We all honor our own innate ideals of happiness. Our conception of “the good life.” Composing and recomposing our lives around this archetype of euphoria. But that’s the thing. Different Definitions of Happiness: A reflection. — Pointless Overthinking
{leaves in the wind} poem x e.l. jayne
may we remain intertwined,
swirling, unfurling leaves in the wind…
{poker face}
{poker face} i have to stop myself, from writing an excerpt to explain my poetry, because that’s the beauty of it. like the silence of a cliffhanger, it’s open for your interpretation, for what you choose to hear, not what i want you to hear. –e.l. jayne
{honest context}
{honest context} i blended myself into one color, of the imminent intersecting reality of beauty and pain, howbeit, as time would tell, i was left to dry up on the palette, to ruminate on why they won’t push pause for you, burn it to flames i can’t take anymore; my poems aren’t a cry for…
{unversed}
{unversed} why did i think the wolves, who roamed this territory before me, didn’t know how to survive? oh how naive of me to believe, I already knew a better way to thrive. –e.l. jayne
‘…[this] isolated life, which became more and more isolated, the more I came to know myself’
“I always lived in isolated life, which became more and more isolated the more I came to know myself.” -Fernando Pessoa
{nostalgia}
{nostalgia} i look at myself in the photo, not because i wish to look at myself, but because i remember the doubt behind my smile, the anxiety behind my eyes, the questions that ran through my mind, although I can’t detach myself from those feelings, i discern the distance i’ve traveled. –e.l. jayne
{vanity}
{vanity} i’ve never been in love (with you), although i have examined the behavior of love, “let us never be sad,” “let us always have fun.” am I so wrong for wanting everything to be beautiful, and beautiful only? my heart is barely what it used to be. –e.l. jayne
{cutthroat antidote}
{cutthroat antidote} her body leaned back up against the sleek sky, from this vantage point she knew, any definitive answer troubles him; killer queens beneath the new moon, drafting a dream bereft my dream, paradise would be our antidote, but it takes time, which we happen to be out of. –e.l. jayne