Join 83,355 users already on

My words that perished in the extra-judicial execution, I take my humanity to the higher court

2 14
Avatar for trixdawson
Written by   126
2 months ago

I'm hitting your dreams.

Even if it's not enough, their sighs.

Give to the painful season as much as you want.

You add the love in your veins to your sadness and turn it over to your face, climb the walls of your life where you take shelter in the sky and your silence, sleep all your dreams with your breath, every day when your heart that is considered mismatched is brewed, hug yourself as much as you can, whatever dream you don't think about. take a mile and watch the universe over your longing: what's wrong with being a bird, especially since the first day, when the specks raining on your broken wings have accepted all these unknowns...

I was bouncing on the counter of meaninglessness.

I was offering clothes to colors, it was obvious that every cover should have a color and a person should shape his naked soul.

The presentation of my humanity is every emotion and miracle.

That tiny box I'm stuck in, my heart pounding.

I also knew that I was hidden in the air I inhaled, the advice that sometimes I swallow air and sometimes I hang in the air and remind me that some people have mercury in the air.

I was knitting my lines out of all the emotions I grinded, and I was protecting and guarding every value I knew.

Maybe I should have raised the flag of rebellion, but I should have waved my soul and continued where I left off. Well, wasn't that what I always did, and where did it take me or drag me to continue from where I left off over and over again before the end of a lifetime?

I put an exclamation mark on my face.

Did I add a question mark to my eyes?

A silence is that I hide, according to some, that I am infused in a silent discourse.

I had succumbed to my temperament, more precisely, I had annotated with my temperament, I was escaping from the adjectives hanging on to life and my identity, and now I was hopping with my bird identity, wasn't my wings in life, moreover, weren't my wings given to me, so to speak, a world that I had not even dreamed of before, in which I spread wings with my pen.

Hazan was our guest.

Hazan was actually the architecture of the equation in me, and sometimes when I stole a finger of sadness, I started my heart, one by one.

Was it the clasp on my head or the things that kept me tidy or the things I wore on my head that drove the sun out of my window?

Unknowingly, I woke up to a day that I couldn't even imagine.

I was finally reaping the fruit of whoever/whatever I loved unknowingly, and I accepted the longing I felt more than ever before.

Besides, being alone was not an obstacle to love, and while I had already lovingly ruled out a lifetime of solitude.

I had proven my maturity, and I am continuing the adventures that remained unfinished inside me: I both loved and believed, I was purifying my soul by overwriting.

I also learned to make peace with my feelings, finally, and I got rid of my hesitation a little bit.

The boat waiting for me on the opposite bank.

The two shovels accompanying my mood…

And even though my heart gets water in the sea called love

I was actually hope and love itself.

Love has always existed in my life, moreover, it is not produced in a human sense, but it is possible to be able to love the whole world by starting from people.

I was the wind.

I was in a dream.

In fact, I was both the wind and the dream.

My traveler pen pacing the corridors of my mind and my sorrow dressed in the disguise of love.

Sadness was necessarily a part of me and it was hidden in my hair that fell on my face, my white whites as halal as my mother's white milk and my loneliness.

Unknowingly, I had set up an equation, then another and another.

My equal was always unknown, and I always fell in love with the unknown and the impossible for a lifetime.

I was the city.

I was poetry.

I was the force of numbers multiplying a wounded word with thousands of syllables, and my pen on my right and my heart on my left.

What was I falling for in people's eyes?

what about me?

Was it the adjectives or the uplift of my tired soul?

I am neither a mountain nor a hill.

Nor a plain.

I was neither earth nor sky.

I was neither on the ground nor in the sky.

What I had and what I didn't.

While the full voice of my being is the wish of the sky where I live on my fingertips and hang like a fairy performing water ballet, I succumb to my inspiration and love grows day by day.

Since it was the epitome of love, if words were me, a nightingale who sings, even if it claims to be a rose, the cycle.

A life in a story.

Day by day I knit cross-stitch.

Words I mixed up.

Ah, the ground on which I slid.

And how text and how confident I was.

If it's similar, I don't necessarily approve of anyone, but see that; my fellow humans whom I imitate from time to time.

That I flew from my weakest link when I was a lifetime and love, while holding my head high as much as I could be tactless or reckless, and landed in emptiness and impossibility.

My color is pink and blue.

Even if the universe turns black sometimes.

And here is the climate of hope and love, where I hid in my strength of faith and shunned my eyes.

They were the syllables of my soul.

Words are sometimes brutal and vicious.

How could I run to my Lord every time I was in trouble, if my face was turned to my Lord, with my heart that is as merciful as I am grumpy?

Ar I know.

The one I supply.

When the song is the white of words and my face, in short, the word and essence of which I express what is inside of me are one.

Of course, I was wrong as much as I was wrong, and I was answering questions, sometimes while I was dying in extrajudicial execution, my words were carrying my love and humanity to the higher court because it was Divine Justice, and at work, in my struggle with the life that I have always made without giving up, even though I put my heart and my heart, sometimes I do not live reluctantly, do not love and do not write.

Just like it was yesterday: the fire and passion inside me do not go out and do not end, even if it hurts when I match what I feel and what happened to me.

Because I was in love.


Even though my four-year-old self seems to be hidden in my mind as if it were yesterday, that child, no matter what my age, was that I protected and looked after the child inside me when I was my Lord before, if there was no need for me to have wings, how could I still hold my head high and make life indispensable?

Even though I am not indispensable, in the eyes of someone I cannot give up the love and the child inside me, and the truth that I have without compromising.

And my dreams.

And my boat of hope.

I enjoy life with pleasure.

While I didn't even get permission to love you or something and while I was barely able to get enough of love, and I was hungry for a lifetime and disciplined myself, emotions fed my soul and I wasn't just running, after all, I had already determined the point I would reach and since I learned to be patient While I can overcome all my negativities and loneliness by persevering and being content!

$ 5.28
$ 5.26 from @TheRandomRewarder
$ 0.02 from @Lovelyfaith
Sponsors of trixdawson
Avatar for trixdawson
Written by   126
2 months ago
Enjoyed this article?  Earn Bitcoin Cash by sharing it! Explain
...and you will also help the author collect more tips.


Es todo un cúmulo de sentimientos lo que me has echo sentir y vivir mientras le leía. También me he sentido muchísimas veses como el mismísimo viento y dejame decirte que ha sido esta una de mis mejores experiencias. Linda noche.

$ 0.01
2 months ago

Es todo un cúmulo de sentimientos lo que me has echo sentir y vivir mientras le leía. También me he sentido muchísimas veses como el mismísimo viento y dejame decirte que ha sido esta una de mis mejores experiencias. Linda noche.

Gracias por la hermosa noche y sus amables palabras.

$ 0.00
2 months ago