Jump to content


Popular Content

Showing most liked content since 04/17/18 in Posts

  1. 5 points
    let's endeavor to be soft and round like the warmest muffin, the sweetest marshmallow; place her on your tongue and she tastes like confidence. let's lift up her soft spots and give them a trophy tell her that flight is free of gravity that her size is not detriment to soaring through the stratosphere. dress her in jean shorts and a crop top. belly button showing and thighs bared to the world; look at her stretch marks, proudly displayed, inked in sharpie look at her hips, round and powerful imagine your hands are full and you need to close your car door. there you go, swing those hips! sometimes her reflection transforms into hideous monstrosity, into too much flesh; sometimes she hides beneath sweatshirt and blanket, does not bear her roundness well this is when she needs you the most; your reassurance, your warm touches: i love your roundness, your softness, how good you feel to hug. let's place her on a stage and encourage her to dance let's praise those thighs that jiggle, that stomach that spills let's find the laws of physics in those hips and that presence is like a hurricane let's teach her she's a force of nature and that nothing can move her let's teach her to love herself in her entirety.
  2. 5 points
    the most ridiculous thing about realizing you’re probably a lesbian is that it’s also the first time that your heart pounds really, really fast like lightning strikes flying out of your body when you see a boy, not because you think he’s hot but because he’s gay. too. he’s gay too, and you’ve talked about Love, Simon together (you told him how you cried 3 times) he’s gay too, and you forget to agree with him when he calls other guys cute (because it’s so exhausting to trick yourself into saying something you know you’ll never actually believe) he’s gay too, and when you make a comment in English class about how hypocritical biblically driven homophobia is when you talk about Oscar Wilde in class (you blush too hard and stumble and stutter over your words too much) you're afraid he did a double take from the desk behind you, gaydar: on insecurity: detected you: gay it’s not like you’re even really friends- you don’t wave to each other in the hallway because to be honest he’s a little intimidating (and you’re 95% sure he does drugs, and even if it’s just weed you’re 500% sure you don’t want to get mixed up in that) and you’re a nerd and you don’t like his popular-ish friends (they’re snobby, and this comes from experience) but still, these are the lightning strikes you can finally point out in dark, dark blue skies and lean back, laughing at how stupid and blind you were before for thinking the fires you tried to start out of a broken matchbox and fear could ever compare to a wonderfully platonic feeling of not being alone.
  3. 5 points
    can you just fucking not do that because i’m a rational girl independent learning to be strong trying harder than you ever seem to and like you’re throwing me off a lot can you just stop interrupting my thoughts? please? can you just not smile quite like that when you step in my way just so I’ll bump into you and like my name? if you could dim the light in your eyes across your face before you say that particular combination of syllables it would really help me sleep at night can you just look at the paper when i’m trying to help you you’ll understand the material better and i know that you can because if you can possibly talk about that many other things with that type of skill and you’re asking my bad-at-math ass to help you you must be pretty fucking desperate can you just (while you’re at it) stop making me fucking laugh i’m supposed to be taking notes and you’re over there calling out comments looking at me when i stifle a laugh fuck you now i want to make you laugh stop making me consider texting you at goddamn one am because i thought of something funny stop making me say stupid shit because you saying that one time that i looked like a classy prostitute was definitely not supposed to be responded to with a question if it was working especially if your expression shifted to that maybe it was the dark you paid for my dinner i had agreed to buy you coffee and that lady she thought we were dating? she called us cute? and you essentially ran away (you went upstairs. very fast) you barely finished ordering i overthought it i nearly ordered with your name (it would have been easier for them to read aloud i had the excuse planned in case i had made that mistake i hadn’t) you grabbed my arm so i wouldn’t walk into the street i didn’t even notice the street or much else i don’t remember any cars, though (was i like this even then? fuck.)
  4. 5 points
    you flutter in peppercorns and daisies theobromine is your wine petrichor, your perfume a hundred thousand instances of worldly absurdity gravitating to you
  5. 4 points
    you let her slip into your brain with her stupid shining hair (that you know is just dirty blonde but looks like shimmering gold to you) and her stupid voice like melted butter so soft and sweet and lovely and that stupid laugh like bells (you feel strange describing her like this because that's how authors talk in books but there's no better way) and plus her stupid stupid eyes the stupidest part of all that you hate the most (those stupid stupid eyes gazing velvet soft blue satin dark and light and all the colors of a summer sky) with stars in them and all the brightness of the world stupid, stupid, stupid.
