salty-savanah

[salty-savanah]

Shitty Poetry

Dependent Differences

Its almost funny the way I can watch the distaste wash over your features while mine stay the same.

I can physically see you racking your mind on why I’m no longer there. The burnt of it, the cleaner, the maid, the woman, the giver.

The giving tree if you will do be the poetic kindness.

The person that you became dependent on to take the heavy load, and for what? The need to not have bruised shoulders and calloused hands like mine?

Now I am resolved. I am content and aware, and that’s one of the things I know you can’t fucking stand.

How I can look at you and your damaged bullshit and see right through it.

I can pinpoint the pain, source, cause, and continuous contribution to hereditary patterns and unjustified objectivity, while you can’t even see the shadow flick of mine.

My question is how in the fuck is that my fault?

The fact you never put in the effort to analyze my every move.

How I took my pain, hatred, and resolve turned it into a salve to rub in my wounds with the power of gunpowder infused. Don’t blame me for the lengths of my contentment.

It was a mere part of your life the distaste you may view yourself, but it was my entire life.

I had to memorize the sound of your footsteps, what time you got home at, how quickly I needed to clean the house, bathe my siblings, eat my dinner, speak, move, breathe, blink.

All of it, I did in hopes of pleasing someone who only viewed me as the necessity.

The regular, the ordinary, the incapable, the mentally deficient.

The person made from your womb just to clean up the messes of the others you pour out.

Now I sit here with you there and I am everything.

I am everything to myself and my tribe of chosen brothers and sisters.

I have thrown my soul into a cast iron fucking sleeve and built my birthday suit around it, can’t you see?

I’m fucking shimmering.

This is my brotherhood. I’ve claimed it long ago, can’t you see?

How you never even had your venom in me in the first place, now all I have are scars of so called retribution.

I’ve made my peace, I’ve spoken my guilt, I’ve demolished my problems with a hand of Odin and accepted myself with the wrath and beauty of Hel.

You, what have you done in comparison to me?

You have taken, eaten, beaten, tormented, and abused little girls as a little girl yourself and again for what? The feeling of satisfaction of making something smaller than you fucking cower?

I do not need your apology, I can see how easy it left your tongue, a manufactured script you probably chanted to yourself to convince yourself of the truth.

No, now I want your recognition. Look at these fucking scars, look down at how deep they go and how they match your manicure of encrusted jewels.

You wouldn’t be able to handle the things I’d have to say, compared to what you’ve already said do you really think I wasn’t rehearsing?

Now do you see the difference?

I am not you, I changed for the better, for the yearning of being good. For being fucking great.

You changed in spite of me. How malicious did you need to be back then to do the things you did?

I was a baby. I came from your own life force, I breathed your air, my spirit was conjured in you generations before my birth, so why?

Why couldn’t we have both changed for the better?

Now we both sit here, racking our minds on why we actually hate each other, making up reasons and sling shooting them at each other just to find the next malicious reason.

But I never hated you.

I like to think you never hated me.

But that is what the difference between you and me is, I wanted something I never had.

And you wanted to create something with the thing you already had.

[salty-savanah]

Shitty Poetry

Ok if you haven’t read Frida Kahlo poem on simply being, please please go read it. I weaved her words into this poem and it just helps you understand.

I am not what you perceive me to be. Yes, I am on my own path, your apologies compared to mine mean nothing.

But do not paint me out to be someone so heartless, because frankly I don’t give a shit what the world thinks. I was born a bitch, a writer, a poet, a chain smoker, I was born a deeply crafted lover, a liar, a dreamer, a reader, a child, a painter, a gardener, a slut. I am someone who holds the world in my grasp like a sticky fingered nymph covered in honey with adoration and sickness at the things that have been created and yet to be done.

Yes that is not a way to live, but I was happy in my way, and I know I made others feel at least a fraction of the happiness I experienced. Do not take me for my faults, acknowledge them yes, for I am the sinner among sinners.

Yet no one said sinners do not love, yes it is no longer the kind of love you share. It is the love of the wholeness you feel when you allow yourself to grow, to feel, to cherish your roots and bones with sapphires and rubies and welcome those who have wronged me. Take a look, I’d say from my place.

“Take a look at how the sinner raised a sinner that was able to over come more that you ever could pray to. For I was not the wolf among people, I was the dog among wolves”.

Take what you want from this but do not judge what you have not undressed, you may know a sinner until you unzip the shield just to see a child with grasping hands. Just trying to survive with the loss of a stripped purity still in place, no longer striving for the comfort of the world.

