don't let the things you love slip away.


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I showed up, knuckles bleeding, guard down, ready to fight. You open the door, luggage in hand. There is so much more we’ve yet to see. I want all of you, the good, the bad, and the alright in between. I’ll take your baggage as you unpack mine. Slowly we’ll unfold and leave this place behind, and I don’t mind, as long as your heart beats in rhythm with mine.

Filed under poet poem write just write spilled thoughts spilled words spilled ink nikki abbate

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Well, I suppose I still have some learning to do.

I don’t know how to love cautiously, they don’t teach you those things. I’ll tell you what I do know - loving someone is work. I know what it is to look into someones eyes and think you see it, for the first time. Getting caught up in mix tapes, and promises of forever. I know I would of fought for you but I guess I’d die trying.

Filed under spilled ink spilled thoughts poem unspoken poetry nikki abbate heartbreak love

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Anxiety’s not actually a feeling, is it? It’s a reaction. An instinct, a signal. It’s an indicator of another, barely conscious feeling that is too terrifying to be faced but too powerful to be dismissed.
My damn internship instructor who needs to stop accidentally making me face myself (via sophisticationgonebuckwild)

(via mermaidsonearth)

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What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

that’s how I feel every time I go to write something new. Anything, a blurb, a sentence, w o r d s. Also, fuck you auto correct, you suck.

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Questions: Part II

I couldn’t sleep last night. You left your scent, delicately placed on my pillow again. How is it possible to love a human-being this much? I’ve been trying for months now, to come up with the right words that might convey exactly how you make me f  e  e  l. How does one explain magic, I’m not quite sure. How is it that I miss you, before you’re even gone? My entire being quivers at the simplest touch. You’ve extracted my heart exquisitely, consumed me like the ocean consumes a wave. With unimaginable force I’ve crashed into you, only to become whole again.

Filed under nikki abbate writer poet love spilled ink spilled thoughts spilled words poetry

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The steady stream of the never ending. Filling your days, drowning your nights. The hours do not matter because they all mesh together; measuring progress by how much sleep you get at night.

counting the times on my fingers when the days felt alright. There is purpose and pride and are they our downfall? Chipping at my life to make a statue. To inspire a resolve to change. The one I am entrapped in, with clocks swiging away with empty words and clouded thoughts of those who do not matter.

all the feels