literature-is-dead

[literature-is-dead]

I remember the pattern on the floor

when the light filtered through the closed blinds

But the colour of the walls evades me.

I wonder if there was any.

Maybe the lime was bare.

The wooden door

always locked until it wasn't

and the bucket under my bed.

I don't remember if there was a dresser.

There weren't any clothes to be put in it anyways

so maybe it doesn't matter

but it does a bit.

(maybe it doesn't.)

(maybe I'm making a mountain out of the lack of molehills)

I remember reading the same fairytale book

I knew it by heart.

There was nothing else to do.

So reading it anyways

Over and over and over and over again.

Waiting to be let out

waiting waiting waiting

and waiting again.

Biting off the few nails I had left on my hands,

Tearing them off my toes,

Attacking my own fingertips with my teeth,

Biting off the skin of my lips,

Putting my fingers on burning lightbulbs

And pressing on the blisters that formed

Waiting again.

The red numbers on the digital clock

slowly increasing.

Waiting and waiting again.

Counting the spots of light from the blinds

on the wooden floor.

#poem blog #writeblr #poemblr #poetry #poem #poems #poets on tumblr #poetblr #tw sh #tw self harm #childhood trauma #tw childhood trauma #tw abuse #abuse implied #tw abuse implied #abuse

[literature-is-dead]

Même si le village est nommé après un saint

les fleurs qui y poussent ne sont pas sacrées.

Les chapelles y sont délabrées.

Entre les rues, les maisons et les prés;

des débris de pierres et de briques effritées,

guère utiles et à peine plus décoratifs.

Tout ce qu’elles connaissent maintenant

sont les affiches du cirque en ville

et une maigre bougie ou deux, une fois par an.

L’église d’un brun-gris étrange les surplombe.

Son orgue n’a pas chanté depuis des années;

plus personne n’y est jamais marrié;

plus personne n’y est jamais enterré.

Une banderole délavées pour une course déjà terminée

pend de son clocher depuis déjà quelques années.

Verdie par le temps et l’humidité,

la Vierge regarde passer les voitures

dans son cénacle recouvert par le lierre.

#poem blog #writeblr #poem #french poetry #french side of tumblr #poesie

[literature-is-dead]

Your father never was much of a father.

Your mother tried at least.

(You try not to blame them)

(Who can blame the trees when the forest is burning?)

You tell yourself it's normal

Everyone's parents fuck them up a little.

(You're twenty and still can't talk to adults without feeling like crying.)

(You look away when your friends tell stories of their families so they don't see how jealous you are.)

(You hate yourself for it.)

You hate them. They're almost everything wrong with you.

You love them still. They're everything you have.

(Can you even recognize love and hate anymore ?)

You swore yourself you'd never be like them.

You fear the day you'll look in a mirror and see you failed

(You try to ignore your brother when he says the only thing you know how to do is to chide)

(You try to ignore the scratches on his arm from when you last lost your temper)

(When he says you're the best sister in the world, you wonder whether he can't tell hate and love, either.)

#poem blog #writeblr #poemblr #poetry #poem #poems #poets on tumblr #poetblr #abuse #sibling abuse #abusive parents #abusive family #cycle of abuse #cycle of violence

[literature-is-dead]

I made friends with the little girl in my room.

Her black dress is too big for her skinny legs,

and her straight hair covers most of her face.

She floats atop my sofa,

Her skeletal hand almost touching the stuffed animals piled there.

I hope she knows she can touch them if she wants,

I wouldn't blame her if she wanted just a little softness in her life.

She floats by the wall when I turn off the light,

But as soon as I turn it on, she runs away;

she must be shy.

Maybe she doesn't like to be seen.

So I keep the light off,

I'm getting used to it, slowly.

It doesn't really bother me.

At night, she watches over my bed from the other side of the room.

I've never spoken to her, but in the evening,

when everything's turned off and I haven't closed my eyes yet,

I smile at her.

Sometimes, when I can't sleep,

I meet her gaze.

Then it's just the two of us in our solitude

and the night seems a little less dark, and a little more beautiful

#poem blog #writeblr #poemblr #poetry #poem #poems #poets on tumblr #poetblr #ghost

[literature-is-dead]

Je suis devenue amie avec la petite fille dans ma chambre.

Sa robe noire est trop grande pour ses jambes maigres,

et ses cheveux raides couvrent la majorité de son visage.

