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  4. The Autumn Oak

    The Oak tree in autumn A tall mother with many sons Swaying gently in the breeze She drops her children without a care, Hitting their heads on the cold hard ground. The mother starts turning red, A final notion before death. Her children watch from the cold hard ground Wondering why she dropped them. The wind howls like a dog gone mad, Waiting for the cold-hearted snow to emerge. The children follow in rampage seeking revenge On their absent mother. The mother slowly withers away Wishing her children would understand, When the wind scratches mother gets weary, She must lower her kids to the cold hard ground. The mother slowly closes her eyes, As her children are swept away by the gale, And the wind howls like a dog gone mad And air begins to shiver.
  5. intro things :D

    Heyo I'm Lily and I'm pretty new to the slam. I love writing(and reading) poetry although I haven't uploaded anything here yet. I' a HUUUUUGGEEE fan of the indie folk revival (think mumford and sons, lumineers, of monsters and men and Bon Iver) I'm bisexual although I'm not completely out of the closet. I hope to post some poetry in the near future!
  6. drafting important news

    dear mom. no. mom- no. hey mom. it's me, *****. i'm just here to tell you... you can do this, you can. i'm non-binary. I know it's a little strange to hear that and i'm sorry if it startled you but i just thought you should know. it means i don't identify with either male or female (the gender binary) and i'd be more comfortable with they/them pronouns. that's not all actually (sorry). in terms of my orientation i'm asexual panromantic. it means that i don't feel sexual attraction (asexual) but i feel romantically attracted to people regardless of gender (panromantic). almost done you probably have questions so here's an faq: are you sure? yes, yes i am. I have been sure for a long time. wouldn't it be easier if you just picked one, gay or straight? i can't, it's not how i was made. are you confused? is this just a phase? no it most certainly is not, and i am not confused at all well, do you require a pronoun change? it's what would make me most comfortable, so yes. what about a name change? maybe later. doesn't it feel nicer to have that off your chest? love, ***** author's note (bc i don't see a slot for it anymore): i'm planning to come out to my mom this Saturday, which is also my birthday! i get too anxious when i have to make out loud announcements so i decided to do this by email and this is the rough draft. i'm nervous but i also can't wait. <3
  7. nanowrimo is slowly killing me honestly 



    1. woundedBirds


      SAME it's 2/3rds of the way over and im sitting on my 6k words, thinking about scrapping the entire thing

  8. Yesterday
  9. I'm drawing some tarot cards today; I might stream me drawing them later. Would anybody like to watch the stream?

    1. woundedBirds


      YES except it might be blocked on the computer im using :(

    2. woundedBirds


      i think join.me works?? but thats all i got sdkgjsfjs sorry

    3. O. Captain

      O. Captain


      Sorry, I already finished streaming! :/
      I might post the cards eventually though!

  10. never forget Anna, the true pioneer of the keysmash


  11. i thought we'd have more time

    1 i’m from the timeline where we never met, lemmings. you should know this by now. it’s why i get so giddy when you call, why my voice quakes and shudders around you. and still i worry that part of me isn’t quite over 2013-14, what happened then. the things you said, the things i did in response. 2 i tell myself it’s normal that i’m so drawn to you. this isn’t your fault, you know. it’s me. it’s the way i was programmed—to see things in u.v. light only, a dark sort of glow around it all. & around you, in my mind: steel blue. you tell me that you’re sorry for what happened back then, the things you said. how i reacted. i don’t know how to tell you that i haven’t processed any of it—just locked it all away. 3 explaining the undercurrent of terror that runs through my talks with you, about you, etc., is impossible. that’s not to say i don’t know where it came from—but i can’t explain why it’s still here. i’m trying to convince myself that this is fine, but you’re the only one of my friends who scares me. i thought i had worked the terror out of my words, but apparently not. 4 i swear i love you. there’s just this awfulness that lives inside of me, whispering in my ear, maybe he’s still bad. maybe he still wants to hurt you. and part of me knows that’s not true. part of me doesn’t care. all in one breath i’m crying into a pillow, saying what if he hates me, what if we’re growing apart, and then: it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. 5 i don’t know what things would be like if i had stayed in the timeline where we never met. but despite everything, i’m glad to be in this one.
  12. gutters