  6. 3 points
    We say "someday, we'll try again" even though we both know we're only saying that to make it hurt a little less
  7. 3 points
    you will grow stronger than sequoias and in time, you will touch the sky this whole earth is a blank page and your fingers are bleeding colored ink the waves of the sea cannot compare to your eyes oracle beauty universes wait to be unravelled, secrets yearning to be found sadness sinking in like fog over fields, but soon, the sun will shine through laughter, golden smiles even on sad days, you are truly ametrine you will find your way although wolves howl at night, you are safe here with us. ~~~~~ author's note: to selah, kalani, emma, alejandro, jocelyn, oliver, and emmelia. these could be read individually or as a single poem? i think i'm going to rewrite this with different line breaks because it seems a bit weird like this.
  8. 3 points
    this backcountry, all pastures and fields and razor-backed hills where the clouds look like they could scrape the treetops or the backs of the winding cows lewiston, idaho, middle of fucking nowhere sister to clarkson, built on riverbanks and stolen land your town hall proudly displays histories lived by white colonialists and their snaking paths your town hall proudly displays the natives that died for them perhaps unrelatedly, every wireframe sign stabbed into the earth advertises gun rights and conservative campaigners i say to hell with it and i aint coming back
  9. 2 points
    i wrote so much about you, my love, and like the timeless greeks, i compared you to marble and the gods, and i deified you so much that when i think about your name, i do not know who you are and I know i said i was over you but, i am bad at quitting things and as much as i hate it, i am weak willed, my love, and like wicked ivy, the gorgeous idea of you has trapped me in a firm embrace, and i am running out of oxygen. author's note: back on my bullshit
  10. 2 points
    hey ok so this? this is something i struggled with big time when i was trying to figure out who i was. i was afraid to identify because what if i was wrong? what if i was (for lack of a better word) 'appropriating' the identity? i have since come out to myself and to others and my advice to you is this: you aren't lying to anyone, you're not appropriating any identities, and you aren't hurting anyone. feel free to identify. say, "i'm bi" or "i'm a lesbian". or any other term you think might be right. try out that label for a while. see how it fits. if it doesn't, return it to the store and try on something else. maybe it wasn't you but at least you learned from it. it's not a huge deal. and if it does fit, then that's all the better, because now you know yourself better than before. people talk about coming out a lot and how much of a challenge it is but what isn't talked about is just how hard it is to come out to yourself. so take your time, don't worry about anyone else, and consider coming out to yourself, even if for just a little while, even if in the end it turns out you were wrong. it's not a lie. it's just another step towards discovering who you are. identity is a challenging concept no matter the subject. i hope you find yourself eventually and we're here for you in the meantime. <3
  11. 2 points
    I’ve never written you a poem. You don’t lend yourself to words, you see; You’re too strong, an oak To the little willow tree I am And I don’t know how to write a poem For a silent, seething mountain, A girl who could go volcano And fly in a fury to send vengeance Upon those who dare upset Her scattered equilibrium. No one writes poems for the lioness, Headstrong and stubborn And already too proud For calming words and coming into being. You’re the protector, the badass, the ‘I’ll drop kick you across the whole city If you mess with my sister,’ Who can still be a warrior While wearing a dress. I can’t be eloquent about A lightsaber fighting spitfire, Grumpy in the mornings And spouting sass all afternoon. It’s too hard; my poems are supposed To be soft and gentle but you Have always been powerful, Serious and stoic Until suddenly you say something To get us all laughing. And my poetry, too, is about eloquence But you and I don’t often talk with words, We speak with expressions and thoughts and hands, With random inside jokes and stories. That’s why I’ve never written you a poem before, Because you’re more important to me Than any words I know.
  12. 2 points
    It’s like being stuck in Possum Springs, In a changing town and a dying church, A fading life and an aging world. The stores on Main Street are closing, Have you seen it? It’s all small here, hidden away, so There’s no escape from the people; They all know me, They all know what I’ve done. They won’t forget and I won’t leave Because I love it here, The childhood I never outgrew. And we’re all broken here, Together and alone, The dust swirls as everyone moves on, And I’m too naive So I keep hurting them, Saying the wrong thing. It’s precarious, walking these telephone wires, Looking up at the stars. And Mae, she was a violent child, And me, I was a monster. Bea, she can’t see a good future anymore And I can’t find hope. And Selmers, she writes the empty away; We are poets, the both of us, Writing about this weird Autumn Where I came home for a while. But it’s night in the woods now And there are spirits in my dreams, A Whatever-god who tells me It’s too late for us because The forest god is gone. It’s the end of everything and I’m trying to hold on. So Greg, you get out while you still can But I don’t think I will die anywhere else. Author's Note: This is a poem inspired by the indie game Night In The Woods. (It's a story-based game with lots of dialogue and it's art. Also it's kinda heartbreaking but it's so good) Also it relates to my life a little too closely so I wrote a poem about it
  13. 2 points
    I love the first one! It's my favourite. The one about sadness being like fog I would have preferred if it was entirely just about the feeling of sadness, because I feel like you portrayed the emotion very well in the first two sentences and I wanted to sink into it more. I feel like that's not really what you wanted to say though.