Elle se tient au dessus de mon canapé,

Sa main squelettique touche presque les peluches qui s’y empilent.

J’espère qu’elle sait qu’elle peut y toucher si elle le veut,

Je ne lui en voudrai pas, si elle voulait un peu de douceur dans sa vie.

Elle flotte près du mur quand j’éteint la lumière,

Mais dès que j’allume, elle s’enfuit;

elle doit être timide.

Peut-être qu’elle n’aime pas être vue.

Alors je garde la lumière éteinte,

Je m’habitue, ça ne me dérange pas vraiment.

La nuit, elle surveille mon lit de l’autre côté de la chambre.

Je ne lui ai jamais parlé, mais le soir,

quand tout est éteint mais que je n’ai pas encore fermé les yeux,

Je lui sourit.

Parfois, quand je ne peux pas dormir,

je croise son regard.

Alors, nous sommes deux dans notre solitude

et la nuit semble un peu moins noire, et un peu plus belle

#french side of tumblr #french poetry #poème #poésie #poemefrancais #fantôme

[literature-is-dead]

carve the cloth off my skin,

wipe the polish off my nails,

scrape the itch off my flesh;

i can’t help it,

i won’t stand it again.

strawberry dressing on vanilla ice cream;

paint spilled over the notebook’s page

i feel the ink in my fingerprints,

it’s staining my hands.

i don’t know that i’ll ever get it out again

rip the skin off my bones,

pry my nails off their beds,

tear my veins off my flesh;

when it heals,

i’ll shred it all over again

#poem blog #writeblr #poemblr #poetry #poem #poems #poets on tumblr #poetblr #self harm #tw self harm

[literature-is-dead]

I'm waiting outside the pub

Sitting on the ground like a child;

My head nearly resting on the ashtray.

The smell of cigarettes mixes with my minty-lemony candy.

I've been here before but it feels different now;

What's so different from a week ago?

Maybe I'm just tired.

The merry-go-round and its blinking lights keep catching my eyes;

Children's laughter and shitty bar music.

A passerby smiled at me when they walked past;

I hope it's politeness and not compassion.

I feel like a child playing grown-up;

I don't even like those outings that much

But still I come;

At least I'm not alone.

Even if i'd rather be drawing or watching my show,

It's a change to the routine.

That's what the holidays are all about, they say.

There isn't much else to do, is there?

My knee hurts too much to stand, anyway.

#poem blog #writeblr #poemblr #poetry #poem #poems #poets on tumblr #poetblr

[literature-is-dead]

C'est étrange la manière dont une seule pensée

Une idée qui te traverse la tête sans prévenir

Peut tout changer.

Et il n'y a pas de point de retour.

Terrifiant, même.

J'ai envie de me couper les cheveux

À chaque fois que je touche des ciseaux.

Je jubile quand je porte une chemise

Parce que ça cache ma poitrine.

Mais ça ne veut rien dire,

probablement.

C'est dur de remettre en question

tout ce que je pensais être.

Stressant, même.

(pourtant dieu sait que j'ai déjà assez de stress dans ma vie sans chercher à en rajouter)

Je ne veux pas décevoir maman

ou perdre encore l'estime de mes grands-parents

Mais je ne veux pas me mentir à moi même.

Ce n'est pas une tristesse que je peux envelopper

dans de jolis mots et de belles sonorités

Ce n'est pas une plaie à panser

avec des accords et des jolies couleurs.

c'est juste moi.

et je suis quoi, moi ?

je suis même incapable de me décrire.

Je me sens plus non-binaire

Et peut-être que c'est assez

Mais c'est si    c o m p l i q u é

et je suis si    i m p u i s s a n t (e?)

face à tout ça.

C'est étrange,

je suis plutôt doué avec les mots,

habituellement.

#poésie #poème #français #non binaire #french poetry #french side of tumblr

[literature-is-dead]

It's strange how a single thought

Pops into your head without warning

And changes everything.

There's no turning back.

I'd say it's terrifying, even.

I get the urge to cut my hair

Every time I touch a pair of scissors.

I glow when I wear a button up

And it happens to hide my chest.

But it doesn't mean anything,

probably.

It's hard to question

everything I thought I was.

Stressful, even.

(and god knows I've got enough stress in my life without adding to it).