I am comfortable in myself, you see. I am comfortable in my place of silence, ready with a quick whip of a word, or a gentle phrase. Instead, I will take the children you can’t stand and infuse worth and love for painting and reading.

I fucking want them.

I will give love where it comes and is needed, I will smile from ear to ear at gentle girls. Because we are all bitches and dreamers, and children, let that not be an insult from men.

Instead look at your sisters; your own personal coven, where you share with each other pieces of yourself that no one should know. You’ll find peace there, because we’re all sinners. We’ve all had to kill something in us to survive, somewhere under all the skin is blood soaked hands of a baby that never got to fully grow.

They will cradle them; these regrets, sorrows, lost prayers. However you must give yourself in turn; if they are to raise hell for you then get on your hands and knees and break the sky in turn.

For I am not a malicious bitch, I am simply a bitch. The dissembling and dismemberment of my life and body does not give you a right to define me as a female dogs, you’d be fucking angry to.

The difference between me and them is they pack their anger in a sparkler, burning and blistering everyone. I however pack it into a firework, for everyone to see but never touching a soul.

I am not what you perceive me to be, I am. Like many woman and girls, I simply am.

[salty-savanah]

My dad asked why I scream and point finger guns at him when I’m frustrated and I showed him this.

[salty-savanah]

Cool Poetry Stuff \(;-;)/

“Fuck nihilism all my homies confront the meaninglessness of life as an opportunity for something wonderful and believe in the beauty of creating meaning yourself through relationships and sticking your hands in the dirt.”

-low key don’t know who wrote this. I’ve been seeing it on tik tok and can’t find the creator.

[salty-savanah]

Shitty poetry

Uhh this is a vent post low key so enjoy. ✨

I absolutely want them back, not for the reasons they think though. I don’t miss the feeling of constant yearning for a millisecond of contentness that we used to share so easily, and now I have to beg. I wouldn’t force anyone especially not you to strain for something as false as this. I miss your face and the way the sun would filter through your eyelashes, showing me your true colors of burnt coffee and Carmel with layers of tree bark encircling soil colored irises. The Greek muses could make masterpieces of you in every form of the arts available but id still never get sick at watching the pull and blend of colors on your face as I make you turn red. Cheeky jokes, sneaking out, running from people, cliff jumping, bike riding, me in passenger and you full throttle. These are the things about you that I held to myself like a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know these glorious details I had come up on. That was selfish, I know, I’m sorry. I know it held us both back. So I’ll package these enchantments of physical attributes away in a care package, and I’ll pass it to the next person. I’m not sad about it, when you look back you’ll see how far you’ve come. That is all the comfort I need now.

[salty-savanah]

Shitty poetry

Beneath

I called to the monster beneath my skin, I told him you were not made of sin.

You are made of malice and abuse but not from them.

We have been scarred, burnt, beaten, shackled, and caged and yet monster this is not you.

You didn’t bring upon the second coming of hell simply because you wanted to.

You brought them hell because they still hold heaven above us like a piece of bloody meat to a lioness.

I called to the monster beneath my skin and I told them you are not evil.

You have killed and been killed, lived at let live, you did everything you were supposed to don’t question that anymore.

The blood on our hands may be deep shades of plum but can’t you see how rusted it is? How tired my bloody hands are from killing pieces of myself that they’ve turned to rust and decayed within me.

You are not a monster for what you had to do to survive, and damn them all to hell for forcing you into their paradox just to cackle,

‘Shall it be the cowards way out or the fools way?’

I called to the monster beneath my skin and I screamed with crimson soaked jaws, ‘Take the blood splattered way out.’

I called to the monster beneath my skin today.

I told them we can be both the blood and the wine, the charcoal and the ash, the flame and the embers, we could be the monster and the damsel.

No one is truly ever just one anymore.

#poetry #shitty poem #shitty poetry

[salty-savanah]

Shitty poetry

Solace

Lately, there’s been more solace in the fact a routine could and should seep into my bones.

After so long of doing the same thing your bound to pick some things up, but recently that hasn’t been enough.

The calendars grin is getting bigger with each day as it stares at me with knowing of when.

When things will go wrong or I will make them wrong, or perhaps I will fall in love, maybe someone will fall in love with me if I waited long enough.

I’m not sure when things will get better if the stars even tucked a grain of luck into my round of playing cards

I hope when I find the ability to truly take care of myself, or love myself, then it’ll all be worth the throbbing heartache.

I’m not sure if there’s more that I can do than simply wait now, it’s quite bothersome.

I don’t hate myself, not like I used to.