  14. 2 points
    yellow light, yellow like daybreak, butter, burnt ochre— paint caked on the end of the tube. rich velvet sky beyond broken shades, eternal fireflies gleaming radiant above the stratosphere eyelids droop and pages turn quiet like wind outside or cricket song or low-level buzz of the noise machine there is nothing else so silent as the midnight hour
  15. 1 point
    *I'm still super insecure about this and I feel like I'm being too dramatic...but whatever, I'm gonna post it before I talk myself out of it* it was a bunch of little things, really. all compounded into one. little things like unconsciously buying a bunch of rainbow clothes and not realizing what I was doing until my sister made fun of me for it. like letting out a sigh of relief when my pastor talked about acceptance. like wanting with all my heart to go to pride and grinning uncontrollably when I think about painting my face rainbow. like watching the video of same-sex marriage being legalized in Australia, and crying when they break out into song, even though I don't live there. like silently envying this one gay girl in my grade, because she's so open about it and why can't I be that sure of myself? like falling in love with hayley kiyoko over and over as I listen to girls like girls on repeat. like seeing love, simon in the theater and sobbing so much my makeup came off, so much I had to hide my face and tell myself to breathe, so much I felt like an idiot but at the same time I was beaming because how is this movie even real? like beaming when my friend came out as ace in a sort of roundabout way, and finally feeling comfortable telling her I'm questioning because I know she'll understand. like caving in and doing that stupid "am I gay" google search and getting frustrated at the idiotic quizzes that are only based on stereotypes but taking more and more until I get a gay enough result. like never having been in a relationship before so not even knowing what to expect from someone of any gender. like realizing that all my past male crushes were probably a mix of comp het and latching onto anyone who actually tolerated my socially anxious self. like not thinking many male actors are that attractive but conditioning myself to react well when my friends show me pictures, and whenever I see a guy I consciously ask myself if I think he's cute until it gets to the point where I don't know what's instinct and what's real. like the same thing happening with girls. like never knowing if I actually find someone attractive or not because my brain automatically goes down that path, just because I've questioned it so much. like "falling in love" with one of my best friends two years ago and not being able to tell if it was a friend crush or whatever for such a long time. like still thinking about holding her hand but then scolding myself, rebuking myself, invalidating myself. "what if you're lying?" "what if you're actually straight and just being stupid?" "what if you come out as queer but it turns out you're not and you look like a complete idiot?" because I'm making a huge deal about this and I'm so confused and I want it to be over and I want to come out but I don't know what to come out as. I hope that all these little things amount to something bigger, but I've unknowingly trained myself to doubt everything. I keep making this harder for myself, and I'm just so lost. so here's to more little things that might finally tell me who I am.
