capture moments with a camera.
and smile again.
afterall; happiness, life, and friendship is absolutely beautiful.
clanging clocks, his heartbeatit's that hour of night where whenever i close my eyes they won't.close. despite how many cracks in the walls i count and how many times i hold onto my pillow for all it's worth, the brown of my eyes won't blur the image of my tall, white, cupboard orclanging clocks, his heartbeat by Artsie-Escapee
the books that line my shelves or my guitar propped up in the corner.
the corner of my brain that's willing my body to stay awake is working into overdrive and i can't get it to stop. can i help it if the slightest breeze reminds me of you & me & memories?
hand in hand, the shore, sand, between our toes.
light, light, warming our skin, feeding us happiness through our pores.
of the pain that came when i heard her first
whispered in that tone you'd use when you'd whisper mine.
and your smile. that smile you had just for me, loved the way i'd be
in sweats and a tee and those whispers of 'you're so beautiful, it kills me'. whispers, whispers, so many damn whispers trapped in pages ripped out of our book now read into her
barely there thread. layla's hungrybarely there thread. by Artsie-Escapee
so, so, hungry
ahmed prays, allahuakbar
momma cries, she's dead.
her vision is starting to get hazy and she can't think straight, it's been 6
hours and she just can't take. the clenching of her stomach by invisible hands
and the image of food she can't have-food. she's wondering how long it'll be
before the little meat left on her tiny body melts away. like her smile and her
innocence and the light in her eyes that has dimmed with every passing,
grueling, day-she just wants to be fed. and she can't get the thought of that
out of her head. that someone, out there, is eating a hot, homemade dinner and
they're not decked out in black about to be a sinner-because stealing is a sin.
and layla might be 10 but she knows what happens to a daisy when it isn't
watered it shrivels and dies
-and she doesn't want to die.
ahmed's on his way back from school. it's his last year and he's tryna stay
out of trouble. but it's hard to stay out of trouble when trouble follows him
she's not drunk enough.empty bottles and trash cans withshe's not drunk enough. by Artsie-Escapee
paper crushed into balls of frustration
and broken will and
her room is a mess
and so is her life
but she's not exactly sure what'll follow
after everything has been destroyed.
her pen's run out because all she's been doing has been scribbling words in notebooks but not forming
anything coherent like
the words stuttering from her mouth
and the ink has dried up
and she has lost her voice.
along with the magic of not knowing, but she knows now.
she knows that there's envy in your success
even by those you love best and the people you hold dear
will die on you.
that souls aren't ever good, only a few, and those few are probably not even in your life to begin with
and your life is short
and moments will be forgotten and
time goes by so.damn.fast.
before you know it you're 6 ft under
and you're all alone.
she doesn't want to be alone.
but the truth of the matter is that she is
alone with her thoughts
the thing with magic.magic wands and playing dressup with auntie's closetthe thing with magic. by Artsie-Escapee
of hidden treasures
pencils to pain your eyes and showers in a bottle that you spray on the inside of your wrists
ballet recitals, barbie dolls, shooting stars
windchimes that pirouette with the skies
and people fucking dying
graffiti line the walls of subway tunnels
colors, in store bought cans
a homeless man on the sidewalk with a cart of
pushes and listens and breathes
a tattoo of a fairy is drawn across her chest because
pixie dust and tinkerbell and magic in a nutshell is different but
and she wants to be loved
so she lets steve hold her hand and find her lips and grab a tight hold of her hips and stroke her body
when he's through,
she has a different tattoo
and it's of black and blue drawn across her chest.
momma knows best.
but katrina wouldn't know because momma died when she was two and all she remembers is
rock a by baby and the smell of milk and t
Behind my Pen and Camera, look into Me.
There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. ~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith
Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still. ~Dorothea Lange
breathing is secondarythe tap water is too coldbreathing is secondary by bailey--elizabeth
to rinse the ice from my throat
and the chill from my lungs
but what does it matter, when
the birds in my ribcage
are all flying, up up up
and through my skull,
and falling, down down down
and onto the floor
landing in front of my feet,
the same ones that
stood me still in the snow
and wouldn't let me leave
to find somewhere warm.
tremorscurled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out.tremors by bailey--elizabeth
it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday,
when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers,
the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.
i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds.
funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better
when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips
made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm,
about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering,
well, there's this experience known as an aftershock.
hands clutching cold tile, water coming in spurts
from the faucet, i pretend that no one can hear me and bend my spine.
my thighs are still splotchy and red from bathing and jade green bruises
polka-dot my kneecaps.
sometimes i do things i don't think i should.
i've gotten used to
Most people take me as an insanely delusional mental case escapee from the local physch ward. Because I have a rather carefree I-don't-give-a-damn attitude I'm considered unstable. Due to my uncanny ability of twisting into submission the English language, allowing me to use it to form my crazy thoughts into somehow coherent words (most of the time) I'm considered stark mad. Yes, basically, I'm chalked off as a wacky weirdo slash loser slash head up in the clouds slash clinically messed up teenager. At least everyone else thinks so. But I mainly see myself as a girl who doesn't care about the laws society has pressed upon her, and just goes and does her own thing, regardless of the comments and degrading remarks that come from it. I'm the girl who can look in the mirror (most of the time) and says screw it all, grabs the nearest hoodie, and heads out the door. Yes, I am completely insane. Because I'm me. And learning to let go and just be me, has brought me the best feeling and gift the world can ever hand out to a person.
I am free.
Current Residence: Ohio
Favourite genre of music: Rock <3 <3
Personal Quote: "You were born an original, don't die a copy."