wishfree

spine-tinglingly awesome.

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summer promises by wishfree, literature

grace by wishfree, literature

Literature

grace

maybe if you hadn't touched me - maybe if our hands hadn't met, and I hadn't felt a strange transcendence as though I were watching somewhere outside this snow-globe vignette of pure, hushed falling but you did put your arms around me, for a forced-march dance, of course, still a waltz, though - still a dance made for lovers where I looked in your eyes and for once in my life didn't feel scared of what I saw our bodies silently matched, holy pilgrims in mecca's light bathed, my doubts silenced for those precious moments - my mind quiet, body playing a melody under your capable hands that did touch me, that so dared -

fortuitous by wishfree, literature

Literature

fortuitous

it's easy to pretend now - that's the good thing about our legacy; you taught me to lie - here are some loose truths: I'd rather you weren't doing so well I wish you'd miss me like a phantom limb I want you to hurt the way that I do and want you to want me so much that you can't sleep, can't breathe, suffocate under my presence the way I do yours. no, I never meant to be so heavy, honey. everyone asks me why I let you down now, and they tell me I broke your heart that's not so apt, now is it, sweeting? I broke my heart, my spine, my spirit to let you get away from me. if I broke yours as well it was just collateral damage,

the future haunts me. by wishfree, literature

i don't know how to say i'm sorry by wishfree, literature

Literature

i don't know how to say i'm sorry

I was a choice for you, but you were necessity to me. you quavered for a few weeks, promptly picked up and moved along after I slipped away; darling, two nights ago, I cried for the taste of strawberries over which my mouth (my heart) lingers. I remember best your cheeks - always so sweetly pinked. once they were abashedly rosy for me; you shook my hand, you stole my heart. now I'm a little tipsy on the remembered coffee liqueur of your eyes, and the sweet wine of your voice is more like vinegar now it's crooning love songs meant for another, truer girl. I gave what I knew. I'm sorry I couldn't risk the unknown, not

extremes by wishfree, literature

Literature

extremes

it's hard to breathe when you're underwater. starfish scuttle by my seaweed-choked limbs; you weigh me down. it's hard to breathe when you're out of the water. the air spikes sharply to lungs that are unprepared for the gift of life. you accustomed me to perpetual asphyxiation. life without your bruises is one I can't recognize. it's hardest to breathe when your heart is on fire. your sweet nothings are harsh petrol as you hold the match to my skin, whispering (burn, baby, burn) lips not touching mine, never touching mine.

your fearless symmetry by wishfree, literature

Literature

your fearless symmetry

you make me question things I once thought were stone-set into rigidity. this very vibrant embrace violently clouds my inhibitions. trapped in dreams, you are good to me. you listen, and breathe slowly – so slowly, so deceptively calm. in them, your eyes are vessels of prayer into which I deposit my faith. you are a pastoral shepherd, herding me gently into your fold. reality makes you a whirlwind, or maybe a dark ravine. there is kindness hidden in you, somewhere – they tell me true. subversive glances show what your aquatic face wishes to hide, starfish – you can't be anything but the fish in my sea.

if I fell by wishfree, literature

too many baked-goods allusions by wishfree, literature

Literature

too many baked-goods allusions

strawberry jam-boy, you might change my tastes I go for the tarts usually, bitterly surprising and wholly disappointing but you are too sweet to push aside, despite my concerns - you might be worth it, if I could flour my hands and get on with it if I could be a stronger girl instead of elusive, too-fragile spun sugar could I dip one fingertip in and taste you? or would I be in over my head from one little touch?

restless by wishfree, literature

Literature

restless

I can't write when I can't think, and I can't think until my head breaches the surface of this seeming neverending neurological nightmare. it's so strange feeling only the echoes of what I'm sure I used to feel. is this just me growing up? will I feel this way the rest of my life? how could I possibly fall in love? how could I tell anyone I'm fine? the smoke and mirrors game is up; they tell me I'm not okay, and I can breathe, and I'm a line on your hook, and the soundless song in your soul, but I'm not achingly happy. rather, I'm achingly still. my wings are truly heavy, the dragonfly-burdensome talismans trailing behind

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summer promises by wishfree, literature

grace by wishfree, literature

Literature

grace

fortuitous by wishfree, literature

Literature

fortuitous

the future haunts me. by wishfree, literature

i don't know how to say i'm sorry by wishfree, literature

Literature

i don't know how to say i'm sorry

extremes by wishfree, literature

Literature

extremes

your fearless symmetry by wishfree, literature

Literature

your fearless symmetry

if I fell by wishfree, literature

too many baked-goods allusions by wishfree, literature

Literature

too many baked-goods allusions

restless by wishfree, literature

Literature

restless

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Deviation Spotlight

carry this message by wishfree, literature

Literature

carry this message

I used to think that poetry was a set, simple source: a few lines, some rhymes, symmetry, and perhaps a nice story carefully in tow. I would write about things like a blue shoe, a fat cat, or, as I got older, the guy with eyes like bottled blue skies. now I know that poetry doesn't have to make sense. poetry is soul on paper, a branded, liquefied heart burning retinas through an innocent computer screen that doesn't know it is throwing a message from me to you.

carry this message

wishfree

About wishfree

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Artist // Literature

Jan 11, 1992
United States
Deviant for 15 years
yourfearlesssymmetry.tumblr.com
She / Her

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My Bio

I am who I am, and whoever I am is better than whoever I was yesterday.

I write about love; I write about life; I write about what affects me; I write about my dreams; I write about things I wish would happen; I write about what I wish never will again. I'm figuring out who I am. Want to come along for the ride?

I fall in love with strangers passing by.

I love creepy words, thick, pulpy ones, that place you smack into a sentence.

You don't need to thank me for fave and running; just keep on doin' what you do!

Current Residence: NC, baby.
Favourite genre of music: rock/alternative, the dreamy and quietly happy sort.
Operating System: Mac
MP3 player of choice: iPod

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

the beatles, gorillaz, ingrid michaelson, radiohead, florence & the machine, passion pit.

Favourite Writers

Eva Ibbotson, Jane Austen, JK Rowling...

Tools of the Trade

wacom, word, photoshop, painter, and paper & pencil.

Other Interests

drawing, reading, writing, lazing, and breathing.

Posts

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wishfree

Sep 7, 2011

mmm, school

0 min read

it's getting in the way of me writing or doing anything too non-productive, except maybe reading fanfiction. but I live and breathe! promise.

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wishfree

Jul 17, 2011

so. happy.

0 min read

He thinks I'm wonderful, too. Excuse me while I go flail-dance and possibly shriek a little.

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wishfree

May 12, 2011

impossiblarg where is the taco bar

0 min read

I always make journal things when I have nothing to say. In case you haven't noticed. Sorry I subject you to this, lovely watchers (all like twelve of you haha). I love you all, even if I do make you sift through boring blah like this. :heart: On the brighter side of things, I'm finally out of exams so I have three months to do nothing do super important stuff like have a job and write fanfic and blog and squeeze out poetry from my sad little mind. It's gonna be fun, yeah?