  16. 1 point
    there's a fog in my mind and bees in my throat there is a deafening silent pain to being sick and things to be done are sailboats caught on a tide i am reaching, grasping— wading through molasses my voice is locked inside my chest and my thoughts alongside it drop it to the bottom of the ocean may the mermaids guard it i'll see you when i relearn to swim
  17. 1 point
    It’s easy to laugh right now, and there’s something so easy about sitting around the table on three sides, telling stupid stories and waiting for our parents and we aren’t quite the last ones but it’s getting close. We gesture towards the fourth side of the table— empty except for the backdrop of the school, and I think that side would be where the cameras are for the insane discount Breakfast Club we must look like. Her with her all-black clothes and blue-tipped hair, eating salad with her fingers. You with your beanie only present in spirit from the heat of the day, your hair only sort of a mess, and jeans skinnier than mine. And me with my yellow-bright hair and pastel shirt and bag heavy with books. He closes the circle, sitting on the edge of the fourth wall, the fourth bench and grinning. He’s not waiting for a parent, but supposedly getting food for a team. We let him join the circle. It’s easy to tell stupid stories if you’re killing time, and it’s easier to do it with this combination of people that somehow would not have collided in this liquid state otherwise, running over each other. His tricep lift story is arguably the best, especially when I have to cut him off to say, for the sake of the story, let’s assume we know after he asked you know? for the fourth time in two sentences. He proudly shows off his triceps, she and I both laugh and are reasonably impressed, but dissolve into hysterics when he compares them to a mountain range. The football team laps us. He and I wave. You roll your eyes and take a suspicious looking crouton from her salad. And the stories get sillier until she mentions the fucking stair thing and I start laughing and nodding at her but he’s confused and that little half smile is pushing for information as distracted hands tap on the edge of the table. I’ve never seen you get so red. And then, the laughter dies down for a moment, and you asked if I’d make you say it in front of him and she and I make eye contact across the table again and nod. The inevitable sentence comes and the sheer ridiculousness of that statement registers on so many levels that now we are all laughing, and you nearly fall off the table because there is nowhere to go from that, especially since that’s your mother’s car, and she and I are still explaining our pity for her between gasps of laughter. The football team laps us again. You climb off the table carefully, still shaking your head. She puts her salad away. She hasn’t made a "not in front of my salad" joke yet, but it hangs in the air anyway. He stands up and begins to walk towards the woods. There’s a path that leads to the gas station that serves the best fried chicken you can get for a price that low. He stops to turn and wave at us. We wave back.
  18. 1 point
    this is so beautifully written, also it kinda reminds me of my own sister. how I can't write about her cause she's so much all at once and I know her so well. If that makes any sense? anyway I love this
  19. 1 point
  20. 1 point
    @The Invincible Troodon wow, thank you!! that actually means a lot :)
  21. 1 point
    @writeandleft Oh wow. I hate to potentially undermine the personal piece of this but this poem reminds me so much of someone I know that I couldn't see "her" as anyone else. I love the way you so easily transitioned from annoyance to appreciation and back again without changing the flow of the words.
  22. 1 point
    here is a spontaneous bad poem in response i'm reading someone else's words but they sound like mine in my head you have everything i wait for something that sounds like not me but they've perfectly impersonated my second voice you don't deserve to be proud it feels nice to fall into my own words coming from someone else your friends don't love you they aren't nice words but they belong to us together now it's good to hear yourself criticised it's good to hear yourself echoed maybe i'm a little more human other people have real problems other people say what i do other people feel like i do
  23. 1 point
    and it’s horribly cruel but who would ever love you? red marble is bloodied not pure unnatural in texture and weak lunged slow-witted wild hair (knotted mess) obvious blush ugly tears liar fishing for compliments and playing dumb isn’t a good look for you and not much is a good look for you purple veins seen beneath pale palms bloodied specks hiding in shadows of knees and elbows smooth you are not with tiger-clawed hips a patchwork of scars and dependency who would ever love you? never first except in birth mantle heavy on your shoulders tied back to them by love and deep-set fears of losing failure is an old friend or at least it pretends to be masks only cover they don’t free stop and let your breath catch catch your breath instead or you are weak sick fragile useless undeserving why do you think you’re good enough you should be grateful loving family some money friends that care they do care a school an education a future white straight cis neurotypical (probablies) those curves are ones nobody will ever want to touch the eyes shine not from tears but determination because big girls don’t cry unless they’re disappointing unless they’re failing but then they see they’ve gotten to you they will remain cloaked daggers already under my skin
  24. 1 point
    Yes please stay here! We would miss you! But it's all right if you want to take some things down. Do what you need. We understand. I hope you feel better soon. 💙
  25. 1 point
    Somehow coming out is harder the second time Maybe it’s because I don’t know what I’m coming out as Or maybe it’s because everyone knew I was gay before I said it But this This is something different This would change everything And I’m scared Scared they wont accept me Pan was pushing it but this might be too far There’s a little voice in my head saying “tell them” But there’s a louder one saying “put your head down and shut up” I’m stuck somewhere in the middle of everything And I don’t know what to do
  26. 1 point
    Oh. My. God. This is so good!
  27. 1 point
    I love this and I love you and you’re great and this is great and self-love is great
  28. 1 point
    don’t delete your account. It hurts right now and I’m really sorry, but you will find inspiration again. It might not be today, and it might not be tomorrow, but someday you’ll want to write again, even if she’s not the reason why. You’re strong.
