“𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝑖 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊.”

Wҽʅƈσɱҽ ƚσ ɱყ ραɠҽ! ｡𖦹°‧₊˚⊹ᰔ~

ɨռȶʀօ: Hello!! My name is Rhiri! I am a teenage girl who loves. I love writing, I love animals, I love books, I love poetry, I love God, I love art, I love humans, I love Earth - and I love you! :]

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒❤︎⁠﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

ɨռȶɛռȶ: My goal here on tumblr is to share my writing, poems, thoughts, and stories! I originally intended to use it as a sort of shoebox for storing all my writing, and I will still use it like that! Additionally, I wish for my writing to get out there - for people to see and read my work! But that's only my second priority <3

₍ₘₒᵣₑ ᵢₙfₒᵣₘₐₜᵢₒₙ! ↓↓↓₎

- Favouritism at it's Finest: We Call It Love.

Written with my hand's appendages

In a language you can't quite translate

A foreign tongue, but with such familiar

Spacing, similar punctuation, as though

The only difference were dialect

A regional variation between your fingers and mine

Skin samples under my nails, the word is

Clear to me;

Love.

So close, but so far, fron the translation

You derive, the dialect difference an

Unpredictable divide;

Hate.

In a hurry, in a rush,

Flustered language, face of flush.

Wave goodbye, then bite your finger,

Heaven forbid you wait and linger.

But this tether to their soul,

When you're near is when you're full.

Yet you can never bear to stay,

I love this Skyrim glitch. Look at that horse.

Look at his stupid little face. I love him.

Do the clouds love the rain?

Do the clouds loathe the rain?

Do they thunder and rage when the rain pulls away,

Or is it, enraged by rain's existence, they cast it down?

Does the rain love the clouds?

Does the rain loathe the clouds?

Does it spite the the clouds as it falls from the heights,

Or part pleasantly with a sweet kiss goodbye?

Any other elder sisters feel this way?

A faded photograph in hand,

Human eyes struck out in crude slashes

Dancing colours dulled by time,

And by tears

A once familiar face cut out,

Yet still seeming to stare

A dissonance of conflicting souls,

And harmony of shared despair

The voids scream in deafening silence,

Their taunting voices haunt every quiet

Almost.

She woke up one morning, a tune in her head

It stayed in there even after leaving her bed

Sticky and sweet like homemade jam

A mix of so many melodic berries

That it was hard to pick

The name of each fruit inside

Echoing in her ears, ringing like a bell

It sang, clinging to the inside of her skull

She tried to hum along to the voice within

Searching the glass jar for a sticky note

Seeking ingredients handwritten by the singer

But the notes got jumbled in the mix, a mature sound

Familiar but distant, like an aged film recording

The harmony was palpable in her heart

And the jam dripped out the back of her head

It made a nasty, tasty tangle of hair out of view

Sticking to her, she felt it, yet she couldn't name-

Nor can anyone even try-

A forgotten lullaby.

There are great standards to be met,

Lofty expectations held before all

To be deemed worthy of it,

Standards most scarcely rise to see.

Yet over and over, I find

That I want nothing more than to,

With you,

Waste my time.

Empty

Or full?

Am I all out, or am I overflowing? Is it

All too much, or too

Little?

Am I to constrict or dilate?

I am wrong

Somewhere within me lies a disturbance

It pulses and aches to make itself

Known

I am imbalanced, somehow

But I cannot decipher from these absurd

Alien signals

Shivers and tingles

And throbbing pains

My blood turns to acid and melts

Through my veins

I watch myself destroy

Myself

Under my indecision, and all I can wonder

Before my mind melts too

Is whether I was supposed to constrict

Or dilate.

Change is impressed on me, forced

Upon me before I knew that change was

Even possible, even a choice

Change is etched into my being, pressed

So hard, deep, it leaves imprints on

Each page

No matter how I flip, turn, change

Its ghost follows me

Evidence of change will not be changed

Demanding acceptance, impossible to erase

Who am I to cover it up?

Let the shadows of my past, my change

Be seen, be shown, let her edges shine

For I am she, and she

Is I

Changed, yes, different, but

Same

These words engraved are

Still my own, let them be read and known

The change of past indenting present.