Words Are Not Wings
- Reads 1,287
- Votes 189
- Parts 64
Ongoing3h 45m
Last published Mon, Jul 19, 2021
Words are not wings.
I have to tell myself that. Because if I don't remember that, than I'll lose myself.
This is a collection of stories, poems, explations, and ramblings. All about me, fighting to discover who I am outside of my words. Because frankly I have no clue who that girl is anymore. I only know the one I wrote, to take me away. But now I want to go back. I want to know who I am. So I'm writing down what I know to be me, really me. And I'm writing down who I want to be, and how I see things, and who I really am now. Because the very thing that made me forget who I am, is the only thing that allows me to remember who I was:
Words.
Words are not wings, after all.
They cannot carry you away.
All Rights Reserved
#93
dyslexia
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
You may also like
Pinwheels and Dandelions
I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.Complete
WHEN THE RAIN FORGOT TO FALL
I wrote this because I needed to survive it. Because there are some feelings too big for silence. Some heartbreaks too heavy to carry alone. This isn't fiction. This is my heart, broken open and rearranged into verse. "I saw you standing where the sidewalk curves, and suddenly my chest knew different words." - That's how it started. A glance. A stranger. A feeling I couldn't ignore. "You said we needed to talk. Those five words, I knew. I already knew." - And that's how it ended. Not with fire. With silence. I won't tell you that time heals all wounds. I won't say everything happens for a reason. I won't pretend heartbreak makes you stronger. But I will show you that: You can survive what you think will destroy you. You can break and still become beautiful. You can love someone and lose them and still be whole. You can be your own happy ending. I wrote these poems with tears on my face. I wrote them on good days when I forgot to hurt. Every word is something I actually felt. Every line is a moment I actually lived. "You are not broken. You are breaking open. And that's where the light gets in." - That's what this taught me. That's what I hope it gives you, the comfort of knowing you're not alone.Complete
It's okay to not be okay
A look inside the messed up brain of a teenage girl who always says "I'm fine" but who isn't lying when they say that two word line? A collection of short poems about many different topics Some of these poems are based on true stories while others are just fictional stories and characters TRIGGER WARNING- there will be many different topic covered in these poems so I just wanted to put a TW side note- I changed the cover again on 9/12/21 #1 in book of poems as of 8/07/21 #6 in selfmade as of 8/05/21 #4 in poetry as of 8/10/21 #8 in sad poems as of 8/10/21 #2 in self made as of 8/10/21 #12 in poem as of 8/13/21 ©COPYRIGHT 2021Complete
"Things I Never Said Out Loud"
These are truths I was never taught to speak. Here lie the words I swallowed, the pain I buried, and the questions they told me not to ask. For the unheard. For the unseen. For the ones who feel too much in a world that tells them to feel less. I write for you. I write for me.Complete
Thoughts of a Juvenile
Words are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hobby is an activity we do to express ourselves, our beliefs and our thinking. For example through drawing, dancing, singing, etcetera. Writing a poem is one of such hobbies. Here words are used. These words and messages are far more twisted. A poem hits the mind, a good poem hits the heart. Thoughts Of A Juvenile is just a collection of my poems.I started writing poems when I was 8. I may not be a great writer. But yeah I write to express. There have been times for me like many other teenagers where I thought I was lost and helpless. There have been good times too. I'm standing on the edge of teenage now, telling you that you can survive this. You can survive everything. All you need is to find your strengths. There are sad nights and then there are mornings full of opportunities. Don't give up. I'm here and I'll always be here. Whenever you feel down just remind yourself "Be stupid". Go out in public and the eat the food you like alone, ask out your crush, flirt like there's no one watching, dance like a ghost has possessed your body, prank people, have a little chat with the nerds you know. Surviving is an art not many can master. Be a Master. There are mistakes in this book and I tried my best to correct them. But couldn't correct them all. I would really love to receive reviews and criticism. Vote if you like it. Comment your views. And follow for more poems. Add it to your reading list or library.Complete
Things I Wasn't Supposed to Say: A Journal of Silent Battles and Unspoken Truths
They told me to stay quiet. To smile, to endure, to bury the words that burned inside me. But silence is heavy. And sometimes the only way to survive is to write the things no one wants to hear. This book is a collection of truths-raw, tender, and unapologetically human. It speaks of invisible wounds, love that aches, hope that refuses to die, and the quiet rebellion of being yourself in a world that demands masks. If you've ever felt too much, stayed unheard, or carried a storm inside- these words are for you.Complete
Scarred Gem
A tale of fear.
Live, love, laugh and die. This is just life! (Songs and poems from the heart)
These poems that i have wrote mainly come from my depressive side or my romantic side. They all express who i am and what my life is like. I write these poems and share them with you because i hop that they will help you get through difficult situations about love, self-harm or suicide. I hope you all like these poems. I agree that they are not for everybody but i have wrote themto help you and me!!Complete
broken wings
deep down everyone has secrets , deep down everyone is in pain. some people are just better at hiding it or feel like pain is okay. a girl who seems happy and a guy who can read her like a book pass ways just In this book. tears and joy ,cries and hugs. everything will be okay if she just would have one good luck. But that's not what she cared about, all she wanted was to run away from home, but that grip of her father won't leave her alone . Will he save her fast enough? Or will he help alone not be enough ? - - - " where were you? " " w-what? " " i walked past your class, I was going to walk you to lunch, I wanted t- uhm but you weren't there." " uh I left earlier because I needed to go to the bathroom." " no, I had free period I was waiting on you there the whole time. " Disclaimers 🛑 This isn't a fantasy book This is my first book so I am not the greatest Warnings ⚠️ ⚠️ selfharm, suicide, rape, abuse, death, child lossComplete
Echoes of the Heart
These are pieces of my heart-love, heartbreak, longing, and hope. Read, feel, and maybe see your own story reflected in these words. "Tell me-what hurts more: Knowing the person you love will die, Or knowing they're alive, Yet you can never have them?" - Elizabeth #1 destroying #1 poetrylovers #1 poetryoflife #1 poetryofthesoul #1 echoesoftheheart #1 destroying #1 forthebroken #1 healingthroughwords #4 Motivation #1 poembook
I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.
More detailsContent Guidelines