I don't want to disappoint Mom

or lose more of my grandparents' respect

But I don't want to lie to myself, either.

It's not a sadness that I can wrap up

in sweet words and sounds

It's not a wound I can heal

with chords and pretty colors.

it's just me.

and what even is me ?

I can't even describe myself.

I feel more non-binary

And maybe that's enough

But it's so c o m p l i c a t e d

and I'm so s m a l l

in the face of it all.

It's weird,

I'm pretty good with words,

usually.

#poetblr #poem blog #poemblr #writeblr #poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #non binary #gender questioning #queer #queer poetry #enby #enbyphobia #lgbtqia #lgbt poetry

[literature-is-dead]

It'll be okay./

I promise it'll be okay. /

I know it's complicated right now./

That nothing ever goes right;/

That you don't go right either./

But you have to believe. /

You always have to believe./

I know that's easy to say/

And basically a lie they tell little children./

I swear it isn't./

I swear it'll be okay./

Some day, it'll be more than okay. /

Some day,/

We'll walk by a cliff/

And we won't want to jump./

We'll take the train/

Without even thinking of jumping in the tracks./

It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay. /

I swear a day will come/

We'll wear short sleeves all summer long/

We won't worry about swimsuits or shorts./

All our scars will be gone/

(And if they're still here, well,/

At least we won't be ashamed anymore) /

It'll be okay, you know ?/

I swear that one day,/

We'll be happy. /

And then,/

It'll be a brand new sun.

#poetry #poems #poem blog #poemblr #poets on tumblr #writeblr #writblr

[literature-is-dead]

There's this girl next to me in history,

Who doesn't know my name.

I don't know hers,

Either.

But we talked for fifteen minutes

A third in French-English-Japanese

A third pointing and a third smiling.

And the class got a little bit more interesting.

There's a boy in the cafeteria

Who saw me eating alone.

Came to tell me a joke

Before going back to his friends

And I felt a little less alone.

And then there's this girl

Who smiles when she sees me stressed,

Who laughs at my little comments,

Who catches me doing erratic hand movements

And does them back with a smile,

Who saves me a seat next to her,

Who lets me stay quiet without getting mad,

And with whom it's a little better.

It's moment like those

I think to myself

Maybe

The world isn't so bad

after all.

#poem blog #poemblr #poems #poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #writeblr #writblr

[literature-is-dead]

Il y a cette fille à côté de moi en histoire,

Elle ne connais pas mon prénom

Et je ne connais pas le sien,

Mais on a parlé pendant un quart d'heure

À moitié en français-anglais-japonais

À moitié en pointant du doigt et en souriant.

Et le cours était un peu plus intéressant.

Il y a un garçon à la cantine

Qui a vu que je mangeais seule

Qui est venu me faire une blague dans la file

Avant de retourner avec ses amis

Et je me suis sentie un peu moins seule.

Et puis il y a cette fille,

Qui me sourit quand elle me voit stressée,

Qui rit à mes petits commentaires,

Qui me surprend en train de faire des mouvements de main erratiques

Et les retourne en souriant,

Qui me garde une place à côté d'elle,

Qui me laisse ne pas parler sans juger,

Et avec qui c'est un peu mieux.

Et alors

Je me dis que

Peut-être

Le monde n'est pas si mal

Après tout.

#french poetry #french side of tumblr #poème #poésie #poesie

[literature-is-dead]

Alone in the bottom of the pool

I'm in a blue world.

I'm in the blue hole.

Any minute now, the ground will

Open and

Swallow me whole.

And I'll disappear.

These days most dreaded,

Adoration, shame and fear.

I'm alone in a pool full of strangers.

I'm no one, none, nonexistent.

My brown locks hidden,

With no one to call my name,

I'm forgotten, anonymous.

I don't think no one would notice

If I were

Gone.

I jump and dive in the pool.

I don't feel like breathing anymore.

And this one quote resonates

In my mind

In the blue

In the noiseless silence.

I'm rooted but I flow.

Here, in this blue room,

I can't hide and feel

naked.

My disgraceful heavy body

Exposed for all to see.

My acne, my scars,

I'm on display and I feel

ugly.

And I'm content my swimsuit covers

My hips

And all the cuts

I've printed on my skin.

In the bluest bottom of the pool,

My finger traces the thin white line

On my wrist.

