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  1. 11 points
    *ok I have no idea what this is, but I saw this art on instagram titled "Blind Woman in Love with Medusa" and I just melted??? it was so beautiful and cute?? so I wrote this thing down. first draft.* I should be dead, really, I should his blade should have slit my charcoal-gray neck in one raw, stinging swipe pulsing, spitting thin liquid crimson his shield baring my repulsive reflection, the one I despise so much the one I hardly ever see because I try so hard not to look. I should be dead, really, but seeing myself ugly and monstrous in his shield gave me the fury of Hades (no pun intended) and I struck him down. now I am alone again in my lifeless garden the only flowers here are the ones tucked gently behind a young maiden’s ear she is cold, gray stone now, and I have memorized her features the flowers are violets. I do not know how much time passes after that and I truly do not care two more mindless travelers stumble into my garden two more mindless statues adorn the withering grass. but then one day she comes a woman’s footfalls treading lightly over stone I do not see her, but I feel her anticipated breaths in the air, almost scared, almost intrigued and I wait for her to come into the light to scream, freeze in shock at my hideous visage the writhing nest atop my head my ashen, hollow cheeks my dark eyes, deep like Tartarus with monsters lurking in the abyss the one Athena condemned. but she stares and stares, unaffected, beautiful, delicate and I stare and stare, wondering, grotesque, pained I realize, now, that she is not looking, her eyes are milky and useless. no, she is feeling and smelling and tasting and listening but not seeing, never seeing I laugh. I laugh and laugh and laugh, “has somebody sent you to kill me? you are the perfect weapon. immune to my ugliness.” she tilts her head, chestnut hair falling in a sheet “nobody sent me. I am no killer. I am curious, however, as to why you are.” “I do not try,” I say “my face is hideous enough. whoever sees me is finished, and I cannot control it.” I think of the maiden with the violets in her hair and how full of life she seemed now trapped in an eternal wide-eyes raised-brows open-mouthed fear. I tell the truth. “An unwanted curse,” the woman says unseeing eyes blinking, “I am sorry.” “what ever for?” she smiles slightly, and a giddy uncertainty takes to trembling wing in my chest. “for nobody ever taking the time to ask if you created your garden on purpose.” I almost smile back, but I remember that she cannot see. “either way, it is not beautiful,” I say. “it is not,” she says, “but the fact that you know that, is.” I smile this time and I know it is ugly, gray and unnatural but she doesn’t see of course she doesn't mind. the woman leaves and comes back the next day and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next and she tells me about the way the salty sea smells after a storm and I tell her about the way the leaves look just before they flutter to the ground like butterflies on gilded wings she brings me a woven basket of grapes and nectarines we laugh at the way the juice drips down our chins, warm and sweet she tells me my laugh is beautiful. I tell her that she is beautiful. she is silent. whenever she is with me and a traveler approaches, unknowing of my danger she directs them away so they do not lay eyes on me. my garden does not grow at all in an entire season. when I tell her this, I find that I have begun to weep and I cannot stop she embraces me and kisses me lightly on my marble-cold cheek. the warmth of her delicate, rose petal lips stays on my skin until she comes back the next day. she arrives, carrying nothing she sits on the grass next to me she says, “I love you.” she takes my hand. I say, “I love you,” and I almost begin to weep again but I tell myself that it would be foolish. then she begins to weep instead, a quivering smile on her lips, tears clinging like dewdrops to her lashes and I tell her about the way the sun looks as it rises in shades of rose and marigold. she says, “you’re beautiful,” and I do not protest. I gather her in my arms and hold her close she does not protest.
  2. 11 points
    every sentence you speak hums against my throat: you still awake? Your voice is drowning out my thoughts, I would let you go if I could remember how And Even if I could sleep, every Dream sounds like your flower scented voice You say you dream of me, of butterbeer and scented candles. but I Know. You're just telling me cuz you Feel so Alone. And who would dream of blue skies when there are bright stars above them? Each star twinkling like the jewels on your diamond necklace. Each bone glittering, osteoblast gemstones, blood like red dye number eight tattooed over R#3 hued muscle but i will say to you: don't walk away. not now. For then I will see the jewels in your necklace were glass instead of stars and your bones mere calcium instead of gems and your eyes, love, were only as full of the universe as i wanted them to be Our goodbye was a slow burn The world turned out of my hands and swept you away in the wildfire And as I tried to cut the stars from your eyes, you cried out Would kisses rend you, tear heart-flesh from rib-cage? Oh, our sweet, Sweet vanity. Wearing your presence like rubies, garnets, our love was a fire opal. We are rough and jagged, uncut diamonds scratching once smooth skin. the good ones, despite jarring metaphor, step back with 'are you sure?' but you, you were a good one in how you stepped forward and up, to reach the top of the pedestal you placed me on and the pedestal i made for you fell to earth along with he sky, with the stars, as you wept and those fiery comets dripped out with your tears the shattered pieces are a stronger monument to Pain than the smooth marble was to Love leave the architecture to the greek, my god, and don't bloody bare feet on fragments of my shattered heart that the ones before you ground to glittering dust follow not my path; I will not pave bloodstone, but rather marigolds. for marigolds are blooming suns that burst alive in the velvet sky; crystalline stars of burning passion. Swirling Van Gogh yellows will sweep you away with glittering shards of glass Ha! That's all we are And ever were: Brushstrokes and