starfly-inq

[starfly-inq]

Day 7 posted late

Death of the Author

I was born a God-wrestler.

I had a fire in the pit of my

Stomach that could not be

Estignished. I had a voice,

Loud and raw with feeling.

Feelings were a steak too

Big to eat. Everyone given a

Few bites while I was given

Half of the cow, still bleeding on my lips.

Feelings were hard to swallow.

Swallowing is what I do now.

Not of feelings, they still haunt

Me as ghosts of who I could be.

Instead I muster up the courage

And swallow pieces of who I am.

Who I am is a mystery, hidden under

Forced domestic interference

I would have benefited with some help.

“You’re too smart. You’re too independent”

I was a child and I was suffering.

Suffering is a myth.

With my flame inside me,

Burning like a fire on a cold night,

I know that for a fact. Suffering is

A myth, because it doesn’t get better.

#Features #I so behind on napo

[starfly-inq]

NAPOWRIMO24 #8: Hold the Wanting

#Features

[starfly-inq]

Every year for NaPoWriMo I like to do a challenge called I Do NaPoWriMo, where on the 1st day and a handful of days after, I write 1-4 poems, and every other day I go "Fuck! I haven't written my poem today!!"

[starfly-inq]

#Features

[starfly-inq]

#Features

[starfly-inq]

Roadside Dandelion,

Concrete Nature

Against All Weather

You Survive

Unbeloved Fauna

Why Do They Hate you?

But Bask In

Sunflower Lies

#trash poetry #napowrimo #poetry #Napo24 #Napowrimo 2024

[starfly-inq]

A bird, A boy

Two wings, four eyes

More feathers

Breakfast bird,

Hopping in the hollyhocks

waiting for the rain

If boys had wings, they could disappear

And become rainclouds

Dripping waxworks

Of sorrowful sky

To fall down

down

down below

on everything

That will ever be loved

#napowrimo #poetry #poem #trash poetry #Napowrimo2024 #Napo24

[starfly-inq]

Writing a poem

Is like sitting high, high up

At the edge of the world

Legs dangling over the side

To breathe in every little remnant of sky

And asking the world

To please, please love you

Love you

Love you

#Napowrimo #Napowrimo 2024 #poetry #trash poetry #Poem #Poets on tumblr #Other #Jackaloup

[starfly-inq]

i love finding poetry in the mundane, and yesterday i stumbled upon something that just hits that spot

So, my partner has an old phone- It served them for many years now, but it has one issue: Charging it is hard. Their current charger is hanging on by a thread (literally), and can barely do its job. The phone and the charger came together: They've never used another charger for said phone.

Now, they've tried to replace the charging cord several times. But it doesn't matter how much they've searched what damned specific charger the phone uses, none of them work. They finally decided to bring it to a phone shop and ask what should they use.

The guy at the shop looked at the phone for a bit, and explained: "The port itself is broken. The charger you have works with this phone because they've mutually broken each other into the same shape, in a way that no other charger is shaped. The port itself has corroded in a way that only accepts the charger that shaped it like that in the first place."

And while this is of course a frustrating situation for my partner, I feel like there's a metaphor here. I could write a goddamn story about this. These two half-broken old things have been together for so long they've destroyed each other in a way that keeps them from working with anything else. They've hurt each other in a way that barely keeps them functioning together, and have been rendered useless with literally anything else.

This too is toxic yuri to me-

#Insp #Inspo

[starfly-inq]

give me

one more night with you,

just one more.

Let me curl against you, nails at your skin, breathe you in, so deeply I won't forget

What your hair smells like, what you look like while you're sleeping, who you are.

Let me rest my palm against your heart, feel it beating in time

If I could wish for anything,

Let it be

just

one

more

hour, minute, second

With you,

Please.

#Poetry #poem #spilled ink #Writing #Leafbreeze #trash poetry #Let's see if the formatting stays good here

[starfly-inq]

"Intimacy is knowing about the almond milk"

#Features

[starfly-inq]

Muzzle me, chain me to the wall if it makes you feel safer.

My broken teeth would barely break your flesh.

Pathetic.

You could kick me down 100,000 times and I'd still come limping back

#Canine poetry #Dog #Spilled ink #Like a dog #Poets on tumblr #Poem #Poetry #trash poetry #Wolfkin #Dogkin #Dog kin #Therian #Alterhuman #Otherkin #Anger #Jackaloup

[starfly-inq]

i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.

#Features

[starfly-inq]

Ribcage is a hell of a word. Like yeah my bones trapped my heart inside my chest if u even care. I don’t know if it wants out

[starfly-inq]

i don't know where we go after we die and our bodies turn to rust and stardust (as Nabokov would put it), but i think we'll all be pleasantly surprised when we're dead and finally open up our eyes.

[starfly-inq]

you’re going to hurt me and i’m going to let you

[starfly-inq]

My best friend was allergic to the bramble pricks

I remember wading in there, a stick half my height to shield me from it's anger

Me, ten years old, alone

I may have cried when the plant protested, prickles at my shirtless arms and bruised kid knees

Ten years old, getting blackberries for the both of us

Arms as full as I could carry, blood and blackberry juice and garden dirt covering my every inch

Ten years old, coming out triumphant, fruit rolling, bouncing all over the grass, purple and red, bruises and blood

But happy.

Because I wanted fruit, and I wanted her to be happy

And I knew, at ten years old, that she'd wait outside the jungle for me, even though she couldn't follow me in there.

I don't know

I think that's what magic is

i think that every child should have unrestricted access to thick blackberry brambles or some other delicious fruit that grows encased in a painful fortress. i think wading through thorns to reach the cluster of shining ripe berries you spied through a gap between the tangled vines teaches you something important. not sure what though

#Poetry #Poem #trash poetry #Others #Spilled ink