I've Started Writing On, And Dog Earing The Books That I'm Reading. I Hadn't Been Doing So Before Not
I've started writing on, and dog earing the books that I'm reading. I hadn't been doing so before not for the lack of thoughts but I was afraid to do so, as though some "devine retribution" awaited me if I did xD
But recently, I read on a nice Tumblr post on annotating books, "you owning them is what gives them meaning". And since then, I've been looking at my books in a new light.
I've read countless books and have had a wealth of opinions on them, but not one to flip through and reminisce. Sad, don't you think?
So now, with love, I now scribble my raw thoughts on them, I make them "mine". Hoping maybe someday, a few good decades down the road, some fresh mind will find my books in a thrift store, flip through them and agree.
πΈβ€
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More Posts from Lyrebird-sings


Words, words, words π

My blurry pictures and I are back πΈβ€
What do you do when you feel yourself lose the confidence you once used to have?
How do you get yourself back?
I lay awake at nights these days, asking myself over and over again,
"where did she go?"
One day I noticed
One day I noticed,
When he walked in, I did not hastily clear out the table and make for my room. I stayed sat on my chair, square, looked up at him, let my my gaze linger in his for a moment and went back to my scribbling. He went about his, mumbling a remark or two in passing.
One day I noticed,
When he asked me what I was doing, I did not stutter and I did not look up, lazily I answered, "Just reading". I felt him pause for a moment, and I heard him puff--was that disapproval I heard?
One day I noticed,
I was not running, I wasn't trying to analyze the sound of his footsteps climbing up to see if he was angry. I did not move out of the chair I was sitting in when he approached so he could sit. I did not close the book I was reading when he made remarks about not wanting his girls to get funny ideas.
"Don't do that." Why. "Don't wear that." Why. "You listen to what I say." Why. "I pay the bills." No you don't, since when. " Girls shouldn't like that." Why not.
I was taking up space? Outside of the safety of my locked room, I was taking up space!? In the house, in conversations?
One day I noticed,
When he dragged my mother into their room, locked the door behind them. I did not grab my sister and run for our room and I did not try to console her. I did not tell her "Ma's fine, she's fine. Shh it's okay they're just talking, like how we are? Shh, It's okay".
I found myself outside that room, fists balled, banging, screaming bloody murder, "OPEN THE DOOR!!!". Bang bang bang. "MA, ARE YOU OKAY!!!?", Bang bang bang. "I WILL BREAK IT DOWN, IF YOU DONT FUCKING OPEN RIGHT THIS SECOND". BANG. (Got myself thrown out of the house for that one x)
One day I noticed,
That I was no longer afraid of my father. I was no longer just sad over the life I was given. (maybe a little bit still, it comes and goes)
One day I noticed, that I was angry. A little of his wrath had snuck past him into my veins, and whoever could've seen that one coming.
One day he noticed, that I was no longer the love starved little girl he could kick to the corner and leave there, because he knew she would come to him if he called her name sweetly.
One day he stood there, a hand raised to hit, when he looked into my eyes, almost the same level as his, and he noticed.
I'll call this piece,
"I'm simping real hard for Aurora"
There is a singer from Norway by the name of Aurora. She is 25 years old and often forgets her shoes. She doesn't like to hug and she sometime likes to eat baby porridge - but only if it rains.
The moon, the stars, and mother earth are her muses, and she likes to call herself a mere vessel, through which the music flows.
She says that each time she writes a song, she loses a part of herself, and so it has to be worth it.
She likes being barefoot, and I'm starting to think she "forgets" her shoes by design.
I Would like to meet her someday, not on stage and certainly not in the streets.
Heaven knows how it will seem, two mad women on the middle of the road, and one of them barefoot.
One day should the stars allow, I would like to meet her in the woods.
And should the trees and the winds feel kind, they will sing for us as we dance.
Alone and barefoot, and unapologetically ourselves.