gemStones. The art Medium. Stars winking, remote and alone. Solitary titans, like those we used to be; or, perhaps, nebulas clusters like who we are now. Clinging to faint wisps of hope that this universe, this vast fresco of burning cyan and cushioned crimson, will one day take pity on us pitiful ones. and yet, statistically: space is more empty than full And even if we say otherwise, we are more empty than full, too. and so we are ever reaching, ever grasping: empty creatures striving to fill the void swallowing ground-up glass to make the stars to fill it can only do so much, we've learned that and the stars that aren’t bring blood from the walls of my throat as I try to choke them down i touch your cheek and Hope that all the Stars you've swallowed were real Because if they weren't, you'll be more broken than before And I, tattered as I am, will be left to glue together your pieces and plywood, sum of scraps, holds no candle to fine wine-stained cherry At the same time, too many metaphors leave sweet crumbs that scatter. Too many metaphors break us into idealized clay-footed statues, and we forget that we are only human in the end. Well, my love. I Believe we both Know the Time has come And so, dear one, adieu. The Collective Slam Poem: Nov/Dec 2017 was written by: @drowntown @queenie_flower @X_of_Coins @Short_comedian @Hydra ’Liope @WanderingMonster @Beautifulgarbage @O. Captain @septemberskies_ @mouse @writeandleft @conradbirdie @Apollo's Lover @thepensword @Over the Rainbow @flamecoloredglowstick Thank you for contributing to this masterpiece. It has been really fun seeing how we all created the poem. I hope to continue collaborating with all of you this year. The next Collective Slam Poem will be hosted by @drowntown. May your 2018 cure your writers block! -Hydralio
  3. 6 points
    Hey Slammers, Art Director Jacqui here. Question, have you ever doodled on a sticky note? For like ever we have been kicking around the idea of a low-stakes ongoing art prompt for the Slam. Something that would be just for fun and open to all levels of artistic capability; from stick figures to Rembrandts. We'd put out a topic and y'all would post in the thread your interpretation on a sticky note. So if the topic were "Sea Life Formal Attire," someone might post something like this: What do you think? Interested?
  4. 5 points
    space, black tablecloth (and spilled salt), your starfields shivering behind the light pollution when i was young your immensity terrified me but one day, after loving after losing: you became a comfort where would i be? without your existential enormity and your nightfalling curtain call unwrapping staticky expanse? whose to conquer but mine? whose to conquer but those who know death, know it for what it is, who know it and have held it as a thing heavy and real and cold as a stone in their hands, know it and still dare turn skyward for answers? a man does not pray anymore after that (death and space are inextricable, are twined together in the same rope that contains life and earth and sea) i had no idea. you remind me of home, as freezing and boiling and toxic and friendly as any familial spat you do not scare me. you soar on a canvas (pitch like ocean depths) black like nothing, because you are statistically more nothing than anything (and perhaps we, too: more empty space than things) it is as if you come from the end, and the beginning, and whatever lies between you are not a god, a titan, a deity neither made from man's feeble wishes nor of anything man can comprehend you are more roiling and alive than any sea’s waves than any beryl-vibrant canopies (probability itself keels and chokes at your feet) you arrive bearing tomorrow on apollo's back (apollo who has nothing earthly to fear seizes when daring to comprehend the cosmos) i have marveled at everything you have deemed show me, have humbled beneath eclipse and quasi-stellar radio source youre so much more than any earthly location the celestial sunsong, the solar astrochemistry within supernovae you are not a deity just as polaris, you are as steady as orbital fluctuation you are nothing without the sum of your parts but you are indefinitely infinite, our little spinning top insignificant in its star-spun flight paths within the visible universe how massive you are, how humanly finite (viewfinding opal eyes: how weak and yet icarus had to have something to shoot for) o, sunspots, you are the hydrogen and energy too beautiful to look at for long (without risking blindness) and yet: blindness, pitch dark, natural state of everything that has ever, will ever have existed without you we wither as one with flora, with fauna space hurled together a haphazard goldilocks (everything dies, eventually. everything dies.) with you with inconceivable odds flourishes life, death, space, earth, sea (components woven together in the same rope) this is why, starfield, you are unlikely gravity, dream-maker why you refuse to pull taffy-linked planets too thin why you burst nova like every celestial sunsong i have praised many things, but you are more than any helios of short-sighted civilizations that within the sky found the sun the only thing to fear (and not the spaces between countless stars) by my weak human eyes, you are the very end.
  5. 5 points
    yellowing light and busy hands. i like your eyes, I search crowds for the back of your neck. bet you didn't know. you make me laugh, you make me feel happy so i ask for this light. light and your time, light and your time. i don't ask for a whole lot from you. i try to try to be a better person. is change a myth fed to us by bright colors and cheerful music? I'll never know the answers i don't know the questions, either i'm letting it all settle into my skin: dust suspended mid-air, particles of light, your hands on the piano, stargazing blankets, but watch for spiders until all the film is exposed and i can make sense of what was of what could be we'll see it all in glorious technicolor connect the dots, constellation
  6. 5 points
    i know we're a week in but 2018's gonna be the year of me insisting on getting therapy bc my parents' "just get over it!" isnt gonna cut it lmaoooo - but more positively: hey! i already came all this way to get better, time to finish that journey up, physically + mentally + emotionally!!
