Our memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.
STEPHANIE BRIARPoetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.
More Stephanie Briar Quotes
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The search for external sources is nothing compared to internal forces.
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In the absence of you I look to the moon and pray that the stars light my way, too.
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I am a phoenix living in a culture of vultures.
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Trauma has deep roots indeed, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pull the weeds.
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The glint of mischief in your eyes is the flint in my matchstick. Striking; always this close to igniting.
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Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.
STEPHANIE BRIAR -
In my dreams we got past the parking lot; you took me past the old, oak door, led me up onto the vacant altar, and offered me to every god whose name you invoked as you worshipped my body.
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Last night, I sent you home with a kiss and a promise. I hope you still believe in roses.
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Creatives are neither born nor created. They are activated.
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He’ll keep some daying and tommorwing until he has no tomorrows left. I don’t choose that.
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In my dreams you conjure me like a spell in the night. Let us haunt one another with uneasy peace, and die burning alive.
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Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.
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Your darkness does not scare me, nor will I run from you; like a star, I’m falling for the phases of your moon.
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Anxiety is living with an apple on your head and you imagine that everyone you know stands watching with a bow to shoot an arrow at it.
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Emotion = Energy in motion.
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Let yourself go a little wild, a little rough around through the edges; the human spirit wasn’t meant for carefully-curated perfection.
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How do you sleep soundly, knowing you traded roses for weeds?
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We usually seek the divine in the sky, But religion is best found on the ground. Nature is our true creator.
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You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.
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I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.
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I count the stars from whence we came. I name them all for you; my flame.
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The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.
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Can hope bloom in the shade? Can time give back what it takes away? I once saw the answers to life in your eyes; now I can remember the words to goodbye.
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To the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.
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If we are what we love, Then I am whatever you are made of.
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You’re preserved inside of me; cadaversque. I both acquiesce and atrophy because of it.
STEPHANIE BRIAR