I’ve simply accepted existing, it makes for a more comfortable routine than holding on to that hate towards myself and the world.

Maybe I should hold on, get angry, make a fuss, clench my fists, beat the walls, but my fists already hurt and my gramma would be scared.

So now I wait, trying to scrape up every ounce of what it means to live happily up in a pile and self destruction in another, forever trying to separate the two during a never ending battle.

I’m not sure if that would really make me happy or if I’m still clinging onto something I need to let go, or amend to every god on honey covered bloody knees with gold and silver begging, for some kind of fucking solace.

Maybe solace isn’t what I’m meant for, maybe just taking the beatings with grace and holding onto someone like me who knows how to get by.

Either way I’m tired. I’m tired of waiting for a person I’m so desperate to love like hell love’s a fresh saint.

I hope they’re waiting for me too, we could be each others solace, maybe.

#shitty poetry #poetry

[salty-savanah]

BOOK TWO IN THE DREAMER TRILOGY IS COMING!

Get ready for Ronan’s story to continue in MISTER IMPOSSIBLE! 

Do the dreamers need the ley lines to save the world … or will their actions end up dooming the world? As Ronan, Hennessy, and Bryde try to make dreamers more powerful, the Moderators are closing in, sure that this power will bring about disaster. In the remarkable second book of The Dreamer Trilogy, Maggie Stiefvater pushes her characters to their limits – and shows what happens to them and others when they start to break.

Pre-Order Your Copy: 

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Bookshop

IndieBound

Apple

Google

One More Page

[salty-savanah]

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

summary; having a secret ‘relationship’ with draco and accidentally breaking one of his rules. pairing; draco malfoy x gryffindor!fem!reader warning; mentions of sexy time, swearing, angst, fluff, possible cussing

♡ PART ONE ♡ PART TWO (COMING SOON)

rules taglist;  @jatphatones @merceret @spooky-season-bitch @morganayennefertyrell @dracoxmgg @leydileyla @multi-fandom–mess @living-in-a-constant-daydream @yesimsleepdeprived @thescarletknight2014 @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @azkabanlexi  @thatguppienamedbae @allyouneedisloveyup @itsdracobaby @sincerelymalfoy @draconisxcaput @thesuperjane @sharonisantisocial @multi-fandom-mess18 @idkatee @themoon-approvesof-zukka @malfoysstilinski

[salty-savanah]

Wolfstar after a rough full moon

[salty-savanah]

what the hogwarts kids are majoring in

ron: respecting women

harry: bat man

ginny: minecraft

luna: fuckin weed

malfoy: w

hermione: criminal justice and psychology

neville : i'm terrified that i'll lock myself into an interest that i'll no longer be passionate about in a few years like all the other areas of study i've pursued over my life!

fred: minecraft

george: minecraft as well

[salty-savanah]

dads

[salty-savanah]

Young lady is blind but loves Harry Potter… Her aunt helped raise money to surprise her with Harry Potter books in Braille for Christmas

[salty-savanah]

“Weasley is our King” - Shocked to realize Ron was still missing from my color palette drawings and I couldn’t let that stand.

#What A Great Day To Appreciate Ron Weasley #But then again #When is it not #Also this time with an original color palette #I Tried (TM) #Ron Weasley #Ronald Weasley #color palette #color palette challenge #freckles #gotta love the freckles #also brain scars #from that one ministry scene in the books #crown #boys in crowns #weasley is our king #harry potter #fanart #hp #hp fanart #my art #digital art #portrait #gryffindor

[salty-savanah]

Depressed Sirius Black

Tired Remus Lupin

In the 12 Grimmauld Place

At certain points of the book#5 maybe?

There’s just……so much feeling

[salty-savanah]

Summer visits 🌿🌱💕

[salty-savanah]

Check out this Week in Review! It’s the quenchiest!

Netflix dropped a trailer for season two of The Umbrella Academy—good luck, Hargreeves family. If you’re looking for inspiration or just want to see some great art, all the Artists on Tumblr have you covered. Meanwhile, there are two new events in Obey Me! Shall We Date?, so be sure to play while you can. This is Tumblr’s Week in Review.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Black Lives Matter

Zuko | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Artists on Tumblr

Critical Role

Hamilton

Sokka | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Catradora | Catra & Adora, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Obey Me! Shall We Date?

Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Boku no Hero Academia

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Naya Rivera

The Magnus Archives

The Umbrella Academy

Chris Evans

BTS

Aang | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Katara | Avatar: The Last Airbender

Catra | She-Ra and the Princesses of Power