I lack air,

My lungs throbbing painfully.

But I don't care,

I don't ever want to come back up.

I want to stay here

in the bluest blue.

I think of drowning.

But nobody sees anything,

For they're all too busy

And I'm aimlessly clueless.

I want the ground to open

And swallow me

Whole.

#poetry #poem #poem blog #poems #poemblr #poets on tumblr #poetblr #poet blog #writeblr #self harm #self harm mention #tw self harm #tw self destructive behavior #tw selfhate #drowning #suicidal ideation #tw suicide #tw suicidality #tw suicidal thoughts #tw sh #tw sh implied #sh

[literature-is-dead]

J’en ai marre d’avoir mal en permanence,

Je me réveille avec une douleur lancinante

comme si on m’avait arraché des morceaux de cerveau.

Comme dans l’histoire de Daudet,

des ongles ensanglantés

raclent les murs juste derrière mes yeux,

je suis épuisé.

Seulement, moi, je n’ai rien de spécial.

Rien qui puisse justifier

les c l o u s

p l a n t é s à l’arrière de ma tête.

pourquoi ça m’arrive à moi ?

Quand c’était une fois par mois

je pouvais le supporter.

Au moins j’avais des pauses.

des moments de calme pour me retrouver,

r e s p i r e r.

mais maintenant j’ai mal plus souvent que non

et même si je m’accroche comme je peux

c’est de plus en plus dur

et j’ai peur de

lâcher.

J’en peux plus de souffrir

de rester dans le noir

dans mon lit à

a t t e n d r e

en espérant que ça se passe,

sans même pouvoir rien faire dans ce sens

parce que je n’arrive même pas à avaler un doliprane

et que même la lumière qui filtre de mon volet abîmé

m’est insupportable.

Je veux juste aller bien,

mais je ne sais plus quoi faire.

#french side of tumblr #poème #poésie #french poetry

[literature-is-dead]

I'm done with the constant pain,

I wake up,

a stabbing pain purring behind my eyes

as if pieces of my brain had been ripped out.

It's like Daudet's story,

bloody fingernails

scrape the walls just behind my eyes,

I'm exhausted.

But there's nothing special about me.

Nothing to justify

the n a i l s

stuck in the back of my head.

why is this happening to me?

When it happened once a month

I could bear it.

At least I had respite

some quiet time to myself,

to rest,

b r e a t h e.

but now i hurt more often than not

and even if I hang on as best I can

it's getting harder and harder

and I'm afraid of

giving up.

I can't stand the pain

staying in the dark

in my bed

w a i t i n g

hoping for it to go away

without being able to do anything about it

because I can't even swallow my advil

even the light filtering through my damaged shutter

is unbearable.

I just want to be fine,

but I don't know what to do any more.

#migraine #chronic migraine #poems #poetry #writeblr #poetblr #poem blog

[literature-is-dead]

I heard a girl on the train

Cheering on each station we'd stop at.

She'd yell out their name

Excitedly.

I'd push my headphones in

Deeper.

I was annoyed

Because I had a bad day

Because I had an incoming migraine

Because I was disappointed in my grade

Because I had been let down by my friends

And I just wished she would

shut up.

I didn't say anything.

She couldn't know it bothered me

She couldn't know how I felt

So I felt bad.

I felt bad

Because I was the same

A few years ago.

Because she wasn't hurting

anyone.

Because my bad day

Should not be repercuted

on others.

And I felt bad

because I shouldn't be

allowed

to get mad at

other people's

happiness.

#poetry #poem #poem blog #poemblr #writeblr

[literature-is-dead]

Intro post <2 (and no this is not supposed to be a poem it is just my formatting)

I'm Opaline. You can call me how you like honestly, I don't care that much.

I'm 20 year old and my pronouns are fae/faer

I am french, so some poems are in french, but I also write in english. I tag all french poems as 'french poetry' so you can just blog that tag if you don't want to see it.

Poems are my way of expressing my struggles, so there are mentions of self-harm and suicidal ideology in them. I'll tag every trigger I see but don't hesitate to tell me if you need/see anything to be tagged

I've been writing since I was 9 but I stopped for a while because I was tired of being the golden gifted child, but I started writing again 5 years ago without letting anyone irl know and it's been lovely thus far <3

#blog intro #introducing myself #introductory post #introduction post #writeblr #poemblr #poem blog