  7. 5 points
    original: http://cicadamag.com/index.php?/forums/topic/9321-dont-write-me-out/&tab=comments#comment-9297 anyways this is a poem about a homophobic, transphobic ex and im bitter as fuck kjsdkgjdfs i almost ran into the guy this poem was about in the college cafeteria a month or so ago and almost had a panic attack lmao god i Strongly Dislike him wow Eat The Rich Cishet Men i. listening to a new song on repeat, somehow i never get tired of the tune. i thought of you. how free i was (fired up and shot down, independent of your excuses and horribly casual 'im not gay and neither are you' or tiring 'youre a fucking girl' and 'why be proud of your identity? it's just an identity.' i didn't try should have known not never to reach out to you again.) ii. i talk a lot (either i always did i will not apologize for it or and you are starting to respond less. thank god.) and i apologize for my excitement. know that you don't deserve me this time, there's no answer. iii. local policy throws up firewalls between sound sites, sound bytes and half-rate speakers. i never was good at coding, and your language is one i don't know how to read. if i want to learn how to read. (silence has never been a thing i could deal with well. it radiates like static from your lips. but i don't need you, and you don't deserve pretty sugarcoated excuses for refusal to change.) iv. (am i falling out of touch? are you? you'd better fucking bet.) i forget you were my best friend. it's no fault of mine that anything has changed but you can barely look at me. spun glass threads hold us together. they're cracking. (thank god.) v. i wrote you out of a screenplay, suddenly wistful triumphant as hell (because for a good couple days i had forgotten you existed. written words made me remember) and i looked out the window, heart twisting. jumping with possibility. vi. we're in a state of 'never' and it was n't always meant to go this way. (we don't exchange words the way we used to, you know? maybe it's a result of finally standing up for myself.) vii. maybe it's because of what today is. (i forgot.) i still don't remember, thank god. do you regret anything, my dear? i don't. either respect my identity, or get out. viii. i reached out, fired up, (it had been a number of weeks since i had seen your face) shot down. graced with one-word courtesy, i didn't reach out again. why miss someone who's only done you wrong? vix. (i can deal with losing cutting you off. again. i can not deal with the cold and dismissiveness you throw at me, because we both know who's the better man.) at each fork and crossroads, i should never have offered meant every single 'we can still be friends' that i said. vx. i heard, a year later, that you'd switched programs and dropped out of fucking college for no apparent reason (or at least reasons i didn't care enough to pursue.) is this divine retribution? karma, maybe.
  8. 5 points
    My boyfriend woke up at 1:47 in the morning to draw a picture of me and a random dude in a speedo. He didn't remember doing it but his sketchbook and the voicemail on his friends phone say otherwise. The sketch is surrounded by notes about how hot I am????? He's quite the character.
  9. 5 points
    Coat: Disgustingly purple. There is an excuse in the pockets. Shirt: Orange with threads of rainbow plaid and creamy buttons up the front. It’s a boy’s if you check the tag. Skirt: Ties at the waist, swishes below the knees. Floating. Hair: Lots where it shouldn’t be and less where it should. Skin: Making space for weight. I look the most like me and the least like me. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Author's note: This is a poem about all the mixed feelings I get from my clothing and gender presentation. I'm supposedly a cis girl, but I also don't like it when people perceive me as girly. I feel at home in skirts but also in "boy's" clothes and it makes me so confused. It's fun.
