Being a better person

sl

Being a better person,

falling into the skin of a better ‘you’

is what takes most courage,

 

We can be our truest, most authentic selves,

if we rest in the belief

that we are capable and we are enough,

 

we can realize our potential for greatness,

if we don’t hold on to everything that passes us by,

but let the weight go

when it isn’t meant to stay.

~ Saadia

Advertisements

This Place

20190408_161915.jpg

Every place I’ve stayed in or been to gives rise to certain feelings. Often, I subconsiously relate places to objects, colours and certain words. (Is that some sort of synesthesia?)

This is one of those poems, about one particular place.

 

(Side note: If any of you would like to connect on Goodreads, be sure to leave your username in the comments. Here, my latest reads are updated in the menu section in the upper right corner ♡)

People

DMbokAoXkAIhQqw.jpgThere’s this girl, alive, mad and a masochist, all rolled into one. Her eyes are amber, brooding, and her scars, they run a bit too deep.

I’ve looked just enough to burn and frey at the seams
There’s another girl, pale skin, gold and cedar haired , with topaz eyes that remind me of summer sunrises. She is the living example of how an ideal person should balance life. But the other day I saw parallel cuts across her arm and wondered if anyone had it easy at all.
There’s this other girl, so different for everyone else, she is like the night sky when it is dipped in clouds, veins and tendrils of grey and ivory threating to overcome the sky; she is the moon that preserves beauty when at midnight the world looks like an unending slate of obsidian but she is also the thunder that cleaves the world apart. I wonder when she’ll learn of her own power.

– Saadia

Run

images-6Run, kid, run till your lungs ache and your shins split open. Run till you leave the dead earth hanging on the shattered horizon. Run, leave the immaculate fields behind, plains where the grass is too green, run and strip the unnecessary. Run, love, run till your eyes have drowned in an ocean of stinging tears, run till the trees drift away into an illusional distance. Run till the rain has drenched your bones and the snow nestles in your hair. Run till you are carved raw, run till you find the abode of your demons and the abbey of your angels, run , for the sake of your damned life, run. Run till colours drink themselves up in the sky and the night folds into herself.

– Saadia