I'm A Coward - Tumblr Posts

i would like to apologize to all the incredible artists who are recommended to me whose posts i can't like because they have boobs in them and i cannot risk people knowing me catching me

I promised myself I wouldn't be an anon anymore...... I still anon

You are not enough.

Not because of the lack of a certain organ, nor the curls with no smell, or the cigarette in you hand (not even the inexistent habit). In fact, is quite the opposite. It's those eyes smeared in obsidian, the fabric that covers your body, the ink spilled by your pen when at home, spending sleepless nights fulfilling with diligence your duty, your purpose.

It is that, in a way; you have a purpose. A hammer and chisel that was used upon you and that now you wield yourself. The scolding of one and the absence of another. Masks in the walls that both protect and judge.

It's the invisible decisions, the series of events that brought you to me. The fact that I found you without looking; that I have you without struggling; that I caught you without chasing.

That benevolence, despite the shadows into the hallway you reside. That patience despite the unbearable perennial humming of that junk in your room that continues with it's efforts to cool your nights. That strength, that energy, everything that makes you be alive and desire to continue to be.

It is overwhelming. Suffocating, even.

All that makes us alike pales before the vast repertoire of your being.

You've said what I dare not; you've seen what my dreams cannot fathom. You've lived what's beyond my comprehension.

You are not enough, but not because you are incomplete, but because I am.

I lack calluses and scars to know what mountain to cross, what path to choose. My ears were shut, my sight blurred. The twist in my tongue is witness of my early memories of fuzzy times with tiles of black and white tile, of kingdoms with twin stairs and sheets hanging between the houses. I lasted too much underneath the warmth of the fur of nameless pets. Too little were the scrapes kissed by tree branches, too gentle the raspy voice of someone who speaks of daisies as if they were people. Not even the thousand nights with thousand faceless giants could keep me from my garden of jazmin and pumpkin flowers.

You are not enough because you carry too much Sun, while I always hid in the fresh shadows. You are not enough because I lack life and you have too much to spare.

You are not enough, for you are too much and I'm too little.