  29. 1 point
    The spring jumps for Joy, she is here Here to play Warmth spreads like Wildfire, butterflies dance Upon the air all around us The night air just as warm Fireflies dance around Dazzling with their glow.
  30. 1 point
  31. 1 point
    Oh my god these characters are so so great
  32. 1 point
    No one really Knows what goes On, all the Demons I face Or The hell In my head I don't even Know their Names Only their faces As they haunt My mind Day Night and all in Between The demons I create and those that create themselves
  33. 1 point
  34. 1 point
    I did a whole Proust questionnaire for a new character I made named Ada. Here's some parts of it: (the font is weird because I copied it from google docs) What is your idea of perfect happiness? Ada: Perfect happiness doesn’t exist. What is your current state of mind? Ada: Well, by making me think about my current state of mind you’ve probably changed it. What is your most marked characteristic? Ada: Do you mean physical or the other one? If you mean physical, then my hair, but if you mean the other one than my logicalness. Logicalness is not a word, but it makes sense according to English suffix rules, so I don’t see any problem with using it. When and where were you the happiest? Ada: Well, this one time I was playing with my band and we were outside and it was just the perfect temperature and just the perfect windiness and it smelled like spring and it felt like spring and we played perfect like we were spring and not people. What is it that you most dislike? Ada: That beautiful things are supposed to sound poetic when you describe them, despite the highest point of beauty being the transcendence of words. What is your greatest fear? Ada: That I will go too insane, or that I won’t go insane enough. Sometimes when I feel that feeling like you aren’t part of yourself anymore and instead you’re part of the world, or the world’s thoughts, or someone else, or I don’t know, just something that you wouldn’t find if you took yourself apart, I think I’ve gone to far and I try to become myself again, but when I get back, I miss that feeling, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to find it again because I’m trying too hard to shield myself from it. Which living person do you most despise? Ada: I thought this was a serious questionnaire, not a gossip session. What is your greatest regret? Ada: I never told my best friend from Kansas that I was moving to Ireland, so now he probably thinks I’m dead or something. On second thought, even if he thought that at first, he’s probably realized by now that the conclusions you draw as a nine year old are often wrong, and corrected his hypothesis to something more realistic and closer to the truth. To him though, I’m really as good as dead since we’ll never see each other again. What is the quality you most like in a man? Ada: I really thought this wasn’t a gossip session. What is the quality you most like in a woman? Ada: Well, I understand the last question better now, but I don’t understand why you asked them separately since they should have the same answer. The ability to be someone you love and someone loveable. What do you most value in your friends? Ada: The ability to accept that presentable me isn’t all of me, but it’s all of me anyone outside my head is ever going to be authorized to see, because the rest of me is in a state of permanent disrepair. On what occasions do you lie? Ada: Never. It’s mutually detrimental and therefore as useless as eloquence. I always speak as true as I can, but I don’t try to make it pretty. In short, I tell all the truth but not a bit slant. What are your favorite names? Ada: Names aren’t important. They’re just a label so we can distinguish one person from another when we’re talking. If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be? Ada: I don’t deign to know the workings of the afterlife. Knowing if there even is an afterlife is impossible since no one can experience what’s after death and report back to the living. I think the most sensible idea is that nothing happens to us after we die besides our bodies decomposing. Our “soul” is only electrical impulses in the brain. Our whole experience of living is, really. It would be nice to think there’s something more after death, but it just isn’t reasonable.
  35. 1 point
    what if we could end all war it's simple in theory and impossible in practice because all it would take is an end to all fighting a kindness, forgiveness we could change the world now, we could end all suffering but just as everyone is capable of good, everyone too is capable of evil and why is evil so much easier to do? what if there were no lines and we lived boundless what if we were not confined by the borders scribbled in violent red crayon on construction paper earth what if there were no refugees because there was no need of refuge what if we ended pain and fear today what if what if we were birds and instead of fighting we flew? what if we were free? what if we were painted the colors of the canvas, bright orange and midnight blue what if we were all beautiful beneath the dust what if someone had a rag to wipe off the grease stains what if red was just sunset and not blood on our hands what if we said good morning and we meant it?
