Exile (Jon Snow)

Sometimes I feel like if I woke up on the other side
No one would notice the change in the body I left behind
At least not until nature made my departure obvious.
Funny how it would take decay to give new life to others interest in you.
How no one cares about your absence until it offends their way of life
How you can go invisible in a crowd of your peers and never stand out until there’s no going back
I’m not perfect.
Never put much faith in chasing an ideal that’s usually relative
Never put much trust in others who claim to relate but only exist in the superficial
Never been able to reconcile the idea of love with flesh and blood individuals who will take both from you without thinking until you have none left to offer.
I’m not a saint.
I’ve done more harm than good just in trying to do right
I’ve killed more than enough dreams attached to my potential in the hearts and minds of those who claim familiar ties
I’ve slaughtered the characters of those I love in the same breath that I sought to build on them, word to George R. R
But it’s not until the changing of seasons that you really get to realize how cold it can be when the ones you plan with make provisions without you in mind.
If I was more of a man than a child playing at growth, I’d end my embarrassment here.
If I was more of a man than a coward I’d tell you face to face how I feel every time I’m reduced to another number in the group
If I was more of a man than a boy I’d know how to use these words to do more than destroy and sew destruction
But I’m just a kid, wearing hand me down trouble tailor fit for my last name and calls it manhood.
Calls it maturity.
Calls it experience.
Calls it anything but blindly walking into a war zone unarmed and unprotected but has the nerve to get offended when wounded.
I’m my father’s son. But even the most noble monsters pay their dues.
I’m my mother’s will and testament but I wish that she wasn’t the only good in me.
I’m a mistake who breathes the same air as those with a purpose for respiration, hoping they never check for a lack of identity.
I wonder if they’ll bury me in an unmarked grave known only to my demons
Lamented only by the daggers that put me there
Mourned only by the arrows that missed their mark
Or maybe my words have already carved out the only epitaph I’ll ever deserve.

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  • #thoughts at 3am #poetry #my-poetry #my-writing #depression #spilled ink #jon snow #exile
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flame-o:

jeSUS CHRIST LET ME JUST POINT OUT A FEW THINGS

  • SHORT HAIR KORRA, CAN I GET A HELL YES
  • LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL BAE
  • SHE’S PERFECT OK
  • HER EYEEESSSS
  • WHATS THE BACKGROUND??
  • AND WHATS UP WITH THE WATER TRIBE GEAR? SPECULATION?
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Short Hair

Mulan OST
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