mynameisnotbug

[mynameisnotbug]

if anyone is there, a little update ~

i had to take down some poems to enter into a competition and i have been chosen as one of the top poets - which is insane. i'll repost the poems when that's all announced and sorted, and then (hopefully) get on with new posts too. quite exciting. anyway, see you around :)

[mynameisnotbug]

december’s issue of This is Not a Video is out now!

the theme is nostalgia and it contains work from @gurneykink @/alien.barbie.doll @mynameisnotbug and me!

#zine submission #my writing

[mynameisnotbug]

lyrics from may.

#writers #poets on tumblr #my writing #poetry #young poets #writers on tumblr #queer poetry #queer poems #notes app #lyrics #songwriter #song

[mynameisnotbug]

all your parts are mine

all my body is yours if you need it

all my life i was apart from you

all my life i was a part of you

tell me the long stories, we have time

i have no words for how much i love you

we have time

take down the walls, you are all mine

put up the curtains, all you are is mine

#writers #my writing #poets on tumblr #poetry #queer poems #queer poetry #queer love #t4t yearning #t4t #self healing #nsfw poetry #young poets #poem #original poem #writers on tumblr #queer writers #writers and poets #trans love

[mynameisnotbug]

i stub the cigarette on the steps of the opera house, under the gaze of Molière and Cornielle, under the glare of the angels. maybe i was born to be a visitor. maybe we were born to find these quiet moments and watch the world as it goes around us, as i sit beside the carousel and inside it. outside the theatre and inside it.

#writers #my writing #poets on tumblr #art #poetry #zine #avignon #opera house #moliere #cornielle #carousel ride #travel writing #queer poems #poems on tumblr #young poets #summer poetry #writers on tumblr

[mynameisnotbug]

He tells me something and I think,

“You deserve better than a world

Like this.” I think how I want to 

Be kind and sweet and safe and warm.

“I want to understand,” I think,

“I want you to understand me.”

Like the slow pull of the deep sea.

Like the slow light of the moon, calm

As the waves’ breath. When he tells me,

“I don’t understand some people

And their cruelty.” Their Cruelty –  

I hope never to be cruel.

#poetry #full moon #queer poetry #if someday the moon calls you by your name don't be surprised #poets on tumblr #writers #library #poetblr #young poets #writers on tumblr #my writing #art #ocean #waves #moon poetry #sea poetry #the more loving one

[mynameisnotbug]

Where did it come from, everything in me now? Am I a rock like my father? Am I an ocean like my mother? Has my heart been passed down for a hundred generations? Is that why it feels so bruised? Who will restore the ancient heirlooms of my eyes? I wonder if my grandfathers bellowed like I do, if my grandmothers wrung their hands like I do, if someone long ago began to feel this way and it never stopped and it never will. My nana used to smile and her mouth looked like mine. My jaw was pried from a man I never met. I want to tell them I’ll keep it all safe. I want to ask them how they took care of it all so well. I want to ask them what they might take back. I want to say, I love it. I love it. Thank you so much, I love it, so kind of you to think of me.

#writers #my writing #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #poetry #young poets #poetblr #art #family #we are all connected #i am afraid #i am not sure that i exist actually #man hands on misery to man

[mynameisnotbug]

July (a poem)

So it’s a Sunday, 

Early afternoon,

Oven-hot in the train carriage;

You don’t have a ticket.

A child clutches a plastic bucket and spade.

They are green and red, respectively,

Your face and your eyes.

You drank too much last night

And kissed people you shouldn’t have done,

Your head hurts and you’re sitting on the early afternoon 

Oven-hot train to Paignton

Of all places.

You tie a headscarf round your neck, like it hides anything.

The boy is going to the beach

With his mother, who looks like your mother

And is not looking at you or at him.

You are going home on the only train,

Halfway between a dry, quiet crying and your sea-swimming childhood.

It’s a Sunday, early afternoon,

Oven-hot in your mother’s car and she is smiling at you, in the mirror,

Clutching your hangover-green bucket,

Your misery-red spade.

by @mynameisnotbug

#writers #poets on tumblr #poetry #young poets #writers on tumblr #my writing #art #queer poetry #poetblr #poet blog #july #summer poetry #nostalgia

[mynameisnotbug]

Poetry is, or might be, the bending of a lense

To sharpen the image - folding and twisting

To double down your meaning. Why then

Can I not make myself understood? Listen.

There are things I should tell you years ago

Things I should never say, safely hid

Like a child a dog or a body

Under a sheet that smells like when you were a kid.

All this hangs together in the silence or noise,

And I am begging you to read without my notes

Critically. You are an artist. I hope it shows. 