  10. 5 points
    the job: placate 40 screaming children for five hours so the adults could have an Elegant Christmas Soiree [read: it was a mansion with a basement full of yelling kids that i was the Supervising Adult for] the reality: -oh god -there were more than fucking 40 -"why does my coat always smell like vinegar?" -there was rice fucking e v e r y w h e re -so of course: a child, stuffing a sock with rice- "they'll never suspect us here" -the sofas never fuckign stood a chance -me: NO JUMPING five goddamn children, jumping: SCREEEEEEE -henry caught on quickly to Furry Bullshit Jokes apparently -me: stop telling me to 'stay' im not a dog henry: yes you are -will was a fucking MENACE his mom basically went 'make him eat or else' and will just. bounced into the fucking void i guess -me: eat your bacon will, bouncing on the fucking sofa: YOU DONT CONTROL ME -henry is way too fuckign good at foosball for age 7 -the host: heres your party favor! me: oh thanks have a nice night! me, later, opening it: HOLY FUUUUUCK -(it was a handmade blown glass ornament big as a softball) -today on: this lady is fucking rich -the house: huge, decorated like a professional was hired to sell the house and stage it well -ok she had a fucking TEAM of chefs and shit running around making the food, serving the food, cleaning up after people's plates, et fucking cetera what the hell -i got to that party and i was like. me, a Poor: i do not belong here. people like me do not go to parties like these -even if technically i was Diet Crowd Control -the desserts were fancy as hell and lactose intolerance be damned i was gonna eat that aesthetic bullshit -everything was fancy -anyways she offered me a babysitting job because i Charmed her kid -me, huge eyed: y e s -her kids are pretty well behaved considering -except -ok so the patio was open -but sealed off from outside with plastic sheeting -apparently she's not concerned with a massive fucking energy bill -the kids: let's go under the plastic sheeting into the outside and drown ourselves in the pool -ok that's hyperbole but s e r i ou s ly -the dAD -had FUCKING GUITARS -HANGING ON THE WALL -A DISASTER WAITING TO HAPPEN -god it was so noisy ok -i heard horror stories of last year's party tho -apparently two Squads of children discovered that one of the rooms locked from the inside -(oh no, you might be saying. this already sounds bad. you would be correct) -so. these two warring factions (first grade boys, first grade girls) lock themselves in and the babysitters out -and proceed to have fucking fistfights -FISTFIGHTS -fight club: 7 year old edition -jesus christ -im so glad the worst we had was a floor absolutely covered in rice -and ok maybe some minor casualties -aka: orange shirt kid literally take off your socks to stop falling the fuck over on the hardwood -will, the problem child, called me mom once -and then about passed out in my lap -me: what do i do with this -hey another thing you shouldnt have in a room full of kids: the Hot Glue Gun -literally five seconds in and someone had glued a sock to the table -i was drop-dead exhausted by the end of this Experience, christ -at least the money i got paid was worth it lmao
  11. 4 points
    My boyfriend stalked my account on here and informed me I have 103 points and I screamed because I had checked literally 10 minutes before he looked and it was 83
  12. 4 points
    oh my gd so... my sister is in an iop (intensive outpatient) program right now, and she showed some of the other girls in the program some pics of me. apparently the three girls who saw my pics all said i was cute, and one girl said she's going to set me up with her sister? i am not sure if she was serious but gd i hope so!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  13. 4 points
    excerpted from a work in progress, ode to the visible universe: probability itself keels and chokes at your feet
  14. 4 points
  15. 4 points
    without fuel, the engine will not turn. i, faulty word-machine, am low on oil. the tortured artist paints with blood their own blood, the blood of those they lost. the blood of those that harmed them. my brush is wet only with water thin lines of pigment left by small misfortunes. what is a poet without the tales to tell? i have written novels of lives that are not mine, i have poured emotion into experiences that are not my own. but the words were lies and so i stopped and made do with the anthills beside your himalayas. when i was younger i won an award. 'congratulations! your poem is great!' and i stood before a crowd of family and friends and i read: 'cherry blossom, cherry tree' soft and sweet. and then, smiling, i sat down and listened and what i heard was raw, beautiful pain. i do not have that pain. i do not have those words. but i have a mind. and so, high on the sense of freedom words provide, i write. AN: this is not my best.
  16. 4 points
    iron & stone one day, i will ask myself why everything i am is laced with Blood, dark red like the moment despair turns into anger, like the instant before you die pour it into the hallow places in my collarbones, feed them hemoglobin; drain your veins, build up your marrow. paint my skin with it, open wounds in my metaphoric cardiac muscle, drink deep unravel my history like a spool of thread (with a skinning knife) spill my guts in crimson embroidered organs, unhinge your jaw, find my death-(rattle) at the end, (snake) teach me how to dance in death’s arms, i will need to at my wedding (father-daughter dance), should someone ever fall in love with Blood over bone, flesh over wire-frame-posable-skeleton tear off my cult-robe and peel back my skin all at once, rip from me Witch, and Queer, and Flesh, but leave me Blood, and Bone, and Death you can’t, you see. my Self is tattooed onto the surface of my bones: Blood runes when you kiss me for the first time i want you to taste the blood from my chapped lips, be disillusioned from perfection, be grounded, taste earth and take root behind my sternum one day, i will tell myself why everything i am is soaked with Blood, dark red like the moment you fall in love, like the instant you decide you want to live [Author's Note: Sorry about the Heavy Blood Symbolism I took a Homestuck Classpect test in like 2015 and have been hung up on my god tier (Mage of Blood) since then I just really love the Blood aspect]
  17. 4 points
    the request i did the other day :000 [edit: pls click/download it's very high res dkgjldkjfs]
  18. 4 points
    this next year is going to be fantastic. glitter-drenched & glowing, & i’m speaking that into existence. going to be the year i go back to california, almost six years after the wedding. i’m going to bask in the glow of the jellyfish & (almost definitely) end up crying at the beauty of the natural world—thank G–d for all the fish! this year has been a bad one for most everyone who lived to see it, but this next year, i swear, is going to be my best one yet. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! last poem of 2017!!!!!!!!!!! i am Speaking this good year into existence!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck yeah!!!!!!!!! (i am very caffeinated)
  19. 4 points
    I want to give all of you guys a big hug and tell you it’s going to be okay because I’m having trouble saying in words “I’m sure that hurts and I’m really sorry, I just don’t feel qualified in my straight/cis identity to tell you it’ll get better” and with hugs you don’t really need words.
