gar_cia

Writing is like sex... [giggles] ����

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  • gar_cia 11w

    The devil cannot love us because we are created in the image of God.

    ©gar_cia

  • gar_cia 15w

    My anxiety sits in a corner listening attentively to my conversation with depression, as I sip on problems.
    I locked my dementia in the wardrobe and put its keys of triggers in my pocket.
    My eating disorders are hanging on the walls of my kitchen as wallpapers.
    But now it is late
    I'm cooking dissociation for dinner
    And I have to escort my psychosis to the door because my paranoia is at its way back home.

    ©gar_cia

  • gar_cia 15w

    Flying by Words

    I can travel on paper
    With a priceless ticket of creativity
    To places feet have never treaded on.
    I have with me this very one thing
    A luggage of suppressed words
    Yes, fragmented sentences that my lips dare not unzip.
    But my fingers are fortitude enough
    To spill all unuttered words on paper
    As the alphabet letters flow in ink
    Through the pen between my index finger and thumb.

    ©gar_cia

  • gar_cia 18w

    Mama

    Little do you know of how this world is stripping me of the innocence you birthed me with.
    Mama, I am losing your gift of naiveté and purity.
    I have stains. I have sinned.
    Yet I only wanted to be loved, to learn and to contribute.

    ©gar_cia

  • gar_cia 18w

    Gar_cia

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    Memories Over Presence

    I would rather weave a poem with your memories than to have you back.
    Poetry allows me to exhibit your beauty through ink on paper,
    Whilst reality echoes your monstrous being into my deafened ears.

    You left a gloomy garden of decomposed flowers I watered at every sunrise,
    Hoping their roots could be deeply anchored in the soil of your gestures.
    They beared seeds of disappointment coated with pretentious affection,
    And their petals of rainbow colours made my heart leap with joy.

    Likewise, you my darling, is poison with an antidote projection.
    But I say this to you verily,
    My happy days with you are worth mesmerising, worth contemplating
    But reliving them would be a massive catastrophe.

    ©gar_cia

  • gar_cia 18w

    Gar_cia

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    The blue I see

    As I sit on a revolving chair
    My mind wanders off to a peculiar place
    Full of blue flowers and blue roses
    The sky is amazingly blue too
    With the moon luminating blue light.
    Is this because I love blue?

    I cut myself open with vague memories
    Of the colour black I used to love.
    Yes, we divorced because it was as dark as my reality.
    And there I see that blood in my veins is not red
    Neither does it look like the element gold
    But it's blue again and again

    The blue I see lives in me now
    It is life giving to this mortal body
    And to every creature that creeps the earth.
    Sometimes blue behaves like a vacuum
    Sucking the little happiness I have left
    At other times it satiates me to the core

    This blue is a phenomenal blue.
    ©gar_cia