Critical. I am a poet, God, I hope it shows.

by @mynameisnotbug

#poets on tumblr #writers #my writing #young poets #poetry #art #library #writers on tumblr #queer poetry #poetsandwriters #poets corner #poetblr

[mynameisnotbug]

Grief is just love with nowhere left to go

And missing you is just the ache of overstretching:

The cramping of cross-country reaching out. 

My love is a marathon runner. 

My legs ache when I think of you.

My love races the miles over, day after day.

All I need is a good pair of shoes babe,

All love needs is a pace to keep the distance.

by @mynameisnotbug

#young poets #writers #poets on tumblr #poetry #writers on tumblr #my writing #art #library #poetblr #queer poetry #long distance relationship #love poetry

[mynameisnotbug]

minizine Seeing Ourselves by Bug Smith (me) 12/06/2022, considering of one aspect of icons in gay culture - also posted on my instagram at @ / mynameisnotbug

#queer writers #zine making #art #my writing #zine #queer zine #gay icons #library #writers on tumblr #writers #art zine #queer #pride icons #bisexual pride #pride month 2022

[mynameisnotbug]

below the ground - a poem

(inspired by Robert Frost)

I have not slept in such a long while now,

Too late to try, so blind I find the way 

And even miss the tricky stair that bows

Hollowed out by woodworm and decay. 

I wander down and out into the yard.

The grass is sharp and damp between my toes

And daisies dot the lawn as if like stars;

I wonder what the earth is like below.

A month ago we turned the soil with forks,

The stones and hidden roots there to be found,

And as I turned the worms face up, my thoughts

Were also turned to down below the ground,

The press of solid earth, a grassy quilt

That sounds a peaceful place to sleep, I think. 

Should fill with dirt, my veins with settling silt.

May flowers grow from me, in red and pink.

by @mynameisnotbug

#robert frost #young poets #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers #my writing #art #library #vent #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #nature #my actual english homework you're welcome guys

[mynameisnotbug]

ideas for zines i want to make :

a fanzine for instant noodles (my beloved)

a perzine about claims-to-fame and connection

a minicomic about figuring out i'm aro-spec

a short story with printed illustrations

a how-to guide for talking to kids

a collaborative zine for young carers and disabled folk

"something borrowed" - an autobiographical comic about being enby and dating my shoplifting cishet ex-boyfriend

a found-objects zine for bottle cap badges

a collection of badly drawn dogs

#zine #fanzine #art zine #my writing #poets on tumblr #writers #art #zine preview #queer writers #queer #zine making #ideas #hobbies

[mynameisnotbug]

the nonbinary urge to make zines and forget about my responsibilities

#me pretending that making a minizine about vectors = maths revision #it does not #i failed this maths test

[mynameisnotbug]

an angry response to my philosophy teacher and albert camus

Frankly I think Sisyphus should pull his head out of his arse. Fuck your irony, all that is is self-pity in a disguise of intellectual superiority, I have no time for that. Fuck your hero complex too, because really what are you fighting for? Your own malice? If your only meaning is scorn then you’re not some philosophical genius, you’re just an arsehole. When I push my rock up that hill over and over and over again until my short existence ends and the universe never speaks my name again, I can find better reasons than bitterness and contempt. If seeing the rock at the top of that hill every day makes my mother smile, that's the meaning. If watching it fall down and watching me roll it back up makes someone’s kid laugh, that's the meaning. If moving it away allows a stranger to walk by more easily, that’s the meaning. No, the universe doesn’t care about me - but nor do I care about it. I care about me, and I care about people, and I care about beauty and art and achievement and knowledge and I don’t care whether any of those things have meaning ‘outside themselves’ because I do not often spend time outside myself. I live here. So do you. So quit playing space-cadets in the backyard and come home. 

#existential despair #philosophy #poets on tumblr #my writing #vent #vent post #library #writers #actuallytraumatized #im tired #angry rant #fuck you albert camus you know what you did

[mynameisnotbug]

my world began on may 27th 2005 and now that is sixteen years, seven months and nine days ago. i did not make it easy - i clung to the pre-gospel abyss like i have been clinging to time ever since, and now it spits in my face. i remember twenty-sixteen, it was last week and it was a century ago and it never ever happened but i remember it and now it has been six years. i asked for the future, but i did not ask for all this past. i did not mean to lose so much present. i did not mean it. take it back.

#time #years #my writing #poets on tumblr #writers #vent #art #teenage years #lorde pure heroine #past #present #future

[mynameisnotbug]

closing the year - a poem

november taught you how to cling

to something cold, or bright: the dawn,

a mitski song,

a thing to hide your heart inside /

to cry inside.

like drowning, right?

a month of sinking into sheets of rain

a month to hold yourself -

last month, you told yourself

it couldn’t get this bad

again.

by @mynameisnotbug

#seasonal affective disorder #november #queer poems #poetry #poets on tumblr #young poets #my writing #writers #art #mitski