büyümek çok korkutucu

lale müldür'ün anemon toplu şiirler kitabından 93. sayfayı okudum

gizlice ses kaydi aldim umarim beni dava etmezsin

if you’re listening this, if there’s air in your lungs on this December day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren’t finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are still going, you and I

osamu dazai - öğrenci kız kitabından 21, 22. sayfalar

olum ben neden matematik yapamiyorum

its so weird its 4 am right now and i just woke up . ok so, in this dream we're 15 again. august's eating us alive and no one's noticing. we spend the days sleeping on pillows stained with cheap wine and nights on our knees praying to made up gods.

im getting sick but idk what that means yet. mom dad have started to sleep separate bedsand my gums bleed every time i say family

how many times we have prayed love was enough to fix someone?

10th grade still lives in my bones and it hurts every time i walk. the summer of bubblegum flavoured lips and chapped hands. crying in your moms car and braiding your hair until it looks like a noose around your neck.

and the boys

always the boys

their swiss army knives dissecting pretty girls in parking lots then swallowing them whole. spitting the bones out to chew on later.

the summer a friend called me slut for the first time and i forgot how to breath for weeks

this is how i remember being young. sitting by the pool at night holding my breath. tiny spiders crawl up my legs to my hands and i close my fists and sit still.

mom says let go

i try to let go

i cant let go

idk how to let go

no one taught me to let go

how do i let go

günlerden pazartesi

kız en ön sırada duruyor

siyah ipten, ucu çiçekli kolyesi

müdür onca çocuk içinden seçiyor bizimkini

"kızım gel buraya, ver o kolyeni"

önce afallıyor, "acaba bana mı söyledi?"

korkarak yaklaşıyor

"hocam kolyemi almasanız olur mu?"

cok az geliyor sesi

sanki yorulmuş gibi

"hemen veriyorsun kolyeni"

kızın kolyesi için açıyor elini

kız kıpırdamıyor

"ismin ne senin?"

susup aşağı bakıyor sonra

"ismin ne dedim"

cevap yok

arkadaslarina soruyor kızın ismini

alara diyor bir tanesi

tişörtünden çekiştiriyor kızı,

odasına gidiyorlar belli

"ne cesaret kolye ile gelmek"

doluyor kızın gözleri

çünkü müdürün sesi yüksek

kız reddediyor cevap vermeyi

müdür çağırıyor arkadaşlarından birini

"ya bana konuşsun" diyor

"ya da arayacagim annesini"

o an buluşuyor kızın parmakları

ve de kolyenin siyah ipi

sımsıkı tutuyor kolyesini

"arayamazsınız" diyor arkadaşı

müdür sinirden itekliyor sandalyesini

tam ağzını açacakken, arkadaşı konuşuyor

"çünkü annesi bir sabah masaya bıraktı kolyesini

veda bile edemedi

hepimizden uzaklara gitti"

not: bu şiirden istediğinizi çıkarabilirsiniz. kurgu olsa bile, bizi biz yapan bazen taktığımız kolyelerdir. basit ve manasız görünebilir ancak işin aslını sadece taşıyan bilebilir. ne olursa olsun kibar olun.

another poem by me (siir bana aittir💗 ) -pigtails-

do you remember when u said

"everytime you do your hair like that, it looks so innocent and cute on you."

so if you dont know, we call that hair style pigtails.

my father used to do my hair like that when i was seven.

or eight.

i cant really remember now.

but i am sure that i was little.

so whenever i wanted to be seven again for you, i did my hair like that.

you used to call me with cute names.

the names that you called me would echo on my purple walls.

", princess, doll, babygirl, sweatheart"

i believed them all with my heart.

and then one day.

i just stopped being seven for you.

i stopped being cute

i stopped being innocent.

i dont know how did it happend

it happend in unexpected time.

it was like time travelling you know

suddenly i was 17.

but i should have been 7

then i figured out that you werent with me anymore.

since that day, im afraid to do my hair as pigtails

-tanya

a poem by me (siir bana aittir💗) --How

how could you

ive been waiting for you

but you were already gone when i realized you left me there

it was dark and filthy

you left me there

i wanted to cry so bad but i couldnt

how could you

it was so black that i couldnt even saw anything, even myself

i tried to push myself to the outside.

but i couldnt.

in that moment i wanted your hands so bad.

maybe they would reach to mines

maybe you could save me then,

but it was dark

and i was so scared

i waited for you.

i tried to stay alive, so you would be happy when you come back.

but you were already on your own way.

you were gone.

and i was the stupid.

you were the brutal.

how could you

you are still the brutal

and i would have never done this to you

-tanya

maybe one day we will run into each other. in a coffee shop or grocery store. or in a bookshop. idk. somewhere. years from now. when we live diff lifes and and exist only in each others past. you will ask me how i have been and ill tell you about my new job. idk im just saying. we will make small talk about the weather as if we care what the clouds do. i will ask about your family and you will tell me they are doing fine. we will shift uncomfortably under the weight of our past catching up with us. your eyes will search for answers in mine to questions that should of been asked years ago. so why didnt u asked me years ago?