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  1. Today
  2. Overheard Quotes

    So context: *my friends are walking home from bus stop, talking about how gorgeous Draco Malfoy is* *little kid staring out of a car window at them* one of my friends: *notices little kid* "DON'T SMOKE" little kid: *looks terrified* my friend: "THAT'S RIGHT I'M TALKING TO YOU"
  3. Your favorite color is red, or else.
  4. Overheard Quotes

  5. My City

    it's from firefly which is amazing and you should watch it
  6. My City

    I don't know what that gif is but ok.
  7. You know what I hate? 

    I hate it when you come back from a nice vacation in the middle of the woods, and when you log on to your computer there are 3 updates!!!!!!!!!!!😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

  8. My City

    also im also gonna write a city poem eventually
  9. My City

    ok this is amazing and i love it but also i read the last line and for some reason all i could think about was this: i am so sorry
  10. My City

    SInce everyone's been talking about their southeast countryside homes, I thought I would write about my rust belt city that I love dearly despite its questionable value. we love our city love the smell of fish and seaweed down by the dance clubs and the port love the rusted rail bridges over the river love the smoggy skyline built by industrial tycoons out of trains boats steel coal we feel it in our souls feel the people shouting in the market irish polish italian food for sale feel the east side west side where's your allegiance? feel the fear what if i get shot? we own our city own the cold rain snow wind fog sleet never know which way the sky will turn own the freighters on the river to the lake too wide to see the other side of own the graffiti spray paint on empty buildings we will build it up build the marble statues out of the dregs of the flats build the peace out of shots against the innocent build the lives out of dancing on the street and only love and pride we will sing it loud sing the beethoven in the art deco temple of music sing the rock n' roll in its glass roofed house sing the praises of the lord jesus and yahweh and yes we will sing and shout and join arms all together now we will live here and die here in our land
  11. Dreams

    I forgot that last summer I actually wrote a poem about a nightmare I had when I was younger. It's not the best, but here it is: You are at the pool with your friend and her sister. You splash, get nachos, listen to Call Me Maybe five times in a row. Your companions want to swim at the far end of the pool. You tell them no you can't not ever it's fine they say no it isn't you tell them the water's green They push you in. And she is there one of the bodies hanging greyscale against the green water upside down dark hair and old fashioned skirt billowing around her
  12. The Old Farm

    Our Meadow Brook was built over an actual brook.
  13. Overheard Quotes

    if you want context for any of these tell me "if eggos were real i'd eat them all the time" "you can't spell hayden without aids" "code name beef...can you imagine just having a girl's number saved into your phone as beef?" "i know you're talking about me!" "is this the video where the guy makes out with a statue?" "NO DABBING AT THE TABLE!" everyone proceeds to dab "I LOVE TYLER AND FRICKING PTERODACTYLS" "don't drink paint water, you might die" "that's kind of the point" "how can you not think my snape hair looks sexy"
  14. why is academic writing so much harder than normal writing?

  15. image.png.d36bbe44ee3fcf377dcbb99f09292a6b.png

    @conradbirdie thank u for coming to my hell tedtalk

  16. american purgatory

    I love this poem and its imagery. (Also I've lived in the southeast countryside all my life and I still feel terrified by it.)
  17. Yesterday
  18. i'm not dead, everyone, just up to my ears in writing and reading for my prose class, and young adult lit, and prepping for a job interview. i shall become a youth librarian. i wrote two stories to turn into novels. and my professor wants me to become a high school english teacher. i graduate college in may. i am drifting into a void, i feel like. my anchors soon gone. school is structure, and who am i without it? agh. so much work to be done.

  19. golden hour at one a.m.

    i put a notice out onto thesproutclub tumblr + twitter that i wanted to write poems and letters for people, if they needed it, so i thought i'd post them here as well. anon: "a poem about loving something other than... love haha. if that makes any sense. how there is so much to this world besides romance. this is for the writing/poem thing you posted" tonight i get out of the dark by sinking into it, by becoming what i drink in, rolling my neck and listening to the joints crack, snap, and i swirl this body through this cold air, arms wide like wings spread and let the music carry me home. we wear our jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and tonight i slip off my combat boots and hang them by their laces on the coat rack. i let —- write a note in sharpie to the inside of my jacket- the inside of the empty pocket that rests over my heart- so i can keep this close by. just for me. we mix warmth into mugs and this song reaches between my bones dissolved into the liquid: my arms, uncrossed. this morning i cried until i laughed so hard that i cried again. —- hugs me so hard that it stamps an ache into my arms, but i don’t care. the dog trots in from another room and slips and skips between our legs and we sing and forget age and breathe hard in and out. alongside each other. this is our golden hour. wrapped up in air gone black and lamp lights lit. the softening coming from the tone of my smile, not the setting of the sunken sun. this is my golden hour, the slant to which i like my body best: upright. warmth spilled from my cup onto my wrists, and just now, i kiss them dry.
  20. love letter to a purgatory

    holy shit queenie this is amazing and the perfect mirror to mine
  21. love letter to a purgatory

