing like a Zen fountain. It was hard for me to believe that I woke up that morning fighting back tears for no reason and all kinds of reasons. It is still... hard for me to believe that you have become no reason, at all.

Today I hate myself for loving you, and I hate myself for not being strong enough to love you back... when I know broken boys like you need me, too.

Tornadoes devastate and leave a mess behind, just like your ending, so the instant that 'Psychlone' sees you rebuilding, she's going to spin completely out of control, every time. You can't get sucked into the same vortex twice if you eject the monster from being it's own victim; but until then, I'd pull in your rocking chairs, lock down your trash cans and recycling bins, and take your potted azaleas inside... ... if I were you.

I save a piece of paper that has the indentation of your name on it— your signature... ...move. I knew that I shouldn't have let you push down so hard. Your memory left a mark on so many pages after, if you couldn't tell, as I publish again to press on....

In the few minutes that he sleeps, I am with myself again— that part of me that makes me... ...me, which is sometimes you.

I've lost touch with myself. It seems like she and I have not touched base for ages, I can't remember the last time I talked to her, honest to God. She's always been my best friend—my vicarious better half. It's such a shame, really... I wish I knew what she was up to these days. I really, REALLY do. It's not as though you can close a bond like ours when the room gets too messy; you can't just shut the door. It's common knowledge they'll only open a window ...and sneak out. I don't know where she is now. She could be on a train to the other coast, for all I know. I quit listening to her wishes a long time ago. Shame on me.