I spill words among pages so that I can’t say my thoughts are stuck in cages. Can’t say I didn’t let it out when I can say for sure I wrote it down.
RENEE STONEReading has always been my sweetest escape, but I write to convey that which I want to escape or what scares me to say, even if it’s something positive.
More Renee Stone Quotes
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I carry on knowing that when I deteriorate, my body will be a museum of all I can do and all that hindered me.
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We walk in circles, never knowing when to end the cycle our hearts put us in.
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I want to tell them how tired I am because I don’t think it shows. But maybe it’s the same for them – all strangers to the weight each of us carries. So alone, we carry these loads.
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It takes less for me to be impacted, for my state of being to worsen.
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To be understood and accepted could change so many lives.
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The free for all of love – these tiny acts within our capability. In turn, reciprocation is of no concern. We just want people to listen and learn that love is granted to all.
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Imagine the unknown of what the beings around you cover up and struggle with everyday.
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If I could reverse time, I would spend more time looking into what ailed my loved ones – would have learned more about medical gaslighting.
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Somewhere the silence resonates, the clutter clears, and you’re set to start again.
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I wish you could feel it when it’s dark at night, and I think of you when I pass the streetlights. But I know you feel the care without me being there.
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Healing means looking within when you want to move on. Healing means letting go when your grip is too tight.
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Here you are, another heartache to guard under my wings as I wait wondering when it’ll be time for me to fly.
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Tell me I’m sun-kissed, but you burn my skin. And you already told me, I was paper thin.
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I grew up learning history about communities that would support their people (the idea that it takes a village), but all I see are so many people left on their own.
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When you write me into your story, don’t set my end in stone. Feel free to let me go. I’d like to join your story, but remember I have my own.
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The thought of you having to try hurts because it feels like you should have known to let me go before you grabbed ahold.
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My body is a field site of muscle memory and weathered bones.
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They hit like waves, the memories of those old summer days. Memories you’d have thought to erase, but they crash ashore without haste.
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I don’t think anyone really gets my attachment to the little things. They call it insignificant and say that it is what it is. I think it all adds up to what we stand for. The little things add up to something meaningful and so does the complacency.
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Flowers crown her with thorns, keeping her mind entrapped in a garden of lies – guarding her mind.
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I can’t take it all in or else I’ll grow cold when the heat already escapes my fingers and toes.
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I write poems of the past; they reveal the reasons we didn’t last.
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I was never lonely alone because love has come to me in many forms, and one of them was you.
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My words decay. I grow as they fray, unbecoming in the passage of time.
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It felt vulnerable to have people know my weaknesses, but there is so much strength from going back to the start and re-determining who you are.
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I escaped the voice of darkness that was as pervasive as the silence that has come to replace all the words you had misplaced.
RENEE STONE