I lace barbed wire around my heart, constrict it – pull tight, maybe the pain will make it feel alive, and I can pretend it didn’t already die.
JESSICA WILDEMy mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.
More Jessica Wilde Quotes
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When rules don’t make sense, ask questions, break barriers, rise above it all.
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I simply cannot hold onto hope, it aches like possibilities never reached, I’m bubbling over with grief – this chaos has caused so much loss and fatigue.
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Time aches- my words break as if they’re the wings of a captured butterfly as if they’re the seconds that keep ticking by as if they’re embers that refuse to ignite.
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You were refreshing. Your idea of love infused me with hope and joy.
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The sea calls to me – she promises to set me free, it’s tempting- losing myself in her vastness allowing her to swallow me whole, beckoning me to make her deep darkness my forever home.
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I am swept beneath your current – it pulls me in, and I don’t even try to swim.
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And the world seems just a little bit warmer, and the sun shines slightly brighter than it used to, and the days pass differently than before, and time is no longer stuck in a loop.
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When winter withers – my bones begin to thaw, my lungs crackle as they expand, and the blood in my veins start to flow and I awaken from hibernation – hungry for happiness and eager to let go.
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I learned all about love from people that didn’t know how to love me.
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A wooded winter trail awaits, no footprints pressed upon the snow – a path I dared not once to take but now – I must go.
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Lavender lullabies whispered into night skies, remnants of galaxies cradled closely, as you sleep sweetly, time slips away and so do I.
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Expanding like the universe, I discovered galaxies within. To break glass ceilings: Breath in trust, exhale doubt-beckon bravery.
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I chip and carve until I’m a corpse – a bone with no marrow, or a sparrow without wings, a vein without wings, a vein without blood, a puppet with no strings.
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Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.
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Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.
JESSICA WILDE