Reading 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.
RENEE STONEI 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.
More Renee Stone Quotes
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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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I hide myself in the galaxies of my creations – unsure of who I am beyond that.
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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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When you and the world are out of breath, take the steps to ensure your own needs are met. By the moment you know someone can’t on their own, you’ll hopefully be ready to help.
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Somewhere the silence resonates, the clutter clears, and you’re set to start again.
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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’m writing on a blank page full of chances and hope.
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I write poems of the past; they reveal the reasons we didn’t last.
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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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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 wonder why I’m so empathetic, why people perceive me to be so kind. I don’t want my heart to burn when there’s no one burning mine.
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To the songs you haven’t heard from me. To the pains you haven’t felt for me.
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My words decay. I grow as they fray, unbecoming in the passage of time.
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And so, my ‘What if’s’ became ‘What’s next?’
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To be understood is to be on part of the path to inclusivity.
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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 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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Staring into the abyss full of art – hoping for the return of a glimmer or a spark.
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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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I can assure you that I don’t wake up every day with a smile upon my face, and the distance from happiness in the morning isn’t set at a constant rate.
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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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And I saw forever in your eyes ’til the sunset started to dim your light. You told me you’d always hold me tight, but your warmth faded with the bright.
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I overwhelmingly write from sadness – in songs, in prose, in verse.
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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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I try to build myself a bridge to cross every time I start to ruminate on my thoughts.
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You wonder why you didn’t do it sooner – why you didn’t clear your mind when the clouds loomed.
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