the words 'I love you' have been carved
into the soft tiling of the roof above me-- so faintly that at first I thought they were simply part of the pattern. now when I wake it is the first thing I see and I wish that somehow I could send my love back in time to the moment it was carved to tell them that their words meant something but I cannot. so I do the only thing I can-- I fold this bright warmth loosely in my chest and carry it forward. this might be a good poem to redo sometime - Atlas
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People will say you can't do everything
And to some extent that's true But if you're willing to go slowly On your own Then you'll find there are few limits That can compete with you realizations - Atlas sometimes I realize that one day no one will be left
who remembers my first breath or to mourn my last and I hope that something in between them outlives me that someone cares enough to pour love into the space I used to be and that my life is bright enough to leave colors dancing on their eyelids as they fall asleep I want my ghost to be good company - Atlas my phone still remembers
that I used to text you every day. when I send a photo to someone, your name is always first on the list of people to send it to and it is so heavy to know that one day it won't show up anymore. I really hope you're happy. Always and unceasingly - Atlas If I could just read minds this would all be so much easier
I could do things without worrying about them being right all the time but sadly my latent psychic powers appear to be malfunctioning "perfection is overrated" I chant to myself, trying not to get mad at myself for not living up to my expectations all the time - Atlas I once saw my reflection in a statue
Perched on the fountain of a memorial garden. It did not look like me—not at all And it was sculpted from dull metal But as I looked into its unseeing eyes Some unknown part of me unfurled And settled between us, I think it was understanding. Like ripples bouncing off the fountain wall My thoughts about it came rolling back to me, One by one, like silent echoes-- I wondered what it thought about, Sitting there alone. I wondered if the names on the plaques were good company, If the souls lingered or if they had better places to be. I wondered if its hand had ever been held, Cool metal slowly warming As someone worked through their grief. I guess I'm growing - Atlas & in the midst of it all I remembered
that I am still here despite everything & I may not know much but I still have two hands that can reach out and make something worthwhile even if it's just a sandcastle, waiting patiently for the tide. hm - Atlas sometimes, the physics problem
is going to kick your ass, and that's okay. reorienting your world view is never easy (though worth doing every once in a while) and if you had nothing to learn from it you wouldn't need to do the problem, anyways. not very poemish but it's late (mostly due to the aforementioned physics problems...) - Atlas and slowly we became not-strangers
your face rose to the surface of a crowd and I began seeing you in places you no longer existed in. I wonder how many ghosts we leave behind unknowingly even while still living. getting to know people is fun - Atlas condescension is a slow-killing poison
that hides itself behind false praise and "good intentions" but for all that it creeps the target is perhaps not the one caught unawares so much as the poisoner, the poisoned who can't even imagine that someone else's point of view might be worth considering writing this kind of poem prompts some self-examination as well (and I hope that whoever reads this examines themselves instead of just nodding and thinking 'I know someone like that') - Atlas |
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