    The way you used language in this poem is really beautiful. The metaphors are neither too obvious or too hard to figure out and I think the details make the poem even stronger. The last line is so powerful.
  13. how many animals cry over the dead? when they eat the bodies, is it mourning? do they have gods; do they debate their existence? are their languages capable of sarcasm? did wooly mammoths tell jokes to each other like in Ice Age? what do they call each other? what’s a lion to a bear? do they know the ecosystem the same way we do? will they stop eating when the ground cannot take it? do they teach their young respect for their world? for their prey? what would a dog tell us if it could talk? can they still hear the planet screaming? could we ever hear? would we have been better off if bonobos were our ancestors? is it wise to keep looking deeper into the sea? will we find aliens before we find every species on our planet? how long will the planet last, anyway? would octopi write manifestos on ethics or dungeons and dragons campaigns? how closely related to earthly cephalopods are those aliens from Arrival? if we can weave with spider silk, can we write with octopus ink?
  14. Dear Society,

    I’m sorry. I don’t have the greatest body, i’m not the prettiest, my teeth aren’t pure white or perfectly straight. I’m not tall, i’m short. My hair isn’t all the same color, I make stupid decisions. I’m scared to go out in public because of your expectations. Y’all as a whole made me who I am. Am I too nice? Am I one of the prettiest in people’s eyes? Am I too mean? What if someone thinks I look mean? Am I too extra? Am I someone’s crush? Am I ugly? Did the guy that just passed check me out? Am I beautiful? Did she just give me a dirty look? What do people think of me? Do I look that bad? There is an endless amount of questions I could ask you. And i’d want you to be honest with me. Honesty hurts, worse than unexpectedly getting stung by a bee. Worse than heartaches because you’re remembering the way it feels when a heart breaks. “Pretty faces shouldn’t feel like this” does that mean i’m ugly? “You’re too gorgeous to be crying” uhm thanks? “You shouldn’t dress like that, it’s inappropriate” ok, i’ll change. “You shouldn’t do your hair like that, it’s not in style” but… “You still shouldn’t even though you like it” okay. I won’t do it.. “You shouldn’t hang with so many guys, you seem like a hoe” they’re my friends. “Why do you hang around all girls all the time? Are you gay?” no… you just said not to hang with guys though… “Maybe you’re just lying to cover it up. I can’t trust you” “You shouldn’t wear that” “Why do you talk like that?” “What’s wrong with your eyes?” “Why do your teeth look like that?” “Your hair looks fake” “Is that your natural hair color?” “You look bad with dyed hair, don’t do that again.” “You look like a boy with that haircut” “You’re so skinny” “You look fat” “That’s not your color” “You look better in black” “Why are you wearing so much makeup?” STOP DOING THIS TO ME!!! I can’t stand it. I hear these voices every morning when i’m getting dressed. I hear them when I brush my teeth and hair in the morning. I hear them when i’m taking my bright blonde hair out of the braids I put it in the night before. I hear these voices every day. They taunt me, they tease me. They make me strive to be something better because I want to live up to societies standards. So, thanks for the extra pain. Thanks for the long nights, the tears, the screams and cries at night, and the gut feeling of fear I can’t shake. Thanks for nothing society. Sincerely, the broken and scared
  15. What do we say to the god of death?