    for some a purgatory filled past eternity with infinite shades in the sea of greens that surrounds the thread of sun-bleached rain-washed asphalt that twists and swoops around hills speckled with salt-and-pepper cattle and yellow-gold flecks of tied-up hay pulled and braided like shorn hair and the single store across a red-clay-streaked street yellow lines so faded that we run on assumption the dog barks and chases every car that pulls in across from her once-white house wooden siding gray as the pavement where the paint has chipped and peeled her name is lily she defends the singular store with cigarettes behind the counter and pencils beside a child’s paradise in the form of a wall covered in crayola-colored candies the woman inside is older than anyone can remember and her hair is whiter than the house across the street her son is there too his name is mike when i was smaller he’d pick me up so i could reach the dollar ice cream inside the icebox and once he tolerated me when i climbed on the counter to braid his hair and two men sit in chairs by the door they have always been there too in the half-light through the paper-plastered front window and they drink coffee careful not to spill on camouflage jackets and well-worn leather boots red from the clay they’ve stood in they talk about the before and compare it to the now and they talk about how the now can be better how nice it is that their daughter can be in the military now and how the solar panels on their hot tin roof help so much and they talk about stamps and their guns in the back of their trucks and hunting the bear that’s been killing their salt-and-pepper cows they say that the past is nice too before cookie-cutter houses sprung up and chain restaurants forged their way in before a night-black road came in beside and the days when a president’s skin was not orange or black before when anyone could come in regardless of their skin and then we could hate them for whatever else they’d got and patriotism didn’t mean ignorant so we sit in the shadows of purple-blue mountains and watch as the wind blows through the trees that line the roads that may turn to gravel and we watch picket-fence perspective lines fade into the humidity the cardinals and sparrows fly and sit on the graves of names faded with indifference some kept in the best shape are of a different shape than the rest and the next church offers hope too, regardless of who you voted for when you last stood inside but eternity isn’t so bad and purgatory is my backyard Author's Note: okay so @thepensword directly inspired me with "American Purgatory" (go read it, it's gorgeous) to actually follow through on the effort I've been making to describe the small town in the American Southeast that I live in. I want to make clear that I am NOT mad at you/offended, Jess, I just wanted to show my corner of where she's seeing from someone who's lived here for a while. Second note: the lines in this poem "some kept in the best shape/ are a different shape than the rest" refers to how the graves of confederate soldiers are a specific shape. And we've got some of those around here. Most people can recognize the shape. That said, not a single person nearby me has a confederate flag displayed at their house.
  22. american purgatory

    okay I have some respect for the southeast countryside seeing as I live there but I love how you wrote this?
  23. The Old Farm

    i also have a meadowbrook close to where i live!
  24. I’m so sorry I haven’t posted anything in ages I just don’t have any new content and I’ve been really stressed and these sound like bad excuses but it hasn’t been a great week and I’m trying to keep up with discord too but I’ve only been there to like. Check on the chaos. For now I’m just appreciating everyone else’s stuff. You go, guys!

    1. thepensword



    2. Apollo's Lover

      Apollo's Lover

      :56_heart-red::56_heart-red: hearts for you Queenie! Feel better.

  25. Last week
  26. american purgatory

    concrete rivers bridges traversing open, rolling seas; brown-green grass and hay-bale yellow, scraggy trees and pickup trucks. each gas station is alike to the rest, each red pump and beer for sale each rusting faucet and shelves of cigarettes. here is a grove of old farmhouses and mobile homes. the fenceposts lead into eternity; this is a special kind of purgatory. i am nose-to-the-glass, or unsettled indifference. cow, i point— that's our game, our roadtrip pastime, though here: points are far too easy to come by. (maybe we should switch to counting tractors.) timeless expanses and rolling, similar fields. there's cotton, there, clouds cast in miniature among the brown stalks, and, squinting, can i see the ghosts of the people wronged? (how many points for that sheep? how many for a race's dignity?) this is a special kind of purgatory one in which i am a stranger passerby, migratory bird: bright feathers, exotic, flying past sparrows on fences, home to my concrete trees and shopping malls. this is a haunted universe, but who am i to judge it? who am i to judge the people who sleep beneath those graves, in yonder church after church after church, nestled among the cornfields? (i am but a stranger, and cannot know their lives. yet, with feather-eyed opinions, i will be glad to return home.) ~~~~~ aka the southeast countryside terrifies me in a guttural way and i cannot help it please forgive me it's all cowfields and republicans hhhhh
  27. Dreams

    Oh this is great! I have so many weird dreams. I dreamed once that I was scuba diving with this group of people; we were exploring and we found this underwater sunken ship, but there was air inside and it was really well lit, and there were pink, flowered plants growing in the sunlight inside it. We were for some reason really excited that it was an old launching point for submarines. There were some ancient, rusty subs docked in the bottom. We had taken off all our gear in the air pocket, but for some reason we had to put it on again AFTER we went back out into the water... so we had to hold our breath while swimming and trying to put our gear on. And then we had to go back into the ship because there were still some people in it (they left their air tanks there or something). Then it mysteriously started sinking farther into the sea and taking on water, so we all ran out of the ship. Also I think I dreamed this all from the point of view of my mother.
  28. i feel so called out by both of these




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