  36. 1 point
    Snap at me If you would just say something do something That would be appreciated Look at me but see me Is that too much to ask? Tell me that I’m enough even if not for you Remind me that I actually mean something to you because we both know it Your face lights up unless I’m seeing stars where only candles flicker I don’t care if you shove me against the damn wall Just react when I speak when I move Because I can push you back I can be the one that pushes you on You say nothing when I pour my life into your lap You let me feel like everything and nothing all at once And maybe I’m not drowning but I’m certainly out of my depth
  37. 1 point
    i think of rich mulberry hues whenever i hear your name the kind of purple that can't be synthetic your namesake was a saint and your birth month the amethyst heart of winter i always said i wanted your eyes, terra cotta flecked copper (unlike mine- oxidized) and your freckles stippled on with the lightest touch
  38. 1 point
    caress the sun which drips and flows from my mouth my hunger is an abyss and you a marble. minute and absurd in the dark but blue all the same i'll pour out that light and serve it to you on a silver platter drink, drink, please my dark is home, i need it. let me eat. the skin above my heart is thin and stretched shadows flock to the space between beats
  39. 1 point
    Oh god this is so cute and the imagery is fantastic!
  40. 1 point
    i. i’m standing naked in front of the sink examining myself like a cadaver i can’t decide whether i like what i see because i don’t believe the mirror or my friends when they tell me i’m pretty maybe i’m unphotogenic or conditioned into hating myself who knows ii. my skin and the room are turned vanilla by curtains that dim sunlight and block the outside and i haven’t shaved in weeks because it’s so cold so so cold goosebumps dot my arms and dark hair grows in all the places it shouldn’t i’m iii. envious of blondes and a lot of people really iv. i’m sorry v. there are three scars on my leg from my neighbor’s dog where the skin is not real skin but stretched and red and indented another on my right hand from a plastic chair (long story) a fifth on my ankle from twisted metal and a sixth on my arm from me vi. sometimes i wish we were all blind and always i wish i saw more girls with smiles on billboards and mall store signs vii. i smile often but do i deserve to? viii. i’ve gotten so bony to the point where i can stack quarters on my collarbones and you can see my sternum in the right light but is that good or bad? am i beautiful or not? ix. i can never decide
  41. 1 point
    Hope’s a funny thing. Sometimes it’s bubbles, like sunlight and flying And sometimes it bashes you into the rocks far below. It’s all a cycle, endless searching and finding and losing and doing it over again. I don’t know why people keep trying to get up after they fall, For the ground is steady beneath my feet And I don’t feel the world spin from down here. But then my brain says ‘stay awake, keep trying, Keep fighting, for when you plummet, it means The time before it was worth it all.’ I want to tell my mind I’m tired of this, That I don’t want to hurt anymore, But it keeps holding on to hope, those summer breezes And lavender butterflies, bright stained-glass and dreams. I’ve tried countless times to get it to stop But it won’t and it seems I’ll keep suffering. Is rose-colored, ember sparked to life, Heart beating rapid adrenaline rush Even worth burnt lips and aching fingers, Wrists striped red at the end of the road? I can’t pretend to know. That’s the thing about hope; It’s floating, holding on every time I manage to climb back from the abyss again And maybe it won’t end because I need it Just as much as I need you.
  42. 1 point
    i like the harmless habits, above all the ones that shy away from shoving they leave gentle touches, instead across the line i used to think of mentality like that some great towering 2d plane of black, deeming you in all caps: HEALTHY (in smaller letters, ‘good’) UNHEALTHY (even smaller, ‘bad’) a blue moon good day would let me inch forward, getting to dip my face through the curtain plunging my face in instead of just few hesitant fingers, just to squint at what could be better to catch my breath and the next thought, moment, minute hour, day, week, month year, years, endless cycle would drag me back down into the water, where my thoughts turned shifty, hard to catch red-handed and still, the harmless habits cradled me bathing only in strawberry shampoo made me feel warm against the pressure of approximately a fuckton of cubic meters of 3 point font ‘bad’ laughing ten seconds too long because i was grateful to get to smile dropped two more labels on top of that but it felt like a triumph, still its the harmless habits that got me by
  43. 1 point
    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
  44. 1 point
    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.
  45. 1 point
    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.
  46. 0 points
    The idea that I can't help liking him, starved for crushes, waking up from those dreams. I keep recalling I'm his back-up. The idea that I'm trying to deserve someone, harder and harder, the bittersweet loss. Liking him, I feel like a fool. Author's note: I know my crush likes me back' but it’s a strong possibility that he likes my friend better than me. She rejected him earlier this year. I know I don’t deserve to be his back-up plan, like he’s crossing people off a list and I’m second on it. But I really care about him and I think he really cares about me. TLDR, I'm sad about my crush and I'm writing melodramatic poems when I should be sleeping. Advice about the situation and critiques would really be appreciated.