    What are you thinking about? Nothing, really. Is death warm? Sometimes, I suppose. I’m Not the one to ask about this, You know. Yeah. I know. I’d like to think It’s warm. Like coming home. You will be coming home, You know. Not everyone is Quite as lucky. I suppose not. Is space cold? Again, not the one to ask. Try Z. Or, actually, don’t. I wouldn’t want to ask him anything, Either. Are you cold, father? Not really. The heart of winter Is hearthfire, I know. I know you know. Sometimes, you just have to say Something, even if it’s something The other person already knows. You know? Yeah, I know. Is it a metaphor? Is what a metaphor? Death. Sometimes. In stories. Aren’t we all in a story? Do you believe that? Sometimes. Then yes, we are. Sometimes. So, is it a metaphor, then? What answer do you want To hear? I don’t know. Okay, then. I don’t know. Clever. I guess the sarcasm is from You, then. Did you ever think it was From your mother? No, not really. Why does she stick around? Doesn’t she have leaves to leech light from? She cares. You’re family After all. Chaos is your opposite In part. She balances that order in you. Upends things. Cleans them out, Gives you a fresh start. I guess. She’s not very nice about it, though. Chaos isn’t known for kindness. But she is. You know better than most: Sometimes the stories get it wrong. They get me wrong, So why not her? That’s fair, I guess. She’s sharp. They told me she was motherly. You have two mothers already, I think that’s more than enough. Two mothers, two fathers Two cousins and three uncles. That’s not including the extended family. You’ll never be short on connections, That’s for sure, Mx. friends-in-high-places, Mx. Mage of Blood. I suppose you’re right. I have to be about some things, Don’t I? You should be right about some things, Yeah. Should be right about death. It’s different. For everyone, From me. I’m not “Death,” You know. I know, I know. But you know Death. Of course I know death, Daughter. This has been a one-sided exchange. Are you cold, daughter of death gods? Are you warm? Yes, to both. Blood is hot like lion’s breath, Heavy like the iron flecks all together But words are warm like space And space is empty, absence of heat Absence of everything. Not exactly. Space is everything, All at once and all spread out Across eternity and finite spacetime. Not that space is my business, but still. It isn’t nothing. Once, it was. No, it wasn’t. But nice try. Nothing is nothing but Nothing. It was before. It is Not, now. I suppose. Will Nothing come again? Maybe. I don’t know. I won’t exist in Nothing anymore Than you would. Are you words, then? What? Your answer. You said blood was hot and Words were Warm like space. I know. I know you are blood, All humans are. But are you words, too? Aren’t they the same thing, Words and blood? You tell me; I’m neither. Well, to me they are. I don’t know About anybody else. To me, I’m made of words. Everything I write down is what stays. Blood, It spills. It washes away, eventually. Words cut deeper into the rock. Space can be warm. Sometimes, yes. In stellar orbit. Is Reality a star? Do you think it is? I think it’s something of the like. I orbit, satellite captain, Erratic, like Pluto. How fitting for his daughter. Fitting indeed. Do you land on the star often? No, not now. Nobody does, really. You can’t stay there for long, anyway. It’s too much, for us. Have you been there, father? Do you live there? I can stand it longer, But no. I cannot live there. Some things are too much, even For gods. Is Reality a god? No. It never has been. Is the Nothing? Silly question, You know the answer. Hmm. Aren’t you tired? Staying up late talking to yourself? I’m not, though. You know that. Do I? Yeah, you do. If you insist, then. The point of your fatigue Still stands. All right. Goodnight, Then. Goodnight, Daughter of death gods. [Author's note: I wrote this piece rather quickly, and it's far from finished; I'd welcome any tips/criticism.]
  16. pinterest?

    I'm ocaptainauthor and captain-ocaptain but I don't use that account too often.
  17. pinterest?

    im a tagless gremlin under the URL corpus--corvus lmao i can't get to tumblr til tomorrow but ill follow u
  18. we'll be ok, boy

    so ill teach my brother how to squirrel pills into soft of his cheek above bracket and brace because mom, regional center veteran will check under tongue & never, never, never can i be again inactions clenched in jaw and fist him, back-first to carpet, mouth pried open and dose shoved in chased by water there are some things kids don't get to choose & never, never, never again will i wear 'bystander' can i will i should i how bad will it be if i do Contact Name: CPS Speed Dial: 2
  19. quiet, boy

