winter cherry


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⋆。゚𖤣𖥧 i'm a knife always searching for that one tender place ₊ 𓇗⊹
- 🀢 https://telegram.me/BiChatBot?start=sc-501213-jHkRQep

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I'm experiencing the shame after being emo


My parallel personalities meeting






در مورد مرگ فروغ فرخزاد








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... I'm doing really, really great. Just in case you were wondering.


All this poetry just because i can't straightly say what I deeply feel.


I have always faced my emotions wrapped in hundreds of layers so it doesn't feel so shamefully raw. Always so polite with the intensity, so organized when i bottle them up. Everything censored as metaphors, amphibology and wordplay, written with no name on it, no confessions, no receivers like i want to forget it once existed so clearly in my own chest. That way, the constant need to paraphrase the same thing over and over never ends. Same thing always in your throat until you verbalize it vocally and honestly and lead it out. Well, I mean I hope so.


;






Whenever you want to begin, begin
We don't have to go back to where we been
I am the woman who wants you to win
And I've been waiting
Waiting for
You
To love me
You
You


And I know none of this'll matter in the long run, but I know a sound is still a sound around no one, and while I'm in this body I want somebody
To want
And I want what I want
And I want




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Forward from: خونه‌‌ درختی اِلی
it's funny because i can never accept losing people permanently. even like distant friends from years ago who i wasn't even that close with. i always want to talk to them, to ask how they're doing, how they've changed over the years we didn't talk, what are their interests now, what's currently bothering them in life, which new artists they like. idk. when i get attached to someone i can never just throw them out. a part of them always stays


بهش می‌گم اگر این هفته بگذره، می‌بینی آدم بهتری‌ام. اگر این تموم بشه، اگر پاییز بیاد، اگر باز خیابون‌ها رو طولانی راه برم، بهتر می‌شم. یه جایی بین یه لایه برف نازک یا وقتی که از توی شلوغی رد می‌شم، یه جا گمش می‌کنم. زیر ریشه‌ی درخت‌ها یا توی جیب یه غریبه‌ای. تو می‌دونی، من اگر چند ساعت زیر بارون شسته بشم، بعد باد بیاد خشکم کنه، بعد دستم رو بندازم توی گلوم هر چی مونده رو بریزم بیرون، بعد با اولین مدادی که دوباره اجازه داد بنویسم سرم رو سوراخ کنم و کج وایسم تا همه چیز خالی بشه، انقدر تلخ نیستم. بالاخره وقتی همه‌ی اینها رو بریزم یه گوشه و پاک کنم و فراموش کنم بخشی از من بودن، زیر همه‌ی اینها من هم هنوز شیرینم. لطفا صبر کن. من رو هنوز می‌شه کنار چای تلخت نگه داری. من آدم بهتری‌ام.

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