  20. 4 points
    talking to you feels like stabbing myself in the chest with something sharp and beautiful every second hurts but it’s just too nice of an experience for me to stop jewels cascade instead of blood precious objects dripping slowly from wounds inflicted long ago drops of ruby tears sapphire longing i sew up my wounds to wait for our next encounter
  21. 4 points
    If I flew too close to the sun Would the wax in my wings melt And would the feathers drift apart And float slowly down to rest on the ocean As I plummeted through the soulless waves? If I raced too fast through the wind Would the breeze tear my heartstrings And leave me hanging breathless and alone in the sky? And if I tried to swim, To catch my breath above the sea, Would the weight of my thoughts drag me down To the ancient stones Where the foolish sleep with the Gods? It takes too long to struggle back up; I will sink into the sand and just Stare at the blue air high above As a few last bubbles of breath rise To bring my spirit to the surface.
  22. 3 points
    the moon is like a glowing crescent. it was yellow earlier, but now it's just grayish whitish silver. you've been watching it for hours now. who knows what time it is? who cares? you roll over and stare at the wall of your bedroom that you painted blue last year but you wish it was less colorful. you don't get enough sleep and you know it. you've been seeing a therapist for almost a year now. you're getting better. slowly your hands shake and you're unsteady on your feet. you turn up your music and feel your heart match the beat. you close your eyes. all too soon, you open them, wish it wasn't time to get up and go to school. you know you could live like this. you also know you won't. you are a warrior author's note: sorry this is so fucking long, but i need to rant so. . . .
  23. 3 points
    I'm crying, literally every character in the RP thread I started is from a southern homophobic/transphobic rural town
  24. 3 points
    ok so i have no fucking clue the demographic here but the topic i posted in rp has 20 views and no takers so like idk heart this or reply if ur interested in a prompt-based rp with extensive worldbuilding and lore
  25. 3 points
    I know the reputation points aren't supposed to be a competition but my competitive ass is seeing @drowntowns 233 points and screaming FIGHT ME, BITCH (love ya, bro)
  26. 3 points
    I FORGOT TO TELL YALL? i went to mulbak's like last week and brought home the aforementioned (aforepictured?) aloe vera plant AS WELL as an orange tree! theyre in my room by the window and i love them very much cal/mona the orange tree has FOUR baby oranges already im so proud of her and peter the aloe is doin as good as ever hes actually almost as big as mona
  27. 3 points
    HHHHHH i am so excited i'm currently reading emily wilson's translation of the odyssey, and i have how to make a wish (Lesbian Book) in my bag, and two more lesbian books on the way to my library!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this :) also i showed my therapist "twin fantasy" (the poem) today and she actually liked it!!!!!!!!!!!
  28. 3 points
    He got on and turned to look There she stood With his suitcases He didn't go back to get them The doors shut
  29. 3 points
    moonselves, of rust and radiance above the sputtering sodium and luminescent fluorescent glare in the three am semi-black sky reflection and distorted refraction split between rabbit and old man either honored, spun or spoken who are we in moments unseen standing soul-shaken and awed in the three pm semi-black sky eclipse and unrelated equinox split between dragon and witch neither damned, fable or truth who are we in moments unseen looming phosphorescence above rusted and radiant moonselves // After "starfield", prompt by @drowntown, which I followed almost (but not) exactly. Other notes: I apparently can't make up compound words worth anything, so I used a compound word generator, which was thoroughly hilarious. I also at some point googled "objects with faces", which was a mistake. (The internet is a weird place, y'all.)
  30. 3 points
    yall i still can not believe that i named my halfing cleric "anna-mae" w/ no hesitation. i named my newest and most fleshed out d&d character 'anime' without a second thought
  31. 3 points
    starfield, of empty pitch and streaking sun flares 'cross glass, 'cross windows, through soul mirrors sunder you one self from the next sugar and honeyed violets split between quarter sides, lucky penny neither sweeter, hush and pounce to which do i make acquaintance? splintered sight, oh spin roulette sunder me one self from the next agave and candied ginger split between die faces, lucky number four neither sweeter, melodious and trite to which do you make acquaintance? streaking sun flares 'cross glass, 'cross starfield of empty pitch.
  32. 3 points
    *alright so the thing is I have all these little magnets with words on them and such, and I thought why not try to write a poem using only those words? so this is what I came up with. and this just made me think about how much I freakin adore the english language!!! like, it's just so amazing!! I love words <3* I see an elaborate picture from beneath a rose petal sky: sweet pinks blowing lazy fingers of mist from the smooth lake, wanting sweat is a thousand tiny diamonds on my skin a delirious whispered language of milk and honey, hot blood pounding in my breast and a spring symphony I am drunk on the moon lusts over daylight, the sun soars through raw peach summers with singing wind a frantic red haired goddess of life, mad beauty, black seas my feet in bitter stormy waters are bare blue shadows, never still; with a languid purple tongue one timeless rusted cry dresses me in a luscious fashion of music and rain and these gorgeous lively things I achingly need.
  33. 3 points
    Thank you,,, I'm the English Major Kid who just really loves symbolism and Might Secretly Be A Vampire (I did wear fangs for like 4 months of school last year)
  34. 3 points
    I was away for the past week but I'm back now!! Happy new year to you all!!
