Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.
ODD KENSometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.
More Odd Ken Quotes
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Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.
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Please the night’s cold, not her name again!
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I don’t think the world is ever getting better; I guess maybe people just find new ways to hide what kills them.
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Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.
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I forget how our story started; but these days I’m finding the missing pieces behind every exhale, where I left the words standing with sore feet.
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It is my dying wish to travel around the world; to feel this hurt in a slightly different way!
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Either the jump or the drown, loving her has always readied me for the fire.
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The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!
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These sharp edges you left behind, they cut so deep; and I guess maybe I am just not dying enough.
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I’ve been to the countryside a couple of times. Somedays it is all wood and grass and empty. Other days it feels like you!
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And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.
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In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.
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I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.
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I guess this has been my confusion; where I went wrong. Thinking that love could possibly come as a thing without the burns.
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I can feel the dust of her skin in my skin; and I think maybe that means these bones of mine have grown weary of crying too.
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Breathe in the pain and bring out the wounds. It’s only a process and you’ll learn to survive the rest.
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Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.
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I swear I love her so much that somedays I can’t quite tell if I’m just a good liar.
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When I say I love you, I mean something raw something below the surface of all waters; something almost too naked and true!
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I guess we all understand the love language fine; but maybe truth is we’re just too fluent in goodbyes.
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I guess there’s so much in your absence that kills my soul from the burning wood to ash.
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You’re gone. And I think I’m only trying to mean a lot to myself too.
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After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!
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This ‘missing you’ It begs for water; it cries your name.
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What if love has always been the quench and the fire? or perhaps all we need to lose to find all we need to have?
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Just as it demands blood, to meet bone, It’ll forever take something painful to understand pain.
ODD KEN