Month: November, 2012

Let Love In.

by retrodiction

Red, Orange, Yellow, Green,

Dare you set it free with the wind?

Try with all your might not to hide,

This difference is no cause for the tide.

Feel no shame, nor fear blind fury,

It gets better my dear, don’t worry.

Love is love, that soon they’ll learn,

But for now they lie and say you’ll burn.

Blue, Indigo and Violet hues,

Celebrate the colours — celebrate you!

With cruel words they pick you apart,

Pretending to fix what they call a ‘broken’ heart.

Forget the ignorant things they do,

For they know not half as much as you.

So listen up, and listen well,

The waters, earth and air have much to tell.

Where the sun outshines the rain and cloud,

You’ll find bright rainbows, out and proud.

You are no more alone than I am wrong,

To fight for that which we all should long.

Equality might not come easy,

But stay it will, so love strong and freely.


by retrodiction

I absotively posilutely love this.

Drop Dead Gorgeous


Hold Your Head High

hold your head high

and take your thighs rubbing together

as a sign that you are alive.


take the fat between your fingers

as proof

that you have lived


and take the handles on your waist

as hooks for loving

or for kids.


hold your head high

and know the dimples in your skin

are not mistakes or folly

but something nature did.


you are a craft and creature,

each curve is solely yours,

there’s beauty and there’s wonder

in each “flaw” of less and more.


so hold your head high my dear

and straighten out your back,

for art is yours and truth lies there

in the body you don’t lack.

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by retrodiction

Drop Dead Gorgeous

I’ve been on a poetry kick lately. Word expression is always where I flee whenever my depression acts up. Poetry lets me say things in a roundabout way, lets me say what I want to say without having to put it out there in plaint, blunt language. Poetry lets me write with raw emotion, to use the figurative for what is too hard, too awkwardly broken to say in the literal. There is power in poetry, too. There’s power in the crafting of words to create a song, to paint a picture, to entwine a reader in the words and leave them with more knowledge than they had before yet still wondering perhaps what it all “really means.” Poetry lets me escape the world of cold hard fact and seek refuge in metaphor and possibility. It’s a world of fantasy and fiction, the world of poetry. It’s a world of…

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Part 3.

by retrodiction

I don’t know how to make you understand

That this is not at all who I am.

Should I contemplate death by my own hand,

That is my crying wolf for a lone lamb.

None the braver but to peer off an edge,

Pounding hearts the veritable whisper,

Exposing my false empty words of fledge.

Time to right wrongs, I silently whimper.

Time to heal wounds I hoard like a miser.

Time to fall, time to end, time to begin again.

Yet time does make me none the wiser.

A wish to will a way, with much chagrin,

An exit from life’s winding labyrinth.

C.S Lewis

by retrodiction

“I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.”

– C.S Lewis

I remember saying, some time ago, that no one can save us except ourselves, that we can be our own prince charming. What if I was wrong…

I don’t feel strong enough for this battle anymore, and I want someone to save me, from myself. I don’t know how to speak the truth, let alone speak anymore. I can’t put these thoughts into feelings and feelings into words. Writing was supposed to help with that. But i don’t think anything’s working anymore. Everything is broken. Broken beyond repair.