Funny thing is, it could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, could’ve been someone fresh from Harvard law school, could’ve been some random girl in a yellow dress happy because her life neither has history nor surprises. See, a weak man doesn’t require a special person. A weak man just needs an opportunity and an excuse. That is enough.
مآ أجمّل أنْ تصمتْ
فيْ ؤجهْ منْ ينتظرْ منِك الخِصَام
وما أجمل أنْ تضحك
فيْ وجهْ منْ يُنتظرْ منك البكـاءْ
How beautiful is it to stay silent
When someone expects you to be enraged from them.
And how beautiful it is to laugh
When someone thinks you are going to shed tears.
I no longer deserve to read beautiful poetry
when nothing inside of me is a mirror of the truth. I spent
eighteen years digging myself holes to fall into, and now
I can’t lay across my bed without detonating all of the mines
I had set down.
How often is it three a.m. with you feeling
like you’re standing beneath a landslide with your mouth
I’m beneath six feet of things that I can never take
back, and facts
are the only things these days strong enough to
The stone that I threw through my
garage window when I was eleven was real.
How I told my father that it was one of the
When I told you I loved you I meant it.
When another boy fucked me in the bed
where we would make love, all I wanted to do was
leave my body there for
I am a carcass of regrets and apologies and things
that always go wrong before they never become
The left side of my brain is where I keep
all the things that I should have said in the first place, and
the sentimental apologies that I carry around like
marbles in my head are more true to me than
what I have done.
The quadratic formula doesn’t give me the answers that I want
it to, and the only thing I know for certain, is that
I would gladly die if it meant that you
would smile at me again.
but I’ve seen flowers bloom at midnight.
I’ve seen kites fly in gray skies
and they were real close to looking like the sunrise,
and sometime it takes the most wounded wings
the most broken things
to notice how strong the breeze is,
how precious the flight. Andrea Gibson, “The Moon is a Kite” (via larmoyante)