Just So You Know. in And The Rest.
- Feb. 28, 2015, 7:07 a.m.
- |
- Public
Yeah, so the thing is; I’m not that girl, the Climbing Rose.
Exquisitely ethereal, the Climbing Rose wears the floral fragrance of her flawless femininity in finespun chiffon folds, a voile-veil of vulnerability, and drapes her delicate-diamond teardrops on dainty chains around her neck for all to see. Her wavering windchime emotions tinkle and twinkle, singing songs in the breeze, open to the elements and exposed to the world; she holds her hopeful heart high in forget-me-not eyes, and gives it away on a cascade of tears in every glance.
Wistful, whimsical, unfurling subtly-shimmered silk leaves to the sunlight shone from surrounding faces, she drinks the dew of their compliments to brush blush to the blooms of her velvet-petal skin. She needs someone to build herself around, the Climbing Rose; entwined around another for support, she cannot grow alone.
I am no defenseless and dutiful flower, clinging for comfort, in awe of your power; do not assume simply because of my size, I will forever gaze up at you with wide searchlight eyes. I’m all edges and corners, a tangle of brambles, just barbed-wire and thorns; my tattered heart trailed behind me on steel choke-chain reins. Deadened and desensitized, anaesthetised and paralysed, dragged through serrated surfaces inside the landmine-landscapes of my mind, it gathers grit in the gutters and dirt in the ditches; a spiny scar-tissue ball of self-injury stitches. My heart is well-trained, entirely self-contained; I do not drift with the winds of your wishes and whims.
My willpower is my ruin, my eternal internal undoing; still it remains my one redeeming grace. I need to find new beginnings, and sometimes things are lost in the process of winning (so if this is the start of an ending I wasn’t intending), don’t think this ring will anchor me, if you’re not the man I thought you’d be.
I am not a climbing rose, and you are not my trellis.
Mr. Mofo ⋅ February 28, 2015
I had sex with a thorn bush once. It was epic.
Waiting For Sunrise Mr. Mofo ⋅ February 28, 2015
Ouch... for the sake of your magical penis, I hope you practiced extremely safe sex! :p
Deleted user ⋅ March 01, 2015
Very nice and pretty empowering :-)
LoveSuicide ⋅ March 24, 2015
Well, damn, what does one say after reading this?
I feel alliteration coming on. chuckles
My absolutely awesome favoritest parts:
she holds her hopeful heart high in forget-me-not eyes, and gives it away on a cascade of tears in every glance.
Tied with:
I am no defenseless and dutiful flower, clinging for comfort, in awe of your power; do not assume simply because of my size, I will forever gaze up at you with wide searchlight eyes. I’m all edges and corners, a tangle of brambles, just barbed-wire and thorns;
And also:
My willpower is my ruin, my eternal internal undoing; still it remains my one redeeming grace.
Yup. Fuck your trellis. I'm standing on my own.
Love it love it love it
Waiting For Sunrise LoveSuicide ⋅ March 25, 2015
Thank you so much! :)
I rather thought this entry would make me look like a heartless, insular and ungrateful person, I'm glad you don't appear to think so!
Also, alliteration is super awesome (I put the super in there so it doesn't look like I'm taking the piss!) :)
LoveSuicide Waiting For Sunrise ⋅ March 25, 2015
Taking the piss. chuckles
I'll never quite get used to that phrase. I always have difficulty implementing it into the statement properly in my head. I do recall it means joking essentially, yes?
Oh, the entry may make you out to be quite a few things. Things you either are or are not. I don't always apply one's writings to their person. I can't tell you how many love poems or angst-ridden prose I've written that elicitid immediate concern or questioning when all I was doing was properly espousing emotion good or bad. Love poetry doesn't mean I'm in love nor do I necessarily wanna slit my wrists when it's all gloomy. I do think if it was a representation of you that it makes you a fascinating flowerbedfellow. grins
Waiting For Sunrise LoveSuicide ⋅ March 25, 2015
Hehe yeah, taking the piss would be joking, but not necessarily in an altogether good way; more like mocking, or making fun of, someone or something. Not a phrase I use often, as the mental image that accompanies it is fairly vulgar and unpleasant! :)
Absolutely true that a piece of writing can never be a complete reflection of the whole; people are catacombs of complexity and contradiction, and what is felt in one moment may no longer even be truth in the next. Perhaps that is what makes it so beautiful, a piece of writing that can isolate a single fleeting feeling like photography; captured and preserved the way the reality of it cannot be.