    ...ouch. That hits really hard. Sending internet hugs, because it doesn't feel like there's much more I can do. (If I could do more, I would.)
  20. a week

    I practically have an allergy to punctuation, and I really need to work on that. Also, thank you so much for your feedback! (It really means the world.) I shall continue revising. :)
  21. gutters

    I love how "my little sister" functions in the poem - can be read as a literal sister or as a younger self. I really like these lines (and bloody hell are they too relatable), but I think that it might be more effect without explicitly using the word "manic". Love this: so much more effect than saying reflection. Damn. These are powerful lines. I think my primary critique would be to look at line breaks and punctuation. (Ex - Why is there a semicolon after "red" and not after other phrases? Why do you use commas some places and not others? There doesn't seem to be an overarching logic to it.) This is the sort of poem that I have trouble critiquing in any meaningful way because it hits so hard for me on a personal level, so my comments are likely a little less coherent than usual. Again: this is a really powerful poem. Well done.
  22. quiet, boy

    through dinner, mom sits haughty in brother's table-set place, & he's put down, patella biting hardwood kneel like i told you to she doesn't eat, rather his laptop propped glare-eyed open log in meets i won't & she spits there are hospitals for kids like you i'm going to bed, he twists over cry-swollen tongue and oh, father, mild father heavy-handed shoulder weight & mom bites kneel like i told you to
  23. pinterest?

    pinterest is soo hard for me??? idk, maybe bc i'm old?? but i mainly use tumblr, and tag posts with certain tags for projects. i'm wesmallsparrows on tumblr, lmk if ya have a url :)
  24. a week

    HAHA im not crying, just something in my eye. that refrain. seriously choked me right up. haha. i love the phrase "the chaos scale" but i might suggest adding punctuation to this whole poem to bring some clarification. i would probably add the punctuation to everything except the repeating lines. i agree with @woundedbirds on the second stanza's first two lines. i got the pill illustration, and i find it beautiful and well done. those who don't take them probably won't get it, and will be waving their arms over it, but it's actually subtle and lovely and well done. i like the way those last two lines are phrased. on the quote below, i'm not completely sure that we get this. we are told this, but not really shown how they make everything worse. ik this is important to you, but idk if this even needs to be in the poem. it could be a poem about needing pills, taking pills, and needing/taking pills, rather than the side effects... again, punctuation throughout this poem would be helpful. otherwise i have to reread it to figure out what word goes with which. once i do, i reeeeeeeaallly love the way it's written for rhythm and tone. and those lines!!!! dude!!!!! "believe because it is mandatory" DAMN and the last two! gaaah! finally, i like the lack of question mark, bc these kinds of questions are rhetorical, more of a statement, and i like it that way. so i guess my punctuation comment does not include everything. babe. this is haunting and beautifully written. seriously, i feel it in my chest. thank you for this. xxx
  25. gutters

    my little sister collected pennies, she picked them off the concrete and wiped them copper clean. she put them in her pockets. she hoped they were lucky. i collect memories from the dirt-dust corners and from all the days i swept under the carpets. i collect you in the places you touched me red; i collect the blood rush blush, the bitten skin, the flood and the float. i collect the shade of your eyes in dim afternoon light, the tune of your hands along this body and mind. i hold it all in rib bone shelves. they rattle when i walk too fast into something new, when i stand in the kitchen with darkened window glass staring at the image of god they say resides in my body and there is no mourning for me, because i know no sense of rest- me and my sleepless eyes, awake at four a.m. with shaking manic hands: soft mango in the right, knife sharpened in the other, and i stare at this god mirror girl in the night window and i breathe aching, craving blood and i do not make gutters out of these wrists. note, ye so this is something i've been sitting on for months and i don't like it v much, but i keep it bc of the last lines. haha. of course. *sigh* and yes, i always love critiques.
  26. hush, boy

    damn. the clause "he's yelling back" is powerful. and the med threats... like hard candy in red... and the last line... damn. yeah.
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