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Showing most liked content on 01/06/18 in all areas

  1. 2 points
    my dad is not very good at texting the latest: m k even kevin horseface ¿
  2. 1 point
    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]
  3. 1 point
    For any TMBG fans, DIAL-A-SONG IS UP UP UP! I'm trying to get my friends into them again....
  4. 1 point
    I wish I didn't love you as much as I do Wow I wish you'd just respond. Have you ever lied to me? Why did you not want me to ever post about you..? Were we ever really.. together? What am I to you? Like really? Do you really love me? Are you lying to me now.? How do I know that you're actually telling me the truth? I wish you'd just be open about our relationship I don't even know what we are I'm sorry I'm not enough
  5. 1 point
    One day soon I'm going to have to do a found poem from Grendel because it's just such a pretty book I first read it four years ago and, although it took me these four years to realize it, it's influenced my writing style quite a bit ever since.
  6. 1 point
    So... I've spent part of the past year working on a new chapbook. All but one of the poems is completely new to this site, and I'm really excited to share it with y'all (target Slam publication date: January 20). The question: what format should I share it in? (A PDF, Google docs, etc.?) Let me know if you have preferences or suggestions!
  7. 1 point
    poetry rubric: use proper conventions! me, waving the works of E. E. Cummings: @ MARTHA MEET ME IN THE FUCKING RING
  8. 1 point
    put your ray gun to my head because it's a holiday so someone was bound to end up crying i guess i'm overprotective reached the age where i realize adults are just as screwed up as kids i'm not ready yet that's just high school for you nothing swings and a sugar cookie can't fix cause every little thing's gonna be alright if you're wondering why she was so rude and now she's like this... it's a holiday and i'm not ready yet
  9. 1 point
    I feel like this could be some sort of structured poem? (Read: please write a prompt/rules for this so I can try it out.)
  10. 1 point
    fun home: the musical has me in my FUCKING feelings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  11. 1 point
    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? The monsters used to be in my closet And under the bed but now I'm older and they're in my head and I'm cranking out push ups in my boxers every night so maybe I can get a few hours rest and my chest won't feel so tight author's note: I started the first two stanzas a few weeks ago and realized that they would go really well with the poem I was keeping in my wallet.
  12. 1 point
    You are dreamers, you’re wild, Trust me, I know. I was one of you once, A long time ago. I refused to grow up, I was strange, I was strong, Just like you, who will never belong Because you’re monsters And you wander the tangled roads. You outcasts, explorers, You search for lost treasure, Some fantasy Holy Grail. They all stare At you, like ticking clock faces. ‘Grow up, give up, you’re running out of time.’ But let me tell you something. When you wake up you’ll keep all this magic, On basement shelves, in clear crystal jars, and they’ll see it inside you too. You might hide it for a bit, but Don’t keep it away for too long. These thoughts are calling inside you, They pull your soul along lost pathways, Your heart over raging seas. So turn your cheek to the takers, Give up all your bright blinding words, Because you, the weird kids, are stronger than the rest. You’ll last longer, sing harder, Because it all means something to you.
  13. 1 point
    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)
  14. 1 point
    *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.
  15. 1 point
  16. 1 point
    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
  17. 1 point
    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
  18. 1 point
    my head explodes with meaningless thoughts awkward smiles, shy laughter, stumbling one word answers. I want to scream because no, no, here I am again, before you at a loss for words when all I want to do is speak, and my thoughts are countless. but what do you talk about when you talk about nothing? I wait too long and my traitorous lips stay shut
  19. 1 point
    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.
  20. 1 point
    it lives in my throat. my tears, my laughter: in my throat. hey, that's kinda interesting; that's where my words are. that's where my breath is. that's where my life... i come from my throat. that's where i find my voice. that's where i find my passion. my throat is what i stroke with anxious fingers when i am afraid when i am nervous when i am sad. it all comes back to my throat. funny, that's where i get sick, too. or at least, that's where the sickness starts or where it ends with fire in my throat and silence in my mouth. it all comes back to the hroat. my throat is where my voice is and who would i be if i could not sing? perhaps that is why i fear suffocation. when i cried my father came upstairs and said, at first i thought you were laughing. and when i laughed myself breathless, i thought, it sounds like i'm crying. perhaps it is because they came from the same place. perhaps it is because they really are the same. in a crowd of the grieving, a laugh is like a breath. it ripples through the crowd like a moment of relief. it is hysterical and tear-filled. it comes from the throat. perhaps emotion lives not in the heart, but in the lungs. in the throat. for, after all, who would we be without our voices? A/N: I have no clue what this is.
  21. 1 point
    this is so fucking cute please keep going actually I like where you ended it but you get my sentiment
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