  35. 3 points
    Well 2018 can’t be more insane than 2017, right? *laughs nervously* right guys?
  36. 3 points
    Birdie, I really hope this gets better for you. Know you’re loved here. @woundedBirds I will also call you son, but mostly for shits and giggles bc you’re only slightly older than me and i make a habit of calling people slightly older than me things like kiddo and sweetie pie and son
  37. 3 points
    shine, cherry blossom. reach out with your petals and forget about the fall. look up at the stars and say, i am one of them. look down at your own naked, blemished, perfect body and say inside of my chest is star just like those. and then reach inside and share it. when a star dies, it does not end. it explodes. when a star is born, it is nestled in a gaseous cloud of its sisters and it holds around it a careful-crafted collection of its children. planetoids and such, holding millions of stars of their own. we are all made of stardust. did you know that when a superstar dies, it does not disappear? it goes out with a bang and becomes a black hole. and the thing about black holes? their gravity. when a cherry blossom falls, she does not hit the ground. she soars on the wind and joins the clouds. pale pink and sweet-scented and filled with joy and even the wilted ones form a blanket of softness like the asteroid belt in a solar system. you, my friend, are a cherry blossom. and you are a star. when you die, your planetoids will die with you. they will weep and cry wilted blossoms around the tall, sturdy trunk that is your skeleton. and then they will grow trees of their own from the seeds you left. and every tree, and every flower, and every you: stardust. so, little star: do not forget to fly. A/N: sometimes when i decide to write random words come out and i don't even know what they mean but i think this one is a result of my hopeless optimist bleeding through.
  38. 3 points
    I’m cold, you said, so we lay together on the couch in the hurricane of our friends. You’re always cold, I said, but didn’t move away because hell, I was cold, too. And we lay there, my head against your collarbone and my laughter echoing in your lungs. Opposites from the normal, when you want random hugs and we’re the right height ratio for it to be the absolute most effective. Don’t you have another best friend for this, I ask. She’s too short, you respond, tucking your head under my chin. We fit together better. I’m hungry, you said, and you stole popcorn from her bowl and she rolled her eyes at you but didn’t move. I didn’t that it was the only thing I’d seen her way that day. Stop chewing, I said, because your jaw kept hitting the top of my head, and you talked with your mouth full to say shut up. And we talked about pointless things like the proper way to eat French fries (no mayo. You’re a fucking psychopath) and whatever K-Pop girl you were obsessed with this week (her face, it’s just so… perfect. I don’t know if I want to have it or her) and I complimented her vaguely (have it, then maybe I’d attract boys) but not remember her name. And you asked me am I still your favorite fake twin? and I answered yes, obviously. My least favorite wingwoman, though and we laughed again because there was no way on this side of hell you’d ever be able to successfully pick up a guy for me, no matter how many times you said I’d totally date you. I don’t see how girls can look at guys and go ‘I’d date them’ when girls exist, but then straight boys don’t have that problem. And I rolled my eyes and said Don’t forget bi boys but you rolled your eyes back, even if I couldn’t see it and said, well, the only truly bi boy I know thinks young Putin is hot. You’re not dating him. And then we both laughed again and continued to talk about pointless things and I know that she’s going to be the one I text five years from now just to say, you lesbian spork what’s your problem today and you’ll still respond as if we were on this couch yesterday. Because that’s just how we are.
  39. 3 points
    The flood roared over us Like an unexpected hug, Heavy and sudden. I was swept under the briny tide. I squinted at the rush of sea, I breathed in the warm green water. Bubbles escaped from my eyes And I waited in the hissing silence, Patiently hoping to die. The minnows came and nibbled the tips of my toes, I brushed the backs of turtles with my hands, The starfish whispered ocean tales and Seaweed waved back at my tattered hair. In the dim blue light I looked at the sand And wondered when I would die. Luminous fish blinked in the dusk As the world darkened toward night. The flood waters ebbed, the current stilled. I came to rest on gentle whales. Their broad grey backs rose to the sky As sea lions called and seagulls soared And I asked my rippling reflection Why I could not die. Dawn came pink and salmon, Until the sun set once again. The moon shone white as silver And volcanoes climbed and fell. Clouds billowed through the cleanest air, The planet kept turning, fertile and gold, And I thought of all the stars I’d seen, All the stories of the great ice floes. As I remembered wonders as only time could tell, I realized I’d wished so hard to die While the sweeping tide tried to bring me to life.
  40. 3 points
    And all of a sudden I’m at summer camp, surrounded by Girl Scouts This and Girl Scouts That, and I’m painfully aware that I’m an imposter. I hide in my group of three others, limping along behind them, my knee brace and my short (“what are you, a dyke?”) hair sticking out like a bent, unfinished nail. And they protect me and I protect them. Someone steals Bella’s sunscreen because “She’s Black, it’s not like she needs it,” and she gets scared her skin’s going to peel and sting for days again and we all scramble to find more sunscreen for her before the strangely strict locker room time limit runs out and a counselor yells about us taking forever. Someone’s been making fun of Char’s accent, we didn’t see it, but it’s still painfully obvious. She doesn’t talk much anymore. So we ask one of the counselors for her phone so Char can play her favorite songs from Spain over and over until she starts singing along, translating the dirty parts to our continued delight as she goes. Someone in a cabin way too close, unprovoked, rants about how “disgusting those lesbians are, they didn’t even have to get married, they didn’t need that to be legal, they should’ve been happy with what they got, but no, they just had to gross everyone out, god, they could be anywhere-” and Sammy starts hunching in on herself, letting her fingertips burn against the foil of her baked potato because she’s too scared moving will somehow be a sign. And Char and Bella are stuck one cabin over, and my blood’s boiling too much for the Texas heat, so I start debating back. And my voice is wavering too much for it to be any good, but Sammy starts breathing again. And then there’s the girl with the loud laugh. And she reminds me too much of another of the past, and I shy away from her as much as I physically can when she insults and touches too much, too casually. But I’m still soft, I’m still polite despite my own good. So when I forget my knee brace and I can’t stand without a wince but I have to stay still or else I’ll have to put weight on it and I’m so close to tears that I can feel it clawing at the back my throat until I feel like puking would be a welcome relief and I’m rocking myself back and forth as soothingly as I can without being so noticeable that someone’s glance crumples me in further, right in the corner of the cafeteria, I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave. And she laughs at me and puts an arm around my shoulders and leans all her weight on me. I’m hyper aware of my knee buckling out from under me. And that loud laugh rings out again, right in my ear, as the world somehow collapses into one pinprick of something too hot and too clammy cold and there’s no space to breathe anymore, not now. Her laugh is taking up all the air. And then my group of three others are there. And we’re not ever able to sit at the same table, but they still lead me away and find me a seat next to the sweet girl from Russia who carried me around just to prove she could. And Bella still keeps her possessions close because she never got that sunscreen back and she doesn’t know what might be next. And Char still speaks in a mousy whisper when she’s around too many people, because she can’t keep track of which words she wants to avoid anymore. And Sammy still gets shaky when people start chattering about crushes and first kisses, because she doesn’t know what she can say. And I still can’t breathe enough to protest when someone gets too close at the wrong time, because I’m too afraid of what would happen if I pushed them away. And all of a sudden someone’s asking about summer camp, and I just grin all lopsided and look too genuine to be worrisome, and say, “Boring. I mean, it’s all Girl Scouts This and Girl Scouts That, twenty-four sev, ya know?”
  41. 3 points
    the holiday season is one of exasperation and interesting life choices and using being read as female to my advantage and "hey nick i know we havent talked since fucking elementary school and it's hellaciously wild to run into you at church like this but my family is driving me up a wall and im gay and youre hot enough my parents wont question it if i sit next to you during this hyperreligious hellscape so uh. wanna catch up over watery hot chocolate and a shared disdain for church?" (me: seems like i found you in the NICK of time eyyyyyyyyyy nick: please dont)
  42. 3 points
    there were five days of my life. they were pure joy. they were butter-yellow, sun is shining, butterfly wings. butterflies. don't forget the butterflies. and then i saw your face and the butterflies flew into the fucking sun. here's the thing. i can't distinguish between love and Love. i knew i loved you, but i thought i Loved you and i was wrong. i was W R O N G. it was raining outside. no, it was gray. it was raining on my face. when we met i said yes, let's keep going and then i got home and cried tears of change. my father said, tell her. and so i did. do you know what you said? you said, i feel the same. you said, i didn't know how to tell you. you said, you beat me to it holy shit. and you know what i thought? i thought, thank god. so here's the thing about love and Love. it's hard to tell the difference. but when someone loves you, really loves you, (love, and not Love, though it shouldn't have to matter) change does not change anything and butterflies are not a wall. see, when i said, i love you, i meant it and when you said it back, you meant it too. and when we saw each other again, it was butter-yellow and nothing had changed and the unfortunate smear of color where the paint ran out is artfully crafted into a patch of light on our relationship canvas. not forgotten, but swept aside. you know? that's the thing about growth. you never see it coming. A/N: the conclusion! Everything is fine now. It's all back to normal and I'm up past midnight writing a shit-ton of poetry again.
  43. 3 points
    there's something worse about being self-aware. when it's 5pm and i'm trying to fit in when it's 7 and i'm failing when it's exactly 11:26 and i'm trying not to cry. and maybe i don't want all our conversations to be about sex because there's more to the world than that and i don't want you to tell me in badly disguised tones that you're a happy group without me. but the thing is that i know being a teenager is hard and dumb and pointless teary eyes i know i know i know but it doesn't hurt any less and even though i think it should the knowing never changes how i feel. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's note: Friends are hard.
  44. 3 points
    so i think i might take up drawing again?? i feel a little weird saying that bc i've been so active in the past about it being Not My Thing, but it's something that i'd really like to be able to do
  45. 3 points
    my family took a test two years ago, (what are your strengths, your weaknesses, ones you didn't even know you had) and above all else, above the people-pleasing and self-blaming and nervous-wreak running through all our veins, there was the 'beauty, appreciation of'. which is why i get poured full of swirling warm emotion at too many things to count, tall grass bent with frost, the controlled chaos of messy rooms, certain songs by certain artists at certain times, and why i can't stop grinning when i see you. ((im still desperately trying to figure out poetry, so if any of y'all have any suggestions, i'd love to hear them!)
  46. 3 points
    If you can change the color of your room I can change the color of my hair to a brilliant fuck-you-blue What's wrong with claiming this body as my own? what wrong with making this body my home?
  47. 3 points
    application letter: 'please send more info so we can make a decision' aka 'we dont want to say No so pls pleasantly surprise us with this quarter's grades' date i'll hear a Decision by: march tears: out
  48. 3 points
    Sometimes, when it comes to dysphoria, all you need to hear is a "It's ok, I know you're hurting. I am too."
  49. 3 points
    my ears hear waves, and shouting, and then silence. and then there is the beach, and captain, too and clad in trousers and quick wit, i go stride forth into this land illyria. the duke is kind, when he does not forget. love weighs, like wine, heavy upon his mind, and to self-same effect, all things admitted once i the lady see, i understand. i say some shame at this, but none too far for clear as day she’s brushed aside the duke. if heaven had sent angels to this land, olivia is of their chosen house. olivia! fair heavens bless her crown, cry joy at her joys, rain with her sorrows. (she chased me with a ring, and urged a promise and honest as was made i did fulfil: we met again, oh, very happy met!) when flights of fancy do pervade my bliss, pity strikes me for poor, forlorn orsino affections spurned, turned to the one he sent to tell his love; she kisses me again waves, then shouting, and then, dread silence then antonio, and daring rescue then, clad in trousers and quick wit, i go into this strange coast, toward illyria there is a challenge made as from my lady’s --oh, i but wished to one day be thus blessed to say “my lady” (and i to be hers)-- to yet contracted master’s court i strode he follows me, fool pirate, fool in love and places in my palms his purse and wallet, and his life (his life! he should not be seen here! illyria's his enemy!) a brave competitor was promised i, (this promise unfulfilled to point of hearsay) it went like this: we saw the other’s face and like children, we both did run off screaming and out with purse and wallet (and with life) into the duke orsino’s land i go and meet with someone else’s duel, someone like i in feature must it be. (perhaps... i’ve not a challenge of my own yet heard, dare i to hope it could be drown’d viola?) i to my lord orsino’s house did flee and in the interim came ‘pon the knight and a strange man, who called me brother’s name and hence did save my life and beg his purse i lost him, somehow, in the thick of life antonio, not at the inn as promised the worst fear flickers yet in my gay heart twere not for me he would not dare to be here! my lady asks of me to wed her promptly oh heart, i can but hope she’ll not regret my part-deception; i shall tell her ere we plan to fast my heart, my hands, to hers. i came upon a lady that did ask after our marriage, one i quick forgot perhaps because the marriage was not mine is drown’d viola here, and wed this lady? i made good haste to the duke’s home, to cancel my contract in his house before my wedding and there came again upon my savior this pirate they have called antonio who called me by my brother’s moniker the lady did henceforth take me away and to the duke’s estate, and there he was antonio, his life yet in my palms! and there’s viola too, alive, not drown’d! oh! oh! sebastian, safe, alive, undrowned! and he does recognize antonio lady olivia, eyes bathed in light we tell her truths together, we two halves oh, seas are merciful as none have told! my sister, living, breathing, thus employed i look to lady, duke, to pirate dear and we tell truths together, halves made whole never a sister did my mother bear my mother has yet to bear me a brother and have our fathers ever shared a name? from self-same womb we came; it should be thus my lady, ere you wed me, hear my piece: i am viola, this my twin, sebastian some month hence, in a storm, our ship did break and on the shore, i found myself alone i did endeavor to find work, and found’t in duke orsino’s court, through whose employ i came to meet my dear your ladyship, and fell in love, if in love you will have me and to be wed, if be wed you will let me antonio, and others gathered here now do hear me, sebastian, speak my fate: i, too, shipwrecked upon that fated voyage. antonio did find me on the shore, and brought me here to bold illyria, tho’ hangman’s noose here weighs upon his shoulders and while i’ve cause to yet hold still my tongue my heart yearns to profess as sister hast, oh, dear antonio, whose life yet rests in both my palms, as you have left it, now take mine in yours, and take my hands forthwith. i’ve heard tales tell that pirates do love rings. ---- [Author's Note: Here it is! Written in iambic pentameter, as it should be.]
  50. 3 points
    talking to someone from childhood— oh, a hundred, a thousand years ago— and remembering the sleepovers & the daydreams and the “these help me fall asleep” dreams. i’m asking if she remembers the time i dangled a caterpillar in front of her face, the time i destroyed her fairyhouses, the sleepover/pajama party (elementary school innocence & how badly i wanted to kiss her, didn’t want to admit it to myself but it was there), the time she asked how much i weighed, somewhere in all of this, and then we stopped being friends until she saw me at work, and recognized me through the tied-back hair, through the name change, through all of it. she laughs and says “i don’t remember any of that.” author's note: i want to publish this on tumblr even tho it's like 3 days old at this point but. shrugs. idk if i like it enough to post.