Story cover for Cicatrici dell' anima by AndreaGrendene
Cicatrici dell' anima
AndreaGrendene
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    Reads 12
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    Votes 3
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    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
  • WpView
    Reads 12
  • WpVote
    Votes 3
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
AndreaGrendene
Complete, First published Oct 12
cicatrici
NnAl cuore arrivano punto e capo,

                                                                      ogni riga sempre diverso. 

                                                               Arrivo come il mare e mi fai male,

                                                                  il cuore come un nero di seppia.



                                                                     Bevo il caffè nero per cercare 

                                                                        di trovare un po' di sollievo.

                                                     Raffigurami con inchiostro ad olio su tela bianca,

                                                           anima mia appena pulita, lucida. Non porto 



                                                                    collane, ho queste cicatrici appese 

                                                              sulle spalle e mi rende un sopravvissuto 

                                                               quante lacrime spese come una lunga fila

                                                               come un concerto di dolore e di sofferenza.



                                                                        Quante file di sedie come i punti 

                                                                   in questa frattura è ciò che sono oggi 

                                                                         un mosaico di cicatrici e di storie.



                                                                       Ringrazio a Dio, per avermi reso 

                                                                            forte, per avermi fatto vedere 

                                                                                        il valore delle cose
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cicatrici
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୧︵. ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ⟢ ⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ .︵୨ ▬▬ Every border is a wound that never quite healed. Every nation has a voice - quiet, aching, and human. They laugh, they love, they destroy, they rebuild. And somewhere in between all that, they reach for you. Here, nations are more than lines on a map. They bleed, they yearn, they remember. Some will hold your hand as if it were peace itself. Some will break you just to see if you'll stay. Are such cruel beings even capable of love? To love after what they've done, after what they've destroyed? Can hands once stained with conquest ever touch softly again? Can a country that has bled others learn what it means to ache? A countryhuman oneshot book. ▬▬ Closed. (for now) ୧‿̩͙ ˖︶ ꕀ⠀ ⟢ ⠀ ꕀ ︶˖ ‿̩͙୨
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This is how I found peace after being misunderstood. This is what happens when the noise goes away and I can hear my own voice again. These poems came from times when I wasn't sure of myself, when I had to learn to let go, and when I had to learn to believe in myself. They are about taking my time to heal, being careful with love, and finding strength in the quiet places. It's not about being broken. It's about what you need to do to rebuild myself when the world keeps telling me that I don't deserve to be who I am, Themes: healing, survival, false blame, emotional abuse, self-forgiveness, resilience, and rebirth.
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« أنَت الجَروُح الدَامْية وأنَت ألطَبيِب » by vxiii7
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- روايه تجمع الثغرات بداخل الجميع وايضاً البساطه الحنونه ، فيها المريض والحزين والكسير والمنجرح والمنهزم والمدمن والطموح والغير مختار مساره بعد ولكن موج الروايه ستجعل تلك السنين التي سيعيشها بهذه الروايه تختلف تماماً عن سنين عمره الماضيه ، بطلة روايتي { نجود } تعيش بـ احد الديار القريبه من نجد تحت محاولاتها لـ اكمال دراستها وعندما تُتاح لها الفرصه تنفتح امامها كل مشاكل الارض وبعد تخطيها تجد عذاب دنياها بـ انتظارها ولكنها تجهله حتى يصبح لهيب ناره يحرق جوفها ، بينما بطلي { جابر } يعيش بـ اراضي نجران بين المخدرات والحياه الكسيفه وتسمى حياته بـ لاحياة لمن تنادي فـ السموم سممت دواخله ليس حُب بها يلتهمها انما عنادً بـ الجميع وايضاً يعشق عندما تفصله عن واقعه وتجعله انسان بغير ضمير واحساس لكي لايعذبه ضميره على افعال لم يكن له ذنبً بها ولكن تلك السموم كانت سببً بها يُعاتب ذاته على اخطاء لم يقترفها ولازال يحاسب ذاته عليها عندما يخرج من سجن ويدخل للأخر. - هذا تفصيل صغير عن ابطالي ولكن البقيه اريد ان تتعرفو عليهم وتستمتعون بقصصهم المختلفه ولـ عوالمهم الغير متشابهه بقلمي الذي ينزف على الصفحات ليخرج من دمائه اساطير لن يتخطاهم الزمان ولا ذاكرات القراء. - [ الكاتبه مها🕯️❣️ ]
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23 parts Ongoing

୧︵. ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ⟢ ⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ .︵୨ ▬▬ Every border is a wound that never quite healed. Every nation has a voice - quiet, aching, and human. They laugh, they love, they destroy, they rebuild. And somewhere in between all that, they reach for you. Here, nations are more than lines on a map. They bleed, they yearn, they remember. Some will hold your hand as if it were peace itself. Some will break you just to see if you'll stay. Are such cruel beings even capable of love? To love after what they've done, after what they've destroyed? Can hands once stained with conquest ever touch softly again? Can a country that has bled others learn what it means to ache? A countryhuman oneshot book. ▬▬ Closed. (for now) ୧‿̩͙ ˖︶ ꕀ⠀ ⟢ ⠀ ꕀ ︶